Gospel Story Finder

Zachary is a very kind little boy, and he is sensitive to the feelings of others. When Zac was attending preschool, a new little boy moved into town from another country and was in his class. Samuel*, the new boy, couldn’t speak English, a new language for him, and he was a little uncomfortable in his new class.
One day at school, Samuel was really sad and wanted his mom. The preschool teacher asked Zac if he would play with Samuel. Zac took Samuel by the hand, led him over to where the toys were, and they began to play together. Zac really tried to treat his classmate the way the Savior would want him to by becoming his friend.

At the age of fourteen, I was apprenticed to a dressmaker and learned how to make beautiful dresses. I worked for her for two years. Then my family made the decision to move to America. Times were hard in England. Jobs and food were both scarce. Also a call had gone out from the Church for the Saints to gather to Zion.
But first we had to sail to America!
I was excited when my family packed up their belongings and headed for Liverpool. It was a great seaport, teeming with ships of every kind. I loved watching the ships being loaded and unloaded with every kind of article you could imagine. Spices from India scented the air. Passenger ships were a hive of activity as their holds were loaded with food and water. There was so much to see!
Our ship was the Horizon, a good ship. We had fine weather all the way across the Atlantic, except for a few days when it was so foggy that we couldn’t even get candles to burn! On June 30, 1856, we safely landed in Boston, Massachusetts. We were thrilled to be in the land where the gospel had been restored!

I learned this for myself when my oldest son received his first cell phone. With great excitement, he began entering the names of his family and friends into his contacts. One day I noticed his mom was calling. On the screen appeared the name “Mother.” That was a sensible and dignified choice—and, I’ll admit, a sign of respect for the better parent in our home. Naturally, I got curious. What name had he given me?
I scrolled through his contacts, assuming that if Wendi was “Mother,” I must be “Father.” Not there. I searched for “Dad.” Still nothing. My curiosity turned into mild concern. “Does he call me ‘Corey’?” No. In a last-ditch effort, I thought, “We’re soccer players—maybe he calls me ‘Pelé.’” Wishful thinking. Finally, I called his number myself, and two words popped up on his screen: “Not Mother”!

“What do these scriptures teach us?” asked Daddy as he closed his Book of Mormon.
Four-year-old Tyler piped up, “Jesus said we should always pray.”
“That’s right, Tyler,” Daddy said. “Do you think that you can have a prayer in your heart all day today? Besides just praying for yourself, look for others who need blessings and pray for them. We’ll pray again for them when we have family prayer tonight.”
Mommy stood up. “It’s time to get the breakfast dishes done and for Daddy to go to his office.”
As Daddy walked to the front door, Tyler followed and grabbed his hand. “Daddy, I promise to find someone today who needs my prayer.”
Daddy picked up Tyler and gave him a hug. “Good! I knew that I could count on you.”
Later that morning, Tyler went with Mommy to take books back to the library. He looked for people who might need his prayer. He saw a lady holding a baby. The baby wouldn’t stop crying, no matter how the lady tried to soothe him. Tyler prayed quietly, “Please, Heavenly Father, bless the baby to be quiet and happy.”
After lunch, Tyler went outside to ride his tricycle. The people who lived next door were getting into their car. They waved to him. Tyler saw Mr. Radcliffe helping his wife climb out of her wheelchair and into the car. “Heavenly Father,” Tyler began to pray, “I like the Radcliffes. Please bless Mrs. Radcliffe to get well.”
That afternoon the doorbell rang. The piano tuner had come. Tyler loved to watch him use his tools on the piano. Tyler asked Heavenly Father to bless the piano man to do a good job.
Before Tyler’s bedtime, his family gathered again for family prayer. “Did you find anyone in need of blessings today?” Daddy asked Tyler.
“I found three people who needed my prayers—a baby, Mrs. Radcliffe, and the piano man.”
Mommy said, “That’s wonderful, Tyler! You followed the words of Jesus. You prayed for others. Heavenly Father heard your prayers, and He will answer them.”
Daddy said, “Tyler, will you say the family prayer now, please?”
As Tyler prayed, he remembered to ask another blessing on the people who had needed his prayers that day.

The living room lights were making patterns on the front lawn when I pulled in the driveway. I gathered my books and practice uniform and staggered toward the door, hoping I would find my family about to say the closing prayer for family home evening. Instead the strains of a Primary song greeted me. Home evening was just getting started.
I dropped my armload on the kitchen table and tried to ignore the number of books I’d brought home. Of all nights to have so much homework. Of all nights for Carrie Willard to ask for a ride home and then insist we stop to look at the sweater in the window of Robertson’s Department Store. We’d probably still be there if Paula hadn’t finally said, “Hey, it’s Monday night. Don’t you guys have family home evening or something?”
I hope she caught the grateful look I threw her. Paula, the only nonmember in the group, knows the conditions of the pact I signed with my dad after getting my driver’s license. It states that I agree to drive carefully, treat the car with respect, keep it clean, keep the tank filled, and attend to my family and Church responsibilities. Specifically, that means keep my room clean, do my assigned household chores, and attend Church meetings, seminary, and family home evening.
All this for the privilege of driving the old clunker so I don’t have to beg rides wherever I need to go. I am allowed infractions, but only rarely, or I lose my driving privileges.
“Kathy,” Dad called, “we’re waiting for you.”
I dropped into the nearest chair. “Sorry,” I said. “Practice ran awfully late tonight and I’ve got a ton of homework.”
Dad just smiled and stood up to begin the lesson. “A thought came to me today. It just wouldn’t go away, so I decided it must be inspiration and that I would go with it for tonight’s lesson.”
I swallowed a groan. My sister Gayle rolled her eyes heavenward. Dad’s inspirations usually meant we were in for something unexpected.
“On the way to work this morning,” Dad continued, “I heard a radio program about first aid. It seems too few people know what to do in an emergency.” He paused for effect.
“It just so happens there’s a section on first aid in the Family Home Evening Resource Book. Now who knows what to do in the case of shock?”
For the next half hour we acted out various scenarios. Dad treated Darrell for shock as the result of a traffic accident. My little sister Linda cut her arm on a broken bottle and Mom controlled the bleeding. Then Darrell saved Dad from drowning in the ocean between the bookcase and the couch and revived him. Gayle and I went out to dinner where we each managed to save the other from choking by using the Heimlich maneuver.
It was all rather silly and fun, and as usual we learned something. When we’d finished, Dad announced he’d signed us all up for a CPR class the first Saturday of next month. Gayle and I sighed. One more thing to fit into our busy schedules.
We had strawberry shortcake for refreshments. I took mine to my room to eat while I studied. Mom came in later and found me with my nose resting in the margin of my vocabulary book. I’d finished my math problems and written an essay, and I knew most of my vocabulary words. I’d have to study biology in the morning while I curled my hair.
My hair refused to cooperate in the morning and it got more attention than my biology, but I still had the noon hour. I gathered at a corner table with the usual lunch group and tried to memorize all the bones in the body while everyone else criticized the food and exchanged lunches. I was barely listening to the conversation, so I missed whatever it was Kenny Jamison said that made everyone else shout with laughter, especially Paula. I’ve noticed lately that Paula pays particular attention to anything Kenny says.
Suddenly, through the lunch room sounds, I heard something else—a sound so soft that I shouldn’t have been able to hear it above the noise and laughter, but I did. I glanced up to see Paula with her hand at her throat. There was perspiration on her forehead and she seemed to be turning a bluish color, just as Gayle had pretended to last night. Except this was for real.
Almost without thinking I jumped up and pulled Paula to her feet. I circled my arms around her from behind and tried to find the place to fit my fist. It had all seemed so easy last night with Gayle. But Gayle had been laughing all the while, not actually choking.
I pulled my fist back with my other hand in four sharp thrusts. Nothing. All the noise and laughter at our table stopped, but around us it continued. I closed my eyes and prayed, “Please, Heavenly Father, help me.”
I pulled again, four quick movements a little harder than the last. A bite of Paula’s peanut butter sandwich flew from her mouth like the cork from a bottle, just as the resource book had said it would. I felt her lungs fill with air. Then I began to cry.
Pandemonium broke out at our table. As soon as Paula had enough air to breath she was crying too. Several students patted me on the back. Someone had called the principal and the school nurse, and they took Paula off to the nurse’s office. The bell rang, but I didn’t follow everyone back to class. I dropped my head down on the table and tried to stop crying.
“Aw c’mon now, is that any way for someone who just aced a biology test to act?”
I lifted my head to see Mr. Spencer, my biology teacher, sit down next to me. He patted my hand and smiled. “It’s standing policy in all my classes. Anyone who can successfully demonstrate the Heimlich maneuver can skip their next test. Of course finding a volunteer for the victim is usually the hard part.”
I started to cry again.
He handed me a tissue. “Hey, hey, I’m only teasing. Mr. Williams said you could go home, Kathy. You’ve had enough excitement for the day. Do you need someone to drive you?”
I dabbed at my eyes and shook my head. “I’m okay. Thanks for letting me skip the test.”
The smile slipped from his face, leaving it serious. “Thank you, Kathy. You know you may have saved Paula’s life. How is it you were so quick on the Heimlich maneuver?”
“My Dad … last night … it was inspiration …” I was crying again.
“Go home, Kathy,” Mr. Spencer said. “Tell me about it some other time.”
I stopped by my locker and got the rest of my books. I thought about Dad and home evening as I walked home. And then I thought about Paula. She had moved to our school last year, and from the beginning we’d been good friends. We liked so many of the same things—volleyball, hot Mexican food, track. Neither one of us cared about being up on the very latest styles and fashions. Paula was comfortable just being who she wanted to be.
When she first moved, several of the kids tried to get her interested in the Church, but Paula politely informed them she had her own church. She and I kind of agreed not to talk about religion. She came to an occasional activity with me, and I went places with her family. Once just after I met Paula, Mom had challenged us in a home evening lesson to write our testimony in a Book of Mormon and give it away. The testimony I wrote was for Paula, but I had never given the book to her. That copy of the Book of Mormon still lay in a drawer I rarely opened. It seemed to accuse me every time I saw it. I wanted to give it to her, but I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize our friendship. I loved Paula as much as a sister.
“Kathy!”
I’d been so intent in my thoughts I hadn’t seen my mother’s car pull up.
“Are you all right, honey? The school called and Paula’s mother called. I’m so proud of you.” She gave me a big hug and I started to cry again.
“Mom,” I said when my voice was under control. “Can we go over to Paula’s house later this evening? I didn’t get a chance to tell her that I learned the Heimlich maneuver in home evening last night. And besides, there’s something else I need to give her.”

Guess what? Dad just got home, and he’s COVERED in mud! He wants to talk to me and Peter right away. I gotta go! Now that Dad’s the bishop of our ward, he’s gone a lot. I woke up extra early, and he was already out visiting people.

Turns out Dad was muddy because all the rain made the creek rise. And it flooded the Wilsons’ ranch! The only way to protect their house was to dig ditches to give the water somewhere to go. So me and Peter and Dad came to the rescue!

I missed most of the parade. But I don’t feel grumpy at all. In fact, I feel … I don’t know. Grateful? While we were digging, a lot of ward members and other people showed up to help. By the time we were done, I realized I had a LOT to be thankful for:

Having a family that’s not afraid to get muddy helping someone out

Our ward family, and all their extra shovels

A warm, dry house to come back to

So now there’s mud in my hair. And on my clothes. And look, even in my journal!

I guess my perfect Thanksgiving didn’t go exactly as planned. But seeing how happy the Wilsons were made it all worth it. The rain hasn’t stopped, but I’m feeling pretty sunny!

Sincerely,
Maisy

Several years ago in Osaka, Japan, I received a telephone call from one of the Japanese officers of the Church requesting an appointment. I invited him to my hotel room and there listened to one of the most intelligent and articulate young men I had ever met.
He was a college graduate. He had majored in a special field of science and was employed by a stable, conservative corporation. One of his classmates, who had been at the top of the graduating class in the same field, was employed by a young, progressive firm in Tokyo. Several times in recent months this classmate had tried to entice his friend to change jobs. One of the vice-presidents of the firm in Tokyo made contact with the Church member, saying he could set his own salary at three or four times what he was then making.
The response was, “If there is the slightest question in the minds of the officers of my church about my leaving Osaka, which would require my being released from my Church position, it doesn’t matter how much money you offer me, I will have no interest in your proposal.” The vice-president replied, “I am not a Christian. I know nothing about your religion, but you are the kind of man I want in my organization.”
Should he move from Osaka to Tokyo, which would require his release from his Church assignment? Of course, I assured him that he could serve the Lord in Tokyo as well as in Osaka.
He moved to Tokyo. Later, while visiting that city, I received another call from the same man. We visited for quite some time. He had become extremely successful. He had broadened his experiences and was now a consultant teaching top management in major corporations how to operate their companies. His time was in great demand. He was making a handsome income. But he was neglecting his Church work and his family responsibilities.
I told him I wouldn’t tell him what he should do, but that there was a scripture that would tell him if he truly was converted: “But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.” (Matt. 6:33.) I sensed that this scripture might have caused a few little ripples; however, we parted as good friends.
A few weeks after I returned home, I received a letter from him. He said he had his priorities straightened out. He had resigned from the company. His first priority now would be his family and the Church, and his second priority would be employment. Setting priorities and then reviewing them to see that we are not straying is one of the most valuable lessons we can learn.

Fourteen years came and went with my same activity in the Church and still no baptism. One particular night, I had a dream in which I could not hide from a young man in a white shirt, with a badge and his scriptures. The next morning in seminary, the classroom discussion revealed my dream’s meaning. The students were asked, “If Jesus Christ came today looking to receive all those who opened their hearts to Him and had decided to accept Him as their Savior, would you be able to go with Him?” I shared my dream with them, and they told me, “The Lord wants you to make the decision to be baptized.”

That afternoon, I called the elders to tell them my experience and that I was ready to be baptized. The branch president, mission president, and the elders were super excited about the guidance the Lord was giving me.

My baptism was performed in the Los Llanos Branch, by my son. I was super excited that his first baptism before leaving for his mission was mine.

Several years ago, our newly married daughter and her husband began a series of moves from one place to another—graduate school, first job, and so on. These moves took them to various parts of the country. In each place the climate and soil conditions were different, but they determined they would follow the prophet’s advice and have a garden. Their first attempts at gardening were pathetic. The weeds grew much better than the vegetables. The gardens were “obedience gardens.” However, with continued effort, each year the gardens improved. They learned new techniques and developed skills. As children came to their family, each was taught to work and take responsibility in those “obedience gardens.” Now their gardens are attractive, worthwhile “survival” projects, as the family enjoys and shares the produce. They preserve the excess for later use. Besides the practical lessons they learned, they found peace and assurance in keeping the commandments. Surely the promise was fulfilled for them: the prophet’s advice had been for their good always.

Joseph Knight arose early the morning of September 22, 1827. As he went outside to check on his animals, he noticed that his horse and wagon were gone. He was a guest in the home of the Joseph Smith family in Manchester, New York, and Joseph and Emma had borrowed his horse and wagon in the predawn to go to the Hill Cumorah.
Brother Knight was a dear friend of the Prophet and was among the first to hear Joseph describe the sacred experience of being visited by the angel Moroni. The angel had appeared to Joseph Smith once a year for the three previous years, and this morning was to be the fourth and last visitation. During this visit the angel Moroni had promised to let the Prophet take the gold plates if Joseph had been faithful.
When Joseph and Emma returned from the Hill Cumorah, the Prophet told Brother Knight something of his glorious experience. He told him of the size of the plates and described the glasses, or Urim and Thummim, which he (Joseph) had been given to help translate the Book of Mormon.

I know of another young man who recently returned from Vietnam. He told of the close bond of love in his family. He said, “My buddies tried to persuade me to go into Saigon and ‘live it up.’ This went on day after day, but I kept thinking of my family and their influence and the memories of our family home evenings and of my patriarchal blessing. It seemed to give me the courage I needed to resist them.”
He then said, “I got out my blessing and read it and reread it. It promised me a temple marriage if I was worthy. After a while, my buddies were impressed with my conviction. They started to respect me and then wanted to know more.”

The construction worker lay where he had fallen, precariously balanced on a plank nine inches (23 cm) wide and 100 feet (30 m) in the air. He had been struck by a falling steel beam that had partially severed his left arm and leg.
In this case, the victim could not be moved safely until his injuries were assessed. I was hoisted up by crane on a metal cargo platform. Once I reached the victim, a construction worker held onto the back of my reflective jacket, serving as a human “crane” to allow me freedom of movement to examine the victim.
In situations like this, years of training take over, so I began to assess the man’s injuries. On his knee was an emergency field dressing placed there by the construction crew’s own first aid responder. Normally I would examine the injury to assess the damage since that is the protocol we are trained to follow.
But as I reached out, the Spirit prompted me: “Do not move the dressing.” So I did not touch it. Three more times during the incident, I was encouraged by others involved—the first responder, my colleague on the ground, and a doctor—to examine the knee wound, and three more times, the Spirit prompted me not to touch the dressing. Once we had stabilized the patient, we lifted the man onto the cargo platform, we were both lowered to the ground, and we transported him to the hospital.
In the emergency resuscitation area, the trauma team waited for us. One doctor quickly removed the field dressing from the knee. Immediately an artery ruptured, and the patient began bleeding profusely. In the controlled environment of the hospital, this life-threatening situation was quickly resolved. If it had happened on the plank 100 feet up, the victim may well not have survived.

My mother died when I was fifteen years old. That was twenty years ago. I have experienced all the feelings you have—the anger (at my mom and Heavenly Father), the frustration, the loneliness, the shock. All of these feelings are very real.
When my mom died, we did not talk about it. I think it took me years to work through her death because of that. Hopefully, your family can talk about your feelings and losses. Your mother still exists; that doesn’t end with death. Your mother is simply living somewhere else. She loves you very much.
If your family can’t talk about your mom, you need to find someone who can. Pray to Heavenly Father so that he can help you find a support group, a counselor, or a friend who will listen to you.
Something that helped me very much (although I didn’t realize it until years later) was staying close to the gospel, praying, and keeping the commandments. I allowed myself to be angry at Heavenly Father. I said so in my prayers. I think he probably expected that and allowed me to work through my feelings. In looking back, I can see that Heavenly Father surrounded me with his love. He protected me from myself and my grief.
You will always miss your mom. And finding peace might take a long time. For me, it took years. But I promise you that if you desire it, it will come. When you’re at peace, you feel watched over and warm.
I may never understand why my mother died when she did. But it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s okay. I wish you success.
Stephanie Ransom, 35West Valley City, Utah

One of the greatest challenges I faced growing up as a child in Guatemala was poverty—spiritual poverty because we didn’t know the gospel and temporal poverty because of the lack of money. My mother died when I was five years old, which left my father to raise four young children by himself. Because my father wanted to keep us all together, he had to delegate some of the household responsibilities to us children.
I was the oldest child and was assigned the task of preparing lunch and dinner for the family every day. It was hard at first, but I learned a few ways to cook. Each day my dad would leave me 25 cents to buy the food. I would buy a pound of beans for 6 cents and a pound of rice for 7 cents. Then I would buy 5 cents of charcoal that I used to cook everything, 2 cents of kindling, and 5 cents of tortillas. I did this every day, and every day we ate rice and beans with tortillas. Even back then 25 cents wasn’t much, but this was how we got by.

A monsoon was approaching, and from the look of the black clouds overhead, it promised to be an ugly one. While most of the youth guides from the Arizona Temple Visitors’ Center in Mesa were enjoying a Mexican dinner at the home of one of their leaders, a few diehards were spending Saturday night at the center giving tours of the gardens to anyone who was willing to brave the storm.
As the monsoon worsened, the guides went inside and knelt in prayer. In behalf of those who might learn about the gospel while touring the grounds, the guides asked the Lord to abate the storm. The putting their trust in the Lord, they ventured back outside.
While wind and raindrops rippled the surface of the reflection pool, the temple grounds were virtually unscathed by what local newspapers called the worst monsoon of the season. The guides, grateful for what they considered a miracle, gave tours to the few visitors they found.

I used to like being tall. Then I got to junior high school. I became very self-conscious about my height and consequently my weight. I always felt fat and out of shape in gym because I was more awkward than everyone else. I wasn’t skinny growing up, but I wasn’t fat either. I was just big. Polite people would tell me I had large bones.
My senior year in high school I became obsessed with my weight because the senior choir I was in had a show-choir program at the end of the year where we sang and danced to Broadway tunes. We learned dances for all of our songs, and I was taller than every boy in choir. Because I was taller, I felt bigger too. I felt I couldn’t eat in front of anyone because they’d think I was too big already. Somehow I survived that experience. But my weight issues weren’t over.
During my third year of college I got sick. Not just the flu-for-a-couple-of-weeks sick. I couldn’t get better.
I was finally diagnosed with a chronic illness. The doctor gave me medications that were supposed to help, but this was a really bleak and depressing time for me.
It was then I noticed my clothes getting tighter, but I figured that was because I was sleeping all the time. I hardly ever walked to class. I knew as soon as I started to feel better, I’d be up and about on campus again.
After several months, I started feeling better and walked to campus regularly. But the weight kept coming. I even popped the zipper on my pants one day at work.
My doctor discovered that one of the medications had made my body hold onto the fat. I stopped taking it, but the damage was already done.
I hated looking in a mirror. I hated buying clothes. I hated running into people I knew before I got sick. I hated myself. I was stuck in a downward spiral of self-loathing. I was also struggling to accept the fact I couldn’t do everything I used to do. I simply didn’t have the health to do everything anymore. I hated this body I had that hurt all the time and kept getting sick. I felt I was stuck with a fat, ugly, sick body.
We hear all the time in Young Women that our bodies are temples. And one day I had a flash of understanding. It didn’t matter if my body was fat or skinny, it was a temple. I’ve never heard anyone make fun of the way the temples look, so why do we do that to our personal temples—our bodies? I realized that every time I felt bad about my body, I was being ungrateful for and disrespectful to a temple. I remembered that one-third of the hosts of heaven didn’t even get mortal bodies.
I thought of the scripture in the New Testament, when devils begged the Savior to let them enter the bodies of swine, just to have a body (see Mark 5:1–13). I was blessed with a physical body to house my spirit while I’m on this earth, a body patterned after my Heavenly Father’s.
Since that realization, I haven’t miraculously felt like my body is perfect. It’s hard to change old habits and perceptions. Instead of wishing I had someone else’s body, I try to remember that my body is a temple.
Recently I was able to go to the temple and receive my endowment. In the celestial room with my family and friends. I noticed mirrors opposite each other that reflect forever, representing eternity. One of the things I will always remember and cherish is in that room I felt beautiful. It wasn’t a turn-someone’s-head pretty. I just felt beautiful. I knew the Lord didn’t care what size dress I wore. He cared that I was clean and worthy. I had kept my own temple pure. In those mirrors I could appreciate what a beautiful gift my body was.
I am not stuck with my body; I am blessed with it.

Leah dropped her schoolbag as soon as she walked into her room. She crawled onto her bed and squeezed her pillow to her stomach. She couldn’t believe what Ashley had said about her dad.
Leah’s dad had died by suicide a few months ago. She missed him a lot. She missed his famous meatballs. She missed how happy he made Mom. And she missed watching him play his guitar.
Sometimes when she was sad, Leah listened to his music. She also wrote him letters. She kept them in the memory box in her closet. It was the same box where she kept Dad’s glasses, his old baseball hat, and other things he liked. It was her way of remembering him.
But Leah didn’t feel like listening to music or writing letters now. She was sad, but also kind of angry. She squeezed the pillow tighter and started to cry.
Mom tapped gently on the door. “Are you OK?” Mom asked.
Leah sniffed and sat up. Mom sat down on the bed next to her.
“Ashley said something mean,” Leah said. “About Dad.” Tears kept falling from Leah’s eyes. “She said he can’t go to heaven because of how he died.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Mom said, pulling Leah into a hug. “That’s not true.” She wiped away some of Leah’s tears. “When your dad died, his brain was sick. Heavenly Father understands what Dad was feeling and why he was hurting.”
“He was a good man,” Leah said. “Heavenly Father loves him and is helping him, right?”
“Dad was a great man, Leah. He loved you so much.” Mom wiped away a tear of her own. “And Heavenly Father does love him. I know He does.”
“But how do you know?” Leah asked.
“Because I pray about it sometimes,” Mom said. “And even though I miss him so much it hurts, I also feel moments of peace.”
Leah nodded.
“I’m sorry Ashley said that to you,” Mom said. “I know Ashley is one of your best friends, and that was really hurtful for you.”
“Yeah.” Leah was quiet for a minute. Then she asked, “Can we say a prayer together?”
“Of course.”
Mom and Leah knelt down. Then Leah began to pray. “Heavenly Father, I really miss my dad. Is he OK? Please help me to feel better. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Leah unfolded her arms and gave Mom another hug. She felt a tiny bit better. She still felt really sad, but she didn’t feel worried about her dad anymore. She knew Heavenly Father loved him, and she knew that He loved her too.
“Thanks, Mom.” Leah took a deep breath. “Can you help me talk to Ashley?”
“That’s a great idea,” Mom said. “I don’t think she meant to hurt your feelings, but it would be good for her to know why what she said was hurtful. I’ll call her mom and see if we can have them come over tomorrow to talk.”
“OK,” said Leah. “I think I’m going to have some quiet time now.”
Mom nodded. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Leah turned on her dad’s music. She closed her eyes and listened to the strumming of his guitar. Then she pulled out a piece of paper and started writing him a letter.

Sometime later, the adversary continued his temptations; someone close to me kept trying to convince me to come over and drink with him. He was pressuring me with the lie that drinking isn’t a big deal as long as you’re not an alcoholic. I felt the inner struggle—on one hand I wanted to have that relationship and common ground with that person, but on the other hand I wanted to show Heavenly Father my love and gratitude by keeping the Word of Wisdom. While I was struggling with these thoughts, my phone dinged and lit up across the room. I went to see what it was—a Facebook notification with a quote from President Thomas S. Monson’s talk “Principles and Promises”:
“The Word of Wisdom … gives specific direction regarding the food we eat, and it prohibits the use of substances which are harmful to our bodies.
“Those who are obedient to the Lord’s commandments and who faithfully observe the Word of Wisdom are promised particular blessings, among which are good health and added physical stamina [see Doctrine and Covenants 89:18–21].”2
It is my testimony that Heavenly Father saw fit to send me that specific message at the exact time I was struggling. While answers may not always come that directly and we should always seek to follow the commandments, I was grateful for that blessing. I knew what my decision needed to be and the course I needed to keep following in my life. I needed to confess and forsake my sins and continue to turn away from all ungodliness. I needed to become sanctified through the power of Jesus Christ and His Atonement. I understood that “this life is the time for [me] to prepare to meet God” (Alma 34:32) and to “prove [myself] herewith, to see if [I] will do all things whatsoever the Lord [my] God shall command [me]” (Abraham 3:25). I understood that this is the time to overcome my physical addictions, while I still have a mortal body. And I understood that I needed to show Heavenly Father a mighty change of heart (see Mosiah 5:2; see also Alma 5:12–14) and “have no more disposition to do evil, but to do good continually” (Mosiah 5:2).

Trent and Carley each tried to be like Jesus Christ at a school carnival.
Carley played a game at the carnival in which if you threw a ball into a certain cup, you won a fish. She won “seven or a lot of fishes.” Another boy, about six years old, won only one fish, and he dropped it. Carley gave him one of hers “because it was the right thing to do.” The boy was very happy, which made Carley feel very good.

As an Aaronic Priesthood young man, I can remember the excitement I felt as a newly ordained deacon. I looked forward to being able to fulfill my priesthood assignments. As a young Primary boy, I watched the deacons in my ward very closely in anticipation of the day I would be 12 years old, receive the priesthood, and be able to pass the sacrament. That day finally arrived, and soon after being ordained by my father, who was the bishop of the ward, I felt ready, but nervous, to begin my duties as a new deacon.
I now belonged to a quorum of the Aaronic Priesthood. The members of my quorum became very best friends. That friendship and quorum brotherhood continued to grow through my youth as we learned and served together in our priesthood duties. We were all good friends and experienced a fun and enjoyable time being together in our quorum activities.
One Sunday following one of those warm and long sacrament meetings, the first counselor in our bishopric called me aside to talk to me. This unscheduled priesthood interview became a blessing in my life as I have pondered the question he asked during our brief but significant visit. Brother Bateman looked me in the eye and asked, “Dean, do you know who you are?” There was complete silence, and then he gave me a quick and powerful reminder, “You are the son of Reid Burgess.”
The meaning and significance of that question has burned in my heart for a long time, and I often reflected on it throughout my teenage years. This good brother’s question—“Do you know who you are?”—has given me inspired direction throughout my life and a commitment to bring respect and honor to my family and to the priesthood.