Gospel Story Finder

New Year’s Day began early for our family, after only a few hours of sleep from celebrating New Year’s Eve. Mom was always the first one up, busily packing our lunch. Dad would pack the van with toboggans, inner tubes, sleds, an old pair of wooden skis, and many other contraptions that could be used to slide down snow-covered hills. Many of our friends, the bishop’s family, our aunt, uncle, and cousins would all gather in the living room. When everyone was accounted for, we would all pile into the van and other cars. As my dad led the way, our small caravan of cars headed off to the abandoned ski lodge at Dryden, Michigan.
The hour drive was mostly quiet, since many of us were still half asleep. Then, suddenly, the huge, old ski lodge would appear on top of a large hill, like a majestic monument, welcoming us to our private winter wonderland.
Next, there were slamming doors and snowballs whizzing through the air. Before I could get my mittens on and my scarf in place, I would usually be dragged into a deep snowbank and given a good face wash of cold, icy snow. Burrs hiding beneath the snow would now be totally entangled in my long hair. This was nothing to fret about; it was all part of the ritual. As soon as I could brush off my face, I would join in the race to the old lodge, accompanied by my favorite companions, Gretchen and Fluffy, my faithful 85-pound German shepherds.
The first step into the lodge was always an eerie encounter. Dead birds were scattered everywhere on the floor. We would all carefully walk up the huge, wooden stairs to the upper part of the lodge. It was one vast, spacious room, with enormous windows that opened to the most picturesque view. We could see the snow-covered slopes, the tops of the ice-frosted trees, and the blue frozen lake.
Dad and some of the boys would carry in wood, and the massive stone fireplace was soon roaring with a flaming fire. Then the fun began!
Off we’d go out the big back doors, down the stairs to the top of the hill. It was challenging to see how many people we could crowd onto the eight-man toboggan for the first ride down the slopes.
The sport continued until all of us were famished. Then back inside, we drank hot chocolate before the warmth of the fire. As soon as the feeling returned to our numb fingers and toes and our stomachs were satisfied, it was back to the slopes.
As the sun would begin to leave us and the sky filled with brilliant colors of orange, pink, purple and blue, it was time to gather all our snow gear and return home.
Some of our friends and family would return to our house. There we would eat hot chili and talk about the new year. We dreamed and planned about buying the old lodge and turning it into a beautiful home. As the night grew on, it was time to say good-bye. I always felt sad about the ending of this day. Tomorrow we’d be back at school and work, and it would be a whole year before another day of fun and carefree play in the snow.
Now, I look back on these days with great fondness. I remember watching those I love play in the brisk cold as the color-filled sky met the winter landscape on the horizon. As I gazed at that beautiful scene, I could feel my Heavenly Father’s love and I developed a deep gratitude for this beautiful world. I felt excitement just listening to the sounds of laughter from family and friends and the crunch of crisp snow under my boots. I remember feeling exhilarated by the sense of being alive as I took deep breaths of that cold air.
I realize now that family traditions have power we don’t always anticipate when they’re being developed. I suspect that as my parents began that yearly outing at the start of a new year, they were not fully aware of the significance it would come to have for our family. Now it is one of my most cherished memories, a part of who I am and the family I belong to.

Then in 1902 we broke ground for a new stake and ward building in Thatcher, and I gave two dollars from my nickels and dimes for the building. I remember they dug a great excavation and then there was a long delay before enough more funds could be gathered to construct the building. This was on the way to the post office and the stores where I was often sent to get coal oil for the lamps and for mail and to take the eggs and other things that my abilities made possible. I would always run down into the bottom of this great excavation hole and then up the other side; but when the weeds began to grow big in this enclosed area and I once saw some skunks there, I bypassed the excavation, for I had no interest in skunks as pets or as companions.
When the new stake building—which still stands and is being used for stake and ward purposes—was completed, it had just two large, rectangular areas, one for the meetinghouse on the top floor and one for recreation, the latter being the basement. I remember we had wires strung across the building and cloth curtains between the classes. We could hear something of nearly every class that was going on and even sometimes see, if the lights were just right. I remember some years later when we of the basketball team of the Gila Academy did our practicing here and played our games, and I always took more than my share of the credit for the fact that in this smaller building with some obstructions, we defeated some high school and college teams while we were but a high school team.

We had a pump organ in our chapel. I wanted to help at church, and pumping the organ was one of my jobs when I was eight and nine years old. It felt wonderful to contribute to the sacrament meeting by pumping the organ so that the congregation could sing.

As one example, Sophia remembers a time when she was approaching a jump at high speed. She felt a distinct impression that she needed to get herself into better positioning. “In motocross, we have to be squeezing the bike with our knees. We need to keep the balls of our feet on the pegs and crouch low with our head just above the handlebars.”

Cruising in an upright position, on the other hand, is a recipe for disaster.

After she received the prompting, she didn’t hesitate. She adjusted her body position. Immediately afterward, she had a serious problem with the landing on the jump. It should’ve been a crash for sure. However, because she’d listened to inspiration and improved her positioning, she was able to absorb the shock. “Instead of crashing, I bounced with the bike.”

I would like to comment happily on the inspiring article “Faces and Attitudes” by Elder Thomas S. Monson in the September 1977 New Era. I have just recently moved from my home in California to this new area, leaving behind the ward I’ve been in since my baptism in October, not to mention my father and numerous friends and families who were examples and brought me into the Church. I was so settled, and then suddenly I had to come to a new area and start from scratch. I can really relate to the faces of fear, doubt, and idleness that Elder Monson mentions. Now as I look back, I can see that things are looking up. That is what is so fantastic about the Church. Wherever you go in the world, it will be the same! For all those faces of failure, there are attitudes of accomplishment to bring you up. With the attitudes of faith, work, courage, obedience, and a loving Father in heaven, I feel I can handle my new situation with a better spirit and overcome failures.
Cindy ThelenTucson, Arizona

I have lived in many countries in Central and South America and in the Caribbean and Spain. I have seen visiting teaching done faithfully by walking short and long distances or by riding buses, subways, or trains. My friend Ana was a young mother in Costa Rica who faithfully did her visiting teaching every month, walking many times in heavy rain. Thirty years later, now a grandmother, she continues to be a faithful visiting teacher. She has blessed so many lives.

Enter the apartment of Venkat and Lynda Dunna of the Hyderabad Fourth Branch, and there are plenty of clues that these newlyweds are crazy about each other. A handmade birthday banner from him to her is taped to the wall. An album with their wedding photos sits on the table near the sofa. As they talk, he puts his arm around her, and she smiles so often it’s contagious.
They describe how they met through Church-sponsored activities and how happy Lynda’s mother was when they got engaged because she knew Venkat from church. But there was a problem. Venkat had an older brother who was single, and in India some still hold to the tradition that older siblings should be married before younger siblings. His parents, who are friendly to the Church but are not members, were also building a house and didn’t want a wedding until the house was finished. “My parents didn’t want to say no, but they did want us to wait many months, maybe a year,” recalls Venkat.
“What helped us was the Spirit,” he continues. “I felt prompted to tell everyone that Lynda and I were both working, so we would help take care of everything but that it was important to get married as soon as possible and that it was important to start by going to the temple. We just kept thinking, ‘The Lord’s going to help us,’ and He did.”
A new Latter-day Saint chapel was opened just in time for them to have their wedding and reception there, and then they left immediately to be sealed in the Hong Kong China Temple. “Seven of us traveled to the temple together,” Lynda says. “On the same day Venkat and I were sealed, my mother, my sister, and I were able to be sealed to my deceased father. It was a wonderful day in every way.”
Venkat, who is now serving as branch president, says one of his greatest desires is to see a temple in India some day. “That will be a great blessing,” he says. “It will help us to build Zion where we are.”

We accepted the invitation of a young Bedouin boy. His family was moderately well-to-do by nomadic standards. As we approached the tent, we could see everything they owned. There was a donkey feeding in the dooryard, a horse and camel in the distance, sheep and a turkey walking underfoot. Entering the flap of the stiff, black tent we saw handwoven baskets hung on the center poles filled with cooking pots, some baskets half-filled with waterskins. There were rugs and pillows surrounding the fire pit, with saddles and bridles in the corner. We could see their entire wardrobe in an old cardboard box pushed into the other corner. There were no windows, the only light came in at the tent door and from the live coals in the fire. We saw no toys; The heavy, black, goathair tent, with some white sections made from sheep wool, was anchored by ropes and tent stakes. The only water was in the waterskins.
There was a women’s section of the tent and the women of our troop were invited to try on some of their clothes and jewelry. The women wear black dresses beautifully embroidered with multicolored flower and animal designs. Their heads are always covered with a shawl which varies in color according to tribal custom. Black veils cover their faces when they leave the security of the tent.
The men’s clothing was simple, a long white shirt and sash in warm weather. In winter, they add a dark-colored aba, or overcoat, made of coarse, handspun wool from sheep. It is very warm and sheds the dew and occasional rains. It also takes the place of a blanket.

After 34 years in the Church Educational System, my wife and I decided about three years ago to retire and set our feet on some different paths in life. At that point we began to make plans. We changed our residence to be closer to children and grandchildren. I began to develop what I thought were some wonderful projects. Some were absolutely brilliant, I thought. And then one of those pivotal moments in life happened.
It was our privilege at that time to be living across the street from Elder F. Enzio Busche, now an emeritus Seventy, and his wife. One day Elder Busche taught our high priests quorum, and he cited a scripture in the book of Alma where Alma longs to have the voice of an angel. Then Alma immediately repents of those feelings, and in verse four makes a remarkable statement. He suggests that we have to be careful what we desire, for the Lord grants unto us the desires of our heart. And then came what was to me almost a stunning statement: “Whether they be unto salvation or unto destruction.” God will grant unto us, according to our will, the things which we desire (see Alma 29:1–5).
I went home that day—and it’s not that I felt any of my desires were wrong—but in that moment I realized that those desires were mine. That day I began to try to let the Lord know that what I’d like to do is fulfill His desires. Even then, I thought I really meant it, but I came to know that that’s an easy thing to say and a difficult thing to do. As Elder Maxwell said yesterday, only when we truly yield our hearts to God can He begin to accelerate the purification and the sanctification and the perfecting process (see Hel. 3:35). We have found in the three years that have come since that time that the Lord has set our feet on different paths than we expected, and this one is the latest.

Missionaries preaching in the Andes Mission arrived in Bolivia in November 1964 and baptized the first convert that December. The first Bolivian to serve a mission for the Church was Desiderio Arce Cano in 1967. He left a singing career in Argentina to serve in his native land. He later became a stake president and a mission president.

As you were listening to this beautiful rendition by the choir, I was thinking of William Clayton. His father was a teacher, and William had received a good education. He was a good penman, he was good with figures, and he was good at writing and keeping records. He was taught and baptized by the Heber C. Kimball missionary group in the early days of the Church in England. They understood and accepted him readily because of his education and his penmanship. He was just a bright young fellow, 23 years old. Soon he was being used as a secretary, a scribe, or as a bookkeeper by the little organization of the Church over there.

By the time he was 24, he and his wife wanted to go to Nauvoo, so they sailed for America. In Nauvoo he met the Prophet and other leaders of the Church. They used him in interesting ways again because he wrote a beautiful hand and he was a good speller. They could use a young man of that kind. But after the martyrdom of the Prophet he sided with Brigham Young and the Twelve and became one of their scribes and the secretary.

After the martyrdom of the Prophet, he left with the Brigham Young company and had the experience in Iowa that inspired the writing of this wonderful song that we have today. They left in February; it was now April. Slogging through the fields with the wagons and the horses and the teams and the rain and the mud in Iowa, they were discouraged. The going was difficult; people were dying, and babies were born. They were moving slowly, only traveling a few miles a day. In their discouragement, William Clayton wrote in his journal that he sat on a wagon tongue and wrote a song, hoping it would encourage and give some renewed hope and faith to the Saints.

So he wrote “Come, come, ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear.” It was difficult. They were discouraged. “But with joy wend your way. / Though hard to you this journey may appear, / Grace shall be as your day.” He was giving them encouragement to keep going, that the situation would get better.

Then he wrote those wonderful lines, “We’ll find the place which God for us prepared, / Far away in the West.” Even though we’re stuck here in the mud and discouraged, this will all change. If we have the courage and the faith, the Lord will answer our prayers; it will all come about. It gave them hope and encouragement. “We’ll find the place which God for us prepared, / Far away … / Where none shall come to hurt or make afraid”—stirring, inspirational words.

And then the last verse that the choir sang so beautifully this morning, “And should we die before our journey’s through, / Happy day! All is well!” So if we die, we’ve done our best. We’re going to die sometime, as we all know. So “Happy day! All is well!”

“But if our lives are spared again / To see the Saints their rest obtain.” We’ll see if the wagon wheels will stay on and if the rims will stay on the little handcarts and if we can keep up that courage and the strength through our prayers and we’ll get there. “If our lives are spared again / To see the Saints their rest obtain.” If we get there, then “All is well! All is well!”—if we get there and if we have the courage to make it work.

And in his journal he wrote, “I’ve composed a new song—‘All is well’” (William Clayton’s Journal [1921], 19). I like that original title, “All is Well! All is Well!” which explains our lives if we live as we should. We have the outline, we have the procedures, we have the information, and if we can get there and if our lives are spared again, then we will be able to sing “All is well! All is well!” That hymn has become the Church’s “national anthem.”

Illustrations by Elise Black
Kate jumped out of bed.
“Good morning!” Mom said. “Today is a special Sunday.”
“Why?” Kate said.
“We’re blessing your baby sister today.”
“Is Susie sick?” Kate asked.
“No,” Mom said. “This is a different kind of blessing. It’s for babies after they’re born. When you were a baby, Daddy gave you a special blessing too.”
Kate didn’t understand. She thought blessings were just for people who were sick. She ate breakfast and got dressed. Then it was time to go.
Kate looked at her baby sister in the car. She was in a beautiful white dress.
When Kate got to church, Grandma and Grandpa were there! So were Aunt Mindy and Uncle Tim. And Kate’s cousins!
Kate was happy to see her family. She usually only saw them on holidays. This must be a special day!
The meeting began. “Today we’re going to bless a baby,” the bishop said.
Kate watched Dad, Grandpa, Uncle Tim, and the bishop go to the front of the chapel. They stood in a circle, holding baby Susie. Everyone else folded their arms and bowed their heads. Kate listened carefully and heard her dad’s voice.
Dad blessed Susie to know that her family loved her. He blessed her to have faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. He blessed her that she would be baptized. And he blessed her that someday she could get married in the temple and have her own family.
“In the name of Jesus Christ, amen,” Dad said. Kate opened her eyes. She watched Dad hold Susie up for everyone to see.
“That was special,” Kate whispered to Mom.
“You’re right,” Mom said.
“I’m glad Susie could have a blessing,” Kate said.

I am grateful for righteous ancestors who taught the gospel to their children in the home long before there were formal family home evenings. My maternal grandparents were Ida Jesperson and John A. Whetten. They lived in the small community of Colonia Juárez, Chihuahua, Mexico. The Whetten children were taught by precept and by observing the examples of their parents.
The early 1920s in Mexico were hard times. The violent revolution had just ended. There was little cash circulating, and most of it was in silver coins. People often conducted their business through barter, or exchange of goods and services.
One day toward the end of summer, Grandpa John came home, having completed a trade and having received as part of the deal 100 pesos in silver coins. He gave the money to Ida with instructions it was to be used to cover the upcoming school expenses of the children.
Ida was grateful for the money but reminded John that they had not paid any tithing all summer long. They had had no cash income, but Ida reminded him that the animals had provided meat, eggs, and milk. Their garden had provided an abundance of fruits and vegetables, and they had made other trades for goods not involving cash. Ida suggested they should give the money to the bishop to cover their tithing.
John was a little disappointed, as the cash would have helped a great deal toward the children’s schooling, but he readily agreed they needed to pay their tithing. He carried the heavy bag to the tithing office and settled with the bishop.
Shortly afterward he received word that a wealthy businessman from the United States, a Mr. Hord, would arrive the next week with several men to spend a few days in the mountains hunting and fishing.
Grandpa John met the party of men at the railroad station not far from Colonia Juárez. He had the string of saddle horses and the necessary pack animals ready to transport the baggage and camp equipment into the mountains. The following week was spent guiding the men and caring for the camp and the animals.
At the end of the week, the men returned to the railroad station to take the train back to the United States. John was paid that day for his work and was given a bag of silver peso coins to cover the other expenses. Once John and his men had been paid, John returned the balance of money to Mr. Hord, who was surprised, as he had not expected any money to be left over. He quizzed John to make sure all costs had been covered, and John answered that all the expenses for the trip had been met, and this was the balance of the funds.
The train whistled. Mr. Hord turned to go and then turned back and tossed the heavy bag of coins to John. “Here, take this home for your boys,” he said. John caught the bag and headed back to Colonia Juárez.
That evening as the family gathered around after supper to hear the stories of the trip, John remembered the bag and brought it in and set it on the table. John said he didn’t know how much was in the bag, so for fun the bag was emptied onto the table—it was quite a pile—and when it was counted, it came to exactly 100 pesos in silver. Of course it was deemed a great blessing that Mr. Hord had decided to make that trip. John and his boys had earned good wages, but the 100 pesos left over was a reminder of the exact same amount of tithing paid the week before. To some, that might be an interesting coincidence, but to the Whetten family, it was clearly a lesson from the Lord that He remembers His promises to those who faithfully pay their tithing.

We were miserable performers as children. We could do all kinds of things together while playing, but for one of us to try to sing a solo before the others was like asking ice cream to stay hard on the kitchen stove. In the beginning, we would laugh and make cute remarks about one another’s performance. But our parents persisted. We sang together. We prayed together. We listened quietly while Mother read Bible and Book of Mormon stories. Father told us stories out of his memory. I still remember one of those stories. I found it recently while going through a book he had published some years ago. Listen to it:

“An older boy and his young companion were walking along a road which led through a field. They saw an old coat and a badly worn pair of men’s shoes by the roadside, and in the distance they saw the owner working in the field.

“The younger boy suggested that they hide the shoes, conceal themselves, and watch the perplexity on the owner’s face when he returned.

“The older boy … thought that would not be so good. He said the owner must be a very poor man. So, after talking the matter over, at his suggestion, they concluded to try another experiment. Instead of hiding the shoes, they would put a silver dollar in each one and … see what the owner did when he discovered the money. So they did that.

“Pretty soon the man returned from the field, put on his coat, slipped one foot into a shoe, felt something hard, took it out and found a silver dollar. Wonder and surprise [shone] upon his face. He looked at the dollar again and again, turned around and could see nobody, then proceeded to put on the other shoe; when to his great surprise he found another dollar. His feelings overcame him. … He knelt down and offered aloud a prayer of thanksgiving, in which he spoke of his wife being sick and helpless and his children without bread. … He fervently thanked the Lord for this bounty from unknown hands and evoked the blessing of heaven upon those who gave him this needed help.

“The boys remained [hidden] until he had gone.” They had been touched by his prayer and felt something warm within their hearts. As they left to walk down the road, one said to the other, “Don’t you have a good feeling?” (Bryant S. Hinckley, Not by Bread Alone [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1955], p. 95).

I also know a woman in Cape Coast, Ghana, who somehow tuned into general conference. She had never heard of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but she became glued to what she saw and heard from prophets, seers, and revelators. Afterward, she looked for the Church. She found a chapel and met the missionaries. Eventually she was baptized. Recently, she sent me pictures of herself at the temple to receive her endowment.

I was one of 12 high school students selected from Fairfield College in Hamilton, New Zealand, to participate in a program called Project K. The first part involved a three-week wilderness adventure, including canoeing, exploring caves, rock climbing, mountain biking, and sleeping and cooking our meals in all sorts of conditions. We spent most of our days in torrential rain and cold.
Sometimes spirits were low, and there were tears of frustration. We learned about teamwork and endurance. We encouraged each other through the challenges that came to us every day. One person chose to go home—it was just too much.
Halfway through the adventure, we got to write a letter home. As I wrote my letter, the tears welled up as I expressed my love and appreciation to my family. I realized just how much I missed the simple things in life like family prayers, scripture reading, family home evening, seminary, and attending church. I was saddened because I couldn’t picture my baby sister’s face in my mind.
I was thankful that I’d brought my pocket-sized Book of Mormon with me. I would sit inside my bivouac and read by flashlight. Everyone was pretty tired after each day, and they’d just go to sleep. After a day or so, more of my companions became curious about what I was reading. They became interested when I told them about the stripling warriors, Nephi and Laban, Ammon, and especially Nephi and his broken bow. Everyone could relate to the challenges of the wilderness.
By the end of our adventure, every night before sleeping, all 12 of us would huddle under my bivouac and listen as I read from the Book of Mormon. I know that the prophets of old were able to speak to us all on those cold, dark, rainy nights. I know that I gained strength to endure the difficult challenges during that time. I never felt the need to cry or to quit. I owe that to prayer and my pocket-sized Book of Mormon.

President Henry B. Eyring spoke about how one of his missionary companions found joy from reading a Book of Mormon he found at the bottom of a box.

Isabel Faye Hills was excited for a very special birthday. On the day she turned eight, she was baptized and confirmed! At home in Goffstown, New Hampshire, Isabel’s family says she is a shining example of staying on the right track with hard work and a great laugh.
Isabel helped plan her baptism service, and she made the program herself. She was baptized by her dad and confirmed by her Grandpap Conklin.

I heard the garage door open, and I knew what he would tell me. I lay quietly in bed. My father’s figure appeared in the doorway.
“Tracie, are you awake?” My heart was breaking as I felt my dad sit on the edge of my bed. “Lynn and I are going to get married,” he said. I was silent as he tried to explain.
“This does not mean that I love your mom any less. I know it will be hard, but I need you to be a good example to your sisters.” His sentences swirled around my mind, blurring into a mass of tears, weighing harder and harder on my heart.
“Good night, Tracie. I love you.”
As he left, my eyes overflowed with tears. My mind wouldn’t stop spinning. Why did my dad have to get married again? We were doing fine. Grandma didn’t mind helping us out. Mom wouldn’t want him to remarry. I didn’t want a stepsister my age. I have only one mom. I will be loyal!
I was eight years old when my mother died of cancer, and it changed me. I had always been shy, but my mother’s death caused me to turn completely inward. My friends distanced themselves from me. Home was my only safe place, and in it I grew up quickly as I became the part-time caretaker of my two little sisters. I must have blocked some things out because there’s not much I remember. I do know, however, that I became a hardened little girl.
It was during that stage that my dad told me he was inviting Lynn and her daughters to our house for a visit. They were family friends, so my little sisters were excited to play with Lynn’s two girls, Meghan and Paige. I hated the idea from the start. I suspected my dad’s intentions, and I decided I was opposed to the idea. I was determined that I would not forget my mother.
I felt betrayed that my dad would even consider remarriage. How could Mom’s memory live on with another woman in the house? I thought all my dad’s love would go to Lynn, and she would try to take Mom’s place.
I was wrong, and I am constantly amazed at how my views over the years have changed. It has been a long, hard process, but it has contributed a great deal to my character and has helped sculpt me into the person I am.
The first thing I needed to do was learn to love Lynn. I thought she was a nice lady, but that was where it stopped. She tried to tell me what to do, and even worse than that, she loved hugs and kisses. I did not want to kiss her and went to great efforts, at least at first, to avoid it.
Lynn and my mom are about as different as two people could be. They were actually best friends, and where one had strengths, the other had weaknesses. I have many memories of my mother waking up at five in the morning to read her scriptures and bake bread. She was friendly, but at the same time a bit shy. Lynn was the bold, outgoing one who loved talking and meeting people. This was something I had to deal with; she was just so different.
I think it was these differences, though, that made it possible for me to love her. I had respected Lynn from the beginning because she was my father’s new wife, and I wasn’t a rebellious child. But it was different when I started to love her. I saw that she was good to us. She drove us places and helped us with our problems. It was nice to have a woman in the house, especially during my early teenage years. She made my dad more happy and relaxed than he’d been in a long time, and it was nice not to have so much responsibility for my sisters. But there was still a wall between us. I loved and appreciated her as a person, but she wasn’t my mom.
Over time, Lynn’s role in my life changed. I matured, and Lynn became a great help to me. She loved it when I talked to her. Sometimes I would just plop down on her bed and talk to her for a long time. I really started to trust Lynn, to depend on her.
I now consider Lynn my second mother. The wall is gone. I used to think if I loved Lynn, my love for my mom would decrease; but just the opposite has happened. I love them both and appreciate their strengths and the many things they have taught me. I don’t compare them since they are both so loving and kind and have so many wonderful qualities. It took me a long time to admit I love Lynn and my stepsisters, but since I did, I have realized that love is sweet and powerful.
I love both my moms, and I am proud I am a little like both of them. I feel at peace, because I know the Lord’s plan for my family has been fulfilled. I have grown so much through these experiences and rejoice that I have learned to accept different people, to express myself to others, and most importantly that I now cherish a person I vowed I would never love.

On a recent visit with my family to the West African country of Ghana, I was enamored with a local custom. Upon arriving at a church or home, we were greeted with the words “you are welcome.” When food was served, our host would announce, “You are invited.” These simple greetings were extended with purpose and intentionality. You are welcome. You are invited.