Gospel Story Finder

On 24 October 1986, Sage’s father, Michael Volkman, decided to take his two children camping. [Only six days earlier, Michael, his wife Denise, and their son, Avery, had been baptized into the Church. Their five-year-old daughter, Sage—a bright, green-eyed child who loved soccer and was developing a talent for drawing—had been disappointed that she couldn’t be baptized, too; but she was content to know that one day she would be old enough.]
There was ice forming on Bluewater Lake that morning when Michael and eight-year-old Avery left Sage asleep in their camping trailer and went fishing. Michael regretted that Denise couldn’t be with them but she was a kindergarten teacher and hadn’t been able to find anyone to substitute for her at school.
As the early morning sky grew lighter, Michael walked back to the trailer to check on Sage. All seemed well. Five minutes after he rejoined Avery at the lake, dogs began to bark, and Avery turned to see smoke rising above their campsite 140 meters away. Michael’s heart pounded as he ran back to camp. The trailer was engulfed in flames. Inside, Sage was still in her sleeping bag.
Throwing open the trailer door, Michael was beaten back by smoke and flame. Taking a gulp of air, he ran into the trailer, gathering up handfuls of burning sleeping bags until he found Sage’s still body.
Ignoring the burns on his face and hands, he dragged Sage out of the trailer and immediately started artificial resuscitation. Almost three minutes passed. Sage remained lifeless. He continued pushing on her chest so hard he broke one of her ribs. Finally, he heard a little sound coming from her and saw her chest heave.
Avery, who had been praying desperately, suddenly remembered the containers of flammable propane gas stored at the side of the trailer. “Dad,” he yelled, “I think we’d better move!”
Michael nodded and painfully pulled Sage farther from the trailer. Seconds later the propane containers exploded.
Then followed a confusion of events: The twenty-minute race against death with another fisherman who drove Michael and the two children over a rough, unpaved road to a forest ranger station where they radioed for help; the ambulance trip to Grants, New Mexico, from where Sage was flown to the University of New Mexico’s burn unit; then Michael’s own 110-kilometer ride with Avery to Albuquerque, New Mexico, in an ambulance he could neither see nor touch because his eyes and hands were wrapped in bandages.
When Sage was first wheeled into the burn unit, the medical staff had little hope that she would survive the night. “They gave her a ten percent chance of living,” Michael remembers. She had third- and fourth-degree burns on her face, arms, chest, and legs. Her nose and one ear had been melted off. Her fingers were so charred that they would have to be amputated. She lost thirty-five percent of her eyelids. One lung had collapsed, and another was barely functioning; a liter of soot would be extracted from them.
She was also in a coma.

Kevin sat on the kitchen floor trying to tie his shoelaces.
“Over and under and pull both ends,” he said to himself. Then, he carefully made a “bunny-ear” loop with one lace and wrapped the other lace around it. He tried to find the place to poke the other bunny ear through but it had disappeared.
Kevin felt as though he had too many fingers. “I can’t do it,” he said to Mother who was washing the breakfast dishes. “I’ll never be able to tie my shoelaces.” He yanked off his shoes and threw them angrily on the floor.
“I’m sure you can tie them,” Mother said smiling. “Just try and try again.”
“No, it’s too hard. I’m tired of trying.”
Kevin went to his closet and pulled on his cowboy boots. He put on his T-shirt with a picture of a smiley face on it to make him feel better. Then he went outside and sat on the front porch steps. He was still too upset to play.
Then Kevin thought of something. If he could learn to ride his tricycle, maybe he could learn to tie his shoelaces too.
He thought of the little gray spider trying over and over again to start its web. It didn’t give up, and now it was busy spinning itself a home.
He thought of the tiny ant struggling to carry a heavy bread crumb home to its family. And the ant finally made it! The ants were probably having a dinner of bread crumbs right now.
Kevin went back into the kitchen, sat down, and put on his shoes.
For a long time he fumbled with the laces on his left shoe. But he didn’t give up. At last, two loops stood out like perfect bunny ears on each side of the shoe.
“I did it! I did it!” Kevin shouted to Mother. She turned off the mixer that she was using to whip up a pudding for lunch.
“You did! You tied your shoe!” Mother said excitedly. “I knew that all you had to do was keep trying.”
“I just tied and tied again,” Kevin said with a big smile. And he and Mother both laughed as Kevin began tying his other shoe.

The institute also spreads its influence through a graduate scholarship program. Hector Solorio was one of Mexico’s top agronomy graduates in 1983. After receiving his bachelor’s degree, he gave up a graduate school scholarship to serve a mission. Since completing his mission, he is attending graduate school at BYU under a Benson Institute and Agricultural Economics scholarship. “These young people will return to their countries to become leaders in government and leaders in agriculture,” predicts Brother Brimhall. “We would like to sponsor hundreds more such students.”

Example #3:
As a young Elders Quorum President in a city just outside of Seattle, I found myself spending most weekends moving people- I’m sure some of you can relate. One Thursday night I received a call from a sister in a town about an hour away. She said she was moving into our ward and needed help. I asked her for her new address and told her to call me when she arrived, and we would help unload. Her voice then cracked a little and said that she had nobody to help move her from her current apartment. She said she had called the Elders Quorum President of her current ward and he said they were too busy and she should have called sooner.
For a second, I was furious that another Elders Quorum President would say this to someone in his ward. I asked where she lived exactly and realized it was in an area with thousands of apartments. I will never forget the feeling that came over me that helped me have a different perspective. In my mind I could see an Elders Quorum President with a young family like mine, moving people every weekend and many weeknights who was completely at his wits end. I then told this sister that I would be at her apartment at 5:00 PM the next day with some young men and we would move her to our city and into her new apartment. I left work early the next day to get home, pick up the young men and get to the apartment where this lady lived. Upon my arrival, there was no U-Haul truck, and no desperate lady waiting to move. We sat there for an hour, this is back when everyone did not have cell phones. The young men with me said we should go home, but I told them we could not, that this sister really needed our help. I then told them to jump in the car and we would go find her. They laughed at me and asked, “How are we going to find her? You don’t know what she looks like and there are hundreds of people on the streets.”
I thought to myself, they are right, this is crazy, but I could not forget the prompting I had the night before. So off we went and drove to the nearest U-Haul store about 10 minutes away. When we got there, they were closed. We then started back to the apartment where we were to move this sister. As we were driving we passed a woman in an overcoat, walking slowly with her head down. I pulled over and said, “Hi, I’m Eric Conrad from the North Bend Elders Quorum, are you the sister who needs help moving?” She was! And she was so excited. I asked her to hop in and we would take her home. I learned on the drive home that on her way to the U-haul store, her car broke down and so she had walked all the way there only to find them closed. The Priests and I then had to get creative, but we did get this single sister moved into her new apartment by 1:30 AM. In a situation where I had first perceived a flaky lady who hadn’t planned out her life well- ended up teaching myself and the young men in my ward that the Lord looks out for all of His children and we are His hands.

I can remember many occasions when my perception has crumbled and additional knowledge has wiped away judgment. During my college years I looked at a fellow student, whom I will call Roy, in amazement. Why was he so conceited? His need to be recognized and praised was never ending. Every conversation he had with anyone always centered on his recent achievements and the projects he was now involved in that would ensure his fame. He was underappreciated and let everyone know it. His name became a joke. We came to the conclusion that he was an obnoxious egomaniac who sounded his own praise from morning until night.
One day I learned that one of my friends knew his family. She began to tell me some things. “Roy’s father was an alcoholic. Did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Oh, yes. He made their life just miserable. He was a crazy man. Once, when Roy was about five, he walked in the kitchen and saw his father attempting to kill his mother. It was a terrible scene and Roy was there to watch it all.”
The impact of this information on my conscience was instant. All my perceptions, all my judgment shattered, and I saw past the facade into the reality. I saw past the obnoxious adult to the traumatized little boy that I wanted to take in my arms and comfort. I never looked at Roy the same again. I knew his secret, one of his secrets, and I understood.

When Ana finished her mission, she returned to her home in Ecuador’s capital city, Quito.
But she still wanted to serve. “Heavenly Father,” she prayed, “I want to keep serving, and I need to find a job. Please help me know how I can work and still help people.”
One day Ana’s prayer was answered. A man named Brother Mesa came to her house. He worked for the Church Educational System.
“Ana,” he said, “the Church needs volunteers to teach people how to read. Are you willing to help?”
“Yes!” Ana said. “Where do you need me to serve?”
He smiled. “Back in Otavalo!”
Ana smiled as she imagined being back in the villages she loved. She was grateful for the gifts Heavenly Father had given her to share—the gift of reading and the gift of the gospel. Both were miracles.

On September 4, 1971, Marianne Olsen was born full term, without any complications. She was perfect. She had dark eyes and brown hair. My mom thought she looked a lot like me. In the first few days there were concerns, however: she was pale and seemed to have a hard time breathing, which made it hard for her to eat. Though reassured by the doctors that she would be fine, my mother continued to worry. Thirteen days after she was born, in deep concern for my sister's condition, my father rushed my mom and Marianne to the University of Utah Hospital in Salt Lake City. Within two hours of arriving, Marianne was dead. She was diagnosed with a critical congenital heart defect, a rare condition, which affects four babies in ten thousand, that can easily be repaired today, but at that time medical teams did not know what to do to save her. No words can describe the anguish my mother and father felt. Though I was young, I remember the weight of sadness that burdened my parents—especially my mom. After Marianne passed, the nurses wrapped her body in a white blanket and put her in my mother's arms to transport back to Brigham City. I have often thought of what my mother must have felt, holding her deceased little one on the hour-long drive back home. I doubt many words were said but rather a sacred silence of both pain and the Spirit of God that accompanied my parents home.
Through the history of the gospel and everyday life, pain and suffering could be a daily occurrence for all of us. There are those now, within the listening ear of my voice, that have deep burdens that are both sacred and silent—silent, perhaps, to those who are near, but not silent to Heavenly Father. Still, in those "alone" moments, we might ask, "O God, where art thou? And where is the pavilion that covereth thy hiding place?"[1] And yet, even in the moment of loss, even in the moment of loneliness and despair, my mother was not alone. Nor are we. In these dark times, it is important to remember our baptismal covenants and the promise in the sacramental prayer "that they may always have his Spirit to be with them."[2]

After nursing school, I came to work in the intensive care unit at a children’s hospital. I had a desire to learn and gain experience, to prove myself. I did not imagine, however, that it would be so difficult—both physically and emotionally. I could not understand why the world is so evil that even parents can cause irreparable harm to their own children. Nor did I understand why God allows children to die. After one year of work in the hospital, my soul was exhausted.
Then I learned that members of my family were having discussions with Latter-day Saint missionaries. I worked long shifts and could not be at home when those discussions took place. Soon my sister and mom were baptized. And I felt like I was left alone with questions and unresolved problems. Despite my family trying to arrange a meeting for me with the missionaries, I did not want to see them. But once when Sisters Johnson and Marchuk visited, I joined their conversation. The next time, they taught me a spiritual lesson, and I was able to find answers to questions I had struggled with for a long time. Soon I was baptized and confirmed.
Since I became a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I have felt sustained by my faith in Jesus Christ. I have experienced again and again the power of prayer and feel that I have come from darkness to light. Six years in the Church have given me a conviction that Jesus Christ is my Savior. And because of Jesus Christ, I now have an opportunity to become closer to my Heavenly Father.

“Meet Anastasia, one of my newest Primary friends. During a recent Primary devotional in Dallas, Texas, Primary children learned gospel principles, sang songs, testified of the Savior and His gospel, and shared their talents.
“During the meeting, I led an activity to help them learn about how the Holy Ghost can speak to us. I hummed a children’s song and the children guessed what song I was humming. I then asked the children what they did that helped them recognize the song.
“One child, Anastasia, enthusiastically waved her hand to share her simple but profound observation.
“In a confident voice, she described how she focused her eyes and ears on me as I hummed the Primary song, and then she could recognize the song and hear the words in her mind.
“When we are struggling to hear the voice of the Lord, who we listen to matters. Focus your eyes and ears on the words and love of our Savior.
“My friends, I testify that what Anastasia taught was true. When we look to our Savior—when we listen closely for His voice—we will be able to receive divine guidance pressed upon our minds and our hearts. We will be able to recognize truth and grow our trust in Jesus Christ. The direction we are pointed matters. So let us ‘look to God and live’ (Alma 37:47). Live lives filled with faith and revelation. Lives filled with peace, joy, and hope. Lives filled with the Spirit of God.
“How do you hear the voice of the Lord?”
Sister Tracy Y. Browning, Facebook, June 8, 2023, facebook.com/Primary2ndCounselor.

Cami felt her mother’s arm around her shoulders. As she wiped away more tears, she couldn’t help but notice how beautiful the cemetery was. The warmth of the sun felt good on her swollen eyes and calmed her as people came across the grass to hug her and her family once more.
“Give yourself time, Cami,” Sister Bowen, her Primary teacher, said. “These things take time.”
Cami nodded without really listening. She was thinking about how strangely peaceful it was here. It was like those pictures of Easter morning she had seen in Primary—the beautiful flowers, the smell of the lilac bushes, the breeze in her hair. It was very different from the hospital room where she had watched her father take his last breath. There, it had been like another planet with a room crowded with people who loved him and didn’t want to let him go, everyone softly crying and hanging on to whomever stood nearby.
“It isn’t supposed to happen this way,” she thought. “Dad was much too young to die. Dads aren’t supposed to die when you’re only ten years old.” But he had died.
She saw movement from the corner of her eye and looked just in time to see a white bunny and then a speckled one hop and stop, hop and stop from behind a gravestone, their noses twitching in the air. Then they scurried safely under some bushes.
“Are you ready to go, Cami?” Mom’s voice was tired. “We’ll visit here anytime you want to, sweetheart.”
Cami nodded. But as she rode in the car with her brothers and sister, she wanted right then to turn around and go back to the cemetery. Home reminded her of Dad when he was alive. Home made the sadness seem too huge to hold. She thought of Sister Bowen’s words, “These things take time.”
“How much time? How can I survive till then, whenever then is?” She forced herself to think good thoughts. Thinking about Jesus, about His Resurrection, and about the promise of her dad’s resurrection helped.
At home, she just sat all afternoon, not sure of what to do or how to feel or of how long before the next tears would fall. “Will I ever stop crying? What will it be like to have birthdays and Christmas and go on vacation without Dad? To have dinner, to go to church, to have family prayer without Dad?”
As evening came, the sadness seemed even bigger. She didn’t feel like praying, but she went ahead anyway, in her heart.
“Please, Heavenly Father, help me. I feel so sad and lonely. I know that I’ll see Dad again. I know that Jesus was resurrected after He died, and I know that someday Dad will be resurrected, too. But that’s someday. What about now? How do I get through today? Please help me know what to do to stop hurting so much.”
As Cami ended her prayer, she heard Mom calling everyone together for family prayer. Without even thinking, she went to Dad’s bedroom closet, pulled down his Sunday jacket, and put it on. It was gigantic on her ten-year-old body, but it was Dad’s. It felt like him, it looked like him, it even smelled like him. She pulled the collar up around her face and took in a deep breath. She felt safe. Now she could feel like he was near during family prayer.
When she went into the living room, the rest of the family was already kneeling. They looked up and stared at her. She didn’t care. She just went to the couch, knelt, and bowed her head.
No one started to pray, so she peeked to see what was happening. Her family was gone—but just for a minute. One by one, they came back. Her big brother had on Dad’s slippers. Mom had on his robe. Little Jimmy clomped in wearing Dad’s big shoes, and her older sister had on Dad’s favorite sweater.
Everyone knelt as Mom began to pray. She thanked Heavenly Father for the beautiful funeral services and for all the love that friends and neighbors had shown them. She thanked him for the good memories with Dad. And she thanked Heavenly Father that they could feel Dad close by.
It wouldn’t be easy with Dad living in heaven instead of at home with them, but for now—for tonight—with something he had worn close to each of them, waiting to see Dad again would be a little bit easier. For Cami, it was like being wrapped in his arms—just for now.

When Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and his wife, Kathy, visited during our stake conference, Sister Andersen shared a story with us. She said that when they were living in France, she made photocopies of the conference talks for each of their children—even the very young ones. She was shocked when she found out the price of the photocopies, which was very high. Then the thought came into her mind: “What is it worth to you for your family to have the words of the prophets?”

This story really touched me, and I made sure everyone in our family had his or her own copy of the conference talks. Our daughters were very excited. We used them for family home evening and during scripture study. I loved seeing one daughter reading talks on her own and marking them with her highlighter. Another daughter, recently baptized, begged me to read talks with her one-on-one.

As part of my lesson in Relief Society, I challenged each sister to review the talks from the previous conference; some sisters reread the talks, and others watched them online. Several sisters expressed how they felt much more prepared for the upcoming conference.

S: The term “peer leader” reminds me of a class a grandson was just chosen to be in called Peer Leadership. That title piqued my interest. Peer Leaders in his school are expected to teach and exemplify good behaviors among their peers. They also make visits to 5th graders who will be entering middle school to teach them about the dangers of substance abuse and appropriate abstinence. The administration has found that these seniors have a magnetic appeal and special influence upon their peers as well as the younger students.
This grandson is also choosing to be a peer leader on his own with some of his buddies. He recently organized a weekly Book of Mormon reading class with some of his peers. He purposely reached out to several young men who did not have a good group of friends. By pulling them into this positive activity with other good youth he has literally changed their lives both socially and spiritually. The mothers of these boys have come to our daughter in appreciation that her son is doing something for their sons that they could not do for them.

It has been one year since I was baptized. During much of that year I have been in the hospital. Today I received the latest issue of the New Era, and in spite of extreme pain, turned through it. I want others to know how much of a blessing this magazine can be to those who are ill. It has been wonderful for me, as have the members of the ward who help to look after my needs.
Cheryl Ann TrumbullWilmington, Delaware

Recently, Sharon Eubank, the director of Humanitarian Services and LDS Charities, told of an experience shared by Elder Glenn L. Pace. There was widespread drought and extreme famine in Ethiopia in the mid-1980s. To provide relief, feeding stations with water and food were created for those who could get to them. An old man who was starving was walking a long distance to get to a feeding station. He was passing a village when he heard the cry of a baby. He searched until he found the baby sitting on the ground next to his dead mother. Picking up the baby, the man continued to walk 25 miles (40 km) to the feeding station. When he arrived, his first words were not “I’m hungry” or “Help me.” They were “What can be done for this baby?”11

Eric Ault, Ryan Warner, and Jeff Olsen, of Highland, Utah, have been laying down a lot lately—a lot of sod, that is.
When Eric and Ryan’s grandfather, Howard Ault, who is also Jeff’s uncle, decided he wanted to donate more than seven acres of sod from his sod farm to be used at the new Mount Timpanogos Temple, he decided to get his family involved. Eric, Ryan, and Jeff decided that helping to lay the sod was a perfect opportunity to participate in a family project and complete their Eagle Scout projects at the same time.
“Doing this project meant a lot of commitment. I spent lots of time calling people and getting things organized,” says 13-year-old Eric.
After laying more than 10,000 squares of sod for only one section of the temple grounds, all the boys agree that they have developed a special feeling for the temple.
“I think that everybody who came and helped—we had volunteers from all over the place come lay sod with us—will feel like a little piece of the temple is theirs,” says 17-year-old Jeff.

Before my mission, I had things I, too, needed to clear up with the bishop. I was afraid to talk to him at church because I thought it would look obvious. So I called him at work and said I would be playing basketball at Mutual. I asked him if he could casually ask to speak with me for a minute or two. I remember the feelings I had experienced. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I walked out of my bishop’s office feeling much better.
Name withheld

For many weeks I felt clean and happy. I loved talking about my baptism and how my heart seemed to be growing. My family and Primary teacher reminded me often that the Holy Ghost would help me know what was right and wrong.
A few days ago I had to take a test in school, and I was really nervous. I kept thinking how easy it would be to copy from the girl sitting next to me. I knew that cheating was wrong, but I was desperate to get a good score. Then I remembered that the Holy Ghost would help me. I said a prayer in my heart asking for strength to make the right choice.
The rest of the day, I felt as happy as I had at my baptism. After school, I ran to our car and gave Mom a hug. “I got 100 percent on my test!” I exclaimed.
“That’s great!” Mom said.
“And I didn’t even cheat.”
Mom frowned. “You wanted to cheat?”
“Well, I thought about it,” I admitted. “But I had a feeling inside that it was wrong. So I prayed for help and just tried my best.”
Mom smiled. “I’m glad you listened to that feeling.”
I’m glad too. Really glad. I always want to be worthy of my companion—the Holy Ghost.

Another favorite image comes from a story told by Elder John R. Lasater of the Seventy.
Many years ago, Elder Lasater visited a country in Africa as part of an official government delegation. One day, when they were traveling in the desert in a caravan of black limousines, an accident happened. The car he was in crested the hill, and he noticed that the vehicle in front of his had pulled off the road. He said, “The scene before us has remained with me for these many years.”
An old shepherd, dressed in long, flowing robes of the Savior’s day, was standing near the limousine talking to the driver. Nearby stood a small flock of about 15 sheep.
The car had hit and injured one of the sheep, Elder Lasater’s driver explained. And because it was the king’s vehicle, the shepherd was now entitled to 100 times the value of the little lamb when fully grown. But under that same law, the lamb would be killed and the meat divided among the people.
Then the driver said to watch: “The old shepherd will not accept the money. They never do.” When asked why, he added, “Because of the love he has for each of his sheep.”
They watched as the old shepherd reached down, lifting the injured lamb in his arms and placing him in the folds of his robes. He kept stroking the lamb, repeating the same word over and over, and when Elder Lasater asked the meaning of the word, he was told, “Oh, he is calling it by name. All of his sheep have a name, for he is their shepherd, and the good shepherds know each one of their sheep by name.”

Jenny isn’t the only Flinn up early. By 6:15, her seventeen-year-old brother, Peter, is already off, pumping his bicycle down the lane to do his paper round, which covers most of the homes in Broadway. Peter isn’t particularly keen about getting up at dawn, at least not until he gets going. But by the time he’s halfway into town, he knows the joy of the morning too—the feeling that the day is his to conquer, his own marvelous opportunity to see things through.
Peter’s mind is on work this day, too. As he folds each Daily Telegraph and slips it into a door slot, he’s thinking of all the jobs he’s done, from egg selling to fruit picking, to putting money away for his mission. He’s thinking how that mission is getting closer all the time. Peter might not say it out loud, either, but he’s glad he’s learned to work. It’s a skill that will help him as a missionary. And it feels good to start the day by getting something done.
Jenny and Peter are the oldest of Bruce and Margaret Flinn’s children. The others are Lindsey, 14; Neal, 12; Elizabeth (“Lizzy”), 9; and Rachel, 5. To visit the Flinns on their six-acre smallholding (family farm) is to see not two, but eight, people who know a lot about working. To visit them is also to see much of what can make a family succeed.
“We moved here as much for the children’s sake as because of our own feelings,” explains Brother Flinn, who works full-time as a seminary teacher supervisor in addition to maintaining the smallholding. “Because of my work, I travel a lot. It would probably be easier to live in town.”
“But if we moved,” Sister Flinn says, “our quality of life would drop. We couldn’t keep all the livestock. We wouldn’t learn all the skills about being self-reliant. We might not know as much about how to love work.”
How to love work?
“We believe in the principle of work,” Brother Flinn explains. “We believe it’s a spiritual principle. It’s not just obtaining the end result; it’s the actual doing of the work. It’s good for you.”
And do the children agree?
“When we complain about having to do things,” Lindsey says, “Mum will say, ‘Fine. Shall we move to the town?’ None of us has ever said yes.”
“There are pros and cons to everything,” Peter says. “But I’d say I’m fine here.”
Now all this talk about willingness to work may have you thinking that the Flinns are perfect. The truth is, they’re a typical family with teasing and quarrels and sometimes tears, just like any family. But they’ve learned to work at being a family, too.
“What do we gain from being together?” Jenny asks. “Patience, mainly.”
Does she ever think about being with her family forever?
“When they’re not annoying me,” she teases.
Her ability to laugh is typical of the entire family. They enjoy jousting verbally, but also know they have to do it with love, so that feelings aren’t hurt.
“Everybody’s got their own personality,” Lindsey says. “We’ve learned to adjust for that. Besides, if you say anything negative, Dad makes you say two things positive.”
Other challenges? “One of the biggest ones is juggling time,” Jenny says. “I have to do the animals twice a day, so that’s an hour each morning and evening, and in between I’ve got school. And there’s homework, two hours every night, and seminary is home study, so I have to find time for that, too.”
Church activity can be a struggle because of isolation. “We’re fifty miles from the stake center,” Peter explains. “There’s lots of traveling involved, and not everyone has a car. There’s only two of us in my quorum, and the other one lives forty miles away. We make an effort to see if he wants to come out, but there are various problems, like parents who don’t want to bring him in because it’s out of the way. Distance is the major drawback.”
And in school, being a Latter-day Saint doesn’t keep temptation from being all around. Twelve-year-old Neal says a survey showed there were only two people in his entire class who hadn’t used alcohol.
What’s the counterbalance?
“We have good lessons at church,” Jenny says. “We have good lessons at seminary. And good home evenings at home. We live for Fridays (Mutual night) and Sundays to be with Church kids and strengthen each other.” And of course, there are scriptures and prayer and family support.
“If I have a really major problem, I know I can turn to my family,” Lindsey says. “I suppose I’d call them my best friends. If I didn’t have them to turn to, where would I go?”
That’s an attitude Jenny exemplified when, even though she was taking final exams and needed to study, she walked down to the school to pick up Rachel. “Mum and Dad were late getting home,” Jenny said matter-of-factly. “I knew Rachel would panic if no one showed up.”
That’s part of being a family, part of what the Flinns learn every day.
Step into the Flinns’ family room, and you’ll notice one wall is adorned with corn dollies, the kind actually made from wheat. “You have to braid the stalk while it’s flexible,” Sister Flinn explains. “When it gets old, it’s brittle and won’t bend.
“That’s what we’re doing as a family,” she says. “We live the gospel. We learn about family love. And the children braid them both into their lives.”

I’m a deacon. My parents have taught me that I should be an example for my friends because I hold the priesthood and because I represent Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. It really helps me to choose the right and look for chances to serve others. I know that if I do good things, my friends will see what I do and maybe want to do good things too.
After Sunday School a while ago, I was in the hall when I saw a teacher who needed help with some chairs. She was going to set them up outside the building for an activity. She didn’t ask me to help her, but I saw that she needed help. There were a lot of chairs, and she was all alone. So I took most of the chairs outside and set them up for her.
Afterward, the teacher said, “Thank you for helping.” It wasn’t a big deal for me since it didn’t take very long, but she was really grateful, which made me feel good. Later, the teacher told my mom about what I had done. My mom said I did a good thing and that I should keep looking for opportunities to serve others, because it’s something that Christ would do.
I was happy and grateful that I had served. It made me feel good, and it made me want to serve more often.
Emiliano H., Texas, USA