Gospel Story Finder

I read the article in the August 2007 New Era called “Just a Little Violence.” I liked it a lot because usually I don’t take violence very seriously and ignore it in the movies I see. This article was inspiring to me because I realized violence is a bad thing and that we shouldn’t even pretend to be violent. I love the New Era and thank you for putting this article in.
Brett H., location not given

I began to evaluate my testimony in my late teens, when I enrolled at the University of Utah as a science student. I didn’t want to believe the gospel just because my mother and father said it was true. I wanted to know for myself. I needed my own light. I didn’t set out to challenge the gospel, but rather to discover its truth for myself.
I was a science student at the university, and I had heard some people say that science and religion are not compatible, that no one who is well educated can also have a testimony of the gospel. But I found out that this is not true. As a youth striving to get my own testimony and also as an aspiring scientist, I was overjoyed to find how comfortably science and religion fit together. I would like to share several insights that show how they fit.

Another early convert, An Chea Maline, a Cambodian who joined the Church in May 1995 and served as a branch Primary president before emigrating to Australia, recalls that for a long time she knew nothing about God. “But now I know this Church is true,” she says. “It is a bright sun for me.”

Nikki Estevez arrived in Adelaide, Australia from the Philippines in September 2019.
A few weeks after her arrival she was having a particularly hard day, struggling with the language and feeling very low, when she heard a voice saying, “I like your hat.”
When she turned around, she saw two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints smiling at her. Nikki noticed their badges and knew they were missionaries because her best friend growing up in the Philippines was a member of the Church.
The missionaries were serving in the Adelaide City Branch at the time and as they weren’t too far from the branch meeting place, they asked Nikki if she would like to have a look where they worship each Sunday.
As Nikki had no plans and needed a distraction to lift her spirits, she agreed.
One of the first things she noticed when they arrived was a painting of the First Vision, which depicts Joseph Smith being visited by God the Father and His Son Jesus Christ in 1820. As she looked at the artwork, the words “This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!”1 came to her mind.
Nikki said that at that moment she felt that all the things she had been through in her life prepared her to join the Church.
Nikki remembered seeing that painting at her friend’s home and asking why Jesus was in that picture. Her friend’s mother explained the First Vision to her so when Nikki saw that painting again, she remembered her friend’s mother’s explanation and in particular the words “This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!”
Nikki said that at that moment she felt goosebumps, which she later recognised as the Spirit speaking to her.
Nikki had the missionary discussions and was baptised in November 2019, three months after arriving in Australia.

I was born in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. As the eldest of eight children, I left school when I was twelve years old to help support my family. After I grew up and married, my wife, Ruda, encouraged me to go back to school, and I earned my high school diploma and a bachelor’s degree in accounting.

I remember the first time I encountered the Americans. We came through a dense pine forest, and we had to go across the street. We opened the branches and all of a sudden a huge tank was right in front, and the gun was aimed at us.
I was scared. I had never seen an American tank or an American. The top of the tank opened, and an American came out. Russian prisoners who had been freed by the Americans were sitting on top. They saw that we were shaking. The American asked me where we came from and where we wanted to go. I told him we wanted to go home. “No way,” he said. “You just jump on here, and we’ll take you along. At the next stop we’ll put you on a truck that will take you to a camp.”

The Russian soldiers seated on the tank made me think of a possible solution to our dilemma. During the war the feeling of love I had learned all my life in church was in my heart. I didn’t hate anyone. I thought about being my brother’s keeper.

The Russian soldiers imprisoned in our camp weren’t treated well. They went without much to eat and we had plenty, so we asked them to clean our mess kits, and they consented. We left food in them all the time just to feed them.

My commanding officer noticed, and he called me in. “What do you do with your mess kits?”
“The Russians clean them for us,” I replied.
“I checked and there was food in them.”
“We cannot eat it all. That’s why we leave it in there.”
“You know that’s strictly forbidden. I could report you and you would be in trouble. Don’t do it again,” he said, and patted me on the shoulder.

One of the Russians to whom we had given the food wrote me a note. He told me that whenever we lost the war or I needed help from the Russians to show them this note.

I had put it in my pocket, and at the moment that we were confronted with that tank I remembered it. I pulled it out and gave it to the Russians. They read it and then all of a sudden said, “Friend! Friend!” in German and talked to the American, telling him that I had given food to the Russians. He said, “I hear you have been good to the Russians. Instead of us taking you along, just go ahead.”

I wanted to be the best nurse I could be. I studied at a university and got a special degree in nursing. I spent many years learning important skills to care for children.
As I studied nursing, I realized that Heavenly Father created our bodies. And He gave doctors and nurses the talents to help patients get better.

A few weeks later, we asked our eldest son, Melqui, 9 years old, to conduct the family study. As he began, he asked his sister to say the opening prayer. After the prayer, he opened the Come, Follow Me manual and then asked the following question: “What are some things that you didn’t believe in and came to believe after you joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?” My husband and I were surprised with that question! My husband shared about prayer, saying that before he knew the restored gospel, he didn’t believe that God answered prayers. Then I shared that before I knew the restored gospel, I didn’t believe that there were living prophets.

Jean B. Bingham, former Relief Society General President, describes Elder Kearon as calm under pressure. She recalls a time when she, Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, Elder Kearon, and others found themselves stranded abroad during a political uprising. Under Elder Bednar’s direction, Elder Kearon spent hours on a satellite phone working with local officials and Church representatives to create a path for their removal.
“His calm nature, focused efforts, and inspired insights produced a solution that allowed for our safe departure,” says Sister Bingham.

“This has been a great day,” said new Eagle Scout Sam Southam of the Arapahoe Colorado Stake. “It was a real honor to sit at dinner with an astronaut, to spend the day with great Church and Scout leaders, and to be with friends who set a goal to become Eagles and who did it.”

Sam was referring to the day he and his fellow Eagle Scouts spent at the North American Aerospace Defense Command, where most of the man-made objects in space are tracked. They also toured the U.S. Olympic training facility, all as part of a reward their stake president promised them last June when he challenged all the Life Scouts in his stake to become Eagles by the end of the year.

Thirty-five Scouts rose to the challenge and practically flew to the Cheyenne Mountains, where they spent the day learning how others fly—pretty appropriate for a flock of Eagles.

Simón was soon joined by other revolutionaries. Some battles were lost, but more were won. With odds almost beyond belief, Simón was able to rally his forces and add to them after every defeat. They followed him over the nearly insurmountable Andes Mountains, half frozen, hungry, and exhausted. Several women, wives of the soldiers, took part in this march across the mountains and one of them gave birth to a baby on the slopes of Mt. Pisba. At last they reached the plains of Venezuela where the small band of ragged revolutionaries fought a well-equipped army more than twice its size—and won!

I wanted the picture of Moroni burying the plates. Ever since the General Authorities had encouraged us to hang inspirational pictures in our homes, I had been gathering various art works that were meaningful to me. On this June morning, I stood in the Salt Lake Distribution Center, far from my Texas home, patiently looking through a collection of large pictures.
I had plenty of pictures already. Now I needed only a picture of Moroni, a prophet for whom I had a special feeling because of the power of his testimony.
As I searched for this picture, I spotted another one that touched me deeply. It was a picture of Jesus healing a blind man. I pulled it out, but when I found the picture of Moroni, I put it back. After all, I had enough.
However, as I walked away, I felt a nagging feeling. I turned back and added the picture of Jesus and the blind man to my purchase. I would frame the Moroni print, I reasoned. This one I would just take out and look at now and again.
It was some months after I returned home that I finally got to my picture projects. I framed the Moroni picture and gazed at it with satisfaction. Then I noticed another frame that had fallen behind the bed. I pulled out the frame, thinking it would match some of the other prints I had collected. But when I placed each of them in the frame, none of them looked right.
Finally I placed in the frame the picture of Christ healing the blind man. It looked lovely. I turned the picture over and read the description on the back:
“And his disciples asked him, saying, Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?
“Jesus answered, Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him (John 9:2–3).”

How cheaply some men and women sell their good names! I recall the widely publicized case of a prominent public figure who was arrested for taking an item costing less than $5. I do not know whether he was ever convicted in the courts, but his petty misdeed convicted him before the people. In a measure, at least, his foolish act nullified much of the good he had done and was capable of yet doing.

Recently Elder Tai and I stayed in the Everest Hotel in Kathmandu, Nepal. One evening the electric power failed. Fortunately two small candles and matches were provided. But instead of about four hundred watts of electric power to light our rooms, our candles yielded only two candlepower, not enough light to allow us to continue our work.

Miss Walker stood at the front of the classroom beneath a big alphabet poster. “Good morning, class,” she said. “Welcome to kindergarten. We are going to learn so many great things this year! Let’s start by learning how to write the letters A, B, and C.”
The assignment wasn’t easy. I turned to Heather, the girl sitting next to me. “This is so hard,” I said.
Heather looked up and nodded. “It is hard,” she said. “But my teacher at church told me I can ask God for help when things are hard, and He will help me.”
“Church?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I love church. I go every Sunday with my family.”
Heather told me about some of the things she learned at church. She even taught me a song called “Jesus Loves Me.” I loved singing it.
My parents had taught me about Jesus Christ, but my family had never been to church. I wondered why we didn’t go to church like Heather.
On Sunday morning, I woke up and ran into my parents’ room. I jumped on their bed and said happily, “Good morning!”
“Good morning,” Mom and Dad said together.
I decided I should tell my parents what had been on my mind all week.
Rolling over, I looked at Mom. “Why don’t we go to church?”
Mom’s eyes widened. My question surprised her. She was quiet for a few seconds and then said, “Would you like to go to church?”
“Yes, I would!” I said.
“OK. We will go next week,” she promised.
I was so excited that I would be able to go to church like Heather. The next week went by quickly as I counted down the days until Sunday.
When Sunday arrived, I woke up early and put on my white dress with pink flowers and big, puffy sleeves. I only wore it for very special occasions.
In the car I asked, “What church are we going to?”
“The church near our house,” Dad said. “It’s called The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
After arriving at the church, we walked into the chapel. Instantly I knew that there was something special about the place. It wasn’t like anyplace I had ever been before.
I learned many new things in Primary. There was so much to remember. I began to feel overwhelmed, just as I had when I learned to write the letters A, B, and C.
My Primary teacher, Sister Anderson, realized how I felt. She gave me a big hug and said, “You have learned a lot today, but for now, all you need to remember is that Jesus loves you.”
Immediately the song that Heather had taught me came to my mind. I felt peace again, and I knew that it was true.
After church, I asked my parents if we could go again next week. They had felt the Spirit strongly too and agreed. After my family and I learned more about Jesus Christ, we were baptized. We have attended church every Sunday since then.
Of all the things I learned that year, the greatest lesson was that Jesus loves me. I am so grateful that Heavenly Father gave me a special friend, Heather, to teach me that church is a place where I can learn about God. And just as I will never forget my ABCs, I will never forget that Jesus loves me.

Bear and Chipmunk were sitting at their kitchen table. “Do you remember what day today is, Chipmunk?” Bear asked his friend.
“Tuesday?” said Chipmunk.
“Yes, it’s Tuesday,” said Bear, “but do you remember what else today is?”
Chipmunk looked at the calendar on the wall. “Why, it’s your birthday, Bear! Happy Birthday!”
“You remembered!” said Bear smiling. “Wouldn’t it be nice if someone baked me a birthday cake and gave me a birthday present?”
“That would be nice,” said Chipmunk. “Maybe someone will.”
“Maybe I’d better leave so that someone can get busy,” said Bear.
“Maybe you’d better,” said Chipmunk, trying hard not to smile until Bear was safely gone.
“I love birthdays, especially Bear’s,” Chipmunk said, opening the kitchen cupboard and taking out a cake. “I’m glad I baked this yesterday.” He mixed up a batch of honey frosting and spread it over and around the cake. “I hope Bear likes it.”
Bear was peeking through the kitchen window. “I will,” he said quietly. “I will!”
Chipmunk carried the birthday cake into the dining room and put it on the table, then went to the bedroom and took a big box out of the closet. Taking some wrapping paper out of the desk drawer, he wrapped the big box. “I hope Bear likes it,” he said.
Bear was peeking through the bedroom window. “Oh, I will,” he said quietly. “I know I will.”
Chipmunk carried the big box into the dining room and put it on the table next to the birthday cake. “There now,” he said. “Everything’s ready. I’ll call Bear.”
But Chipmunk didn’t have to call Bear. Bear was standing right there next to him! Chipmunk laughed. “Happy birthday, Bear!” he said.
“You really did remember, Chipmunk!” Bear said happily.
Bear opened the big box. His eyes shone with pleasure. “Oh, Chipmunk,” he said, “I’ve always wanted a pair of roller skates just like these!”
“Do you like them?” asked Chipmunk.
“I love them!” Bear said, putting them on and lacing them up.
“I’m glad.”
Bear stood up. “Let’s go roller-skating together right now, Chipmunk.”
“I’m sorry, Bear,” said Chipmunk, “but I can’t.”
Bear looked surprised. “Why not?”
“I don’t have any roller skates.”
“Well then,” said Bear, “why don’t you take the money Grandma Chipmunk sent you for your birthday last week and buy some.”
“I already spent it.”
“On what?”
“On something special.”
Bear looked down at the new white roller skates he was wearing. Suddenly he knew what that something special was. Bear didn’t know what else to say, so he just said, “Thank you, Chipmunk.”
“You’re welcome,” said Chipmunk, smiling again.
Just then the doorbell rang. Bear skated over and answered it. A delivery person handed Bear a big package. It was from Uncle Bear. Bear unwrapped it, and his eyes opened wide. “Look at these, Chipmunk!” he said, taking a pair of glowing purple roller blades out of the box. Bear had never seen such fabulous skates before!
Chipmunk hadn’t either. He didn’t say anything, but the pair of white roller skates he had given Bear for his birthday seemed quite plain and ordinary now.
There was a card in the big box. It said:
Dear Nephew,
I Hope you enjoy these.
Happy birthday!
Uncle Bear
P.S. If there is something else you’d rather have, please exchange these for it.
Bear looked at the glowing purple roller blades he was holding. He looked down at the white roller skates he was wearing. He looked at Chipmunk. Then Bear put the glowing purple roller blades back into the big box and skated out the front door with them. “I’ll be back soon, Chipmunk,” he called over his shoulder.
Chipmunk watched Bear disappear down the road. “He didn’t even take time to have a piece of his birthday cake before he left!” Chipmunk said sadly.
He was sitting in his favorite chair when Bear came back. Bear was still wearing the white roller skates Chipmunk had given him, but he was not carrying the big box from Uncle Bear. Instead, he had a little box. Bear skated over to Chipmunk and handed him the little box. “Open it, Chipmunk,” he said.
Chipmunk’s eyes shone with pleasure. “Oh, Bear!” he cried, taking a pair of little white roller skates out of the little box. “I’ve always wanted a pair of roller skates just like these!”
“Do you like them?” asked Bear.
“I love them!” Chipmunk said, putting them on and lacing them up.
“I’m glad.”
Chipmunk stopped lacing up the little white roller skates. “Bear,” he said, “where are the purple roller blades Uncle Bear sent you?”
“I exchanged them for those,” said Bear, pointing to the little white roller skates Chipmunk was wearing.
Chipmunk didn’t know what else to say, so he just said, “Thank you, Bear.”
“You’re welcome,” said Bear, smiling again.
Chipmunk finished lacing up his little white roller skates. He stood up. “Let’s go roller-skating together right now, Bear!”
“I’m sorry, Chipmunk,” said Bear, “but I can’t.”
Chipmunk looked surprised. “Why not?”
“I haven’t had a piece of my birthday cake yet! And honey frosting is my very favorite.”
Bear ate three big bear-size pieces of birthday cake. Chipmunk ate two big chipmunk-size pieces. Then Bear wiped his mouth with his napkin and said, “I’m ready, Chipmunk. Let’s go roller-skating together right now!”
Chipmunk wiped his mouth with his napkin and said, “Let’s!”
And the two friends did.

In order to take full advantage of a patriarchal blessing, you need to be worthy and prepared to receive it. First, meet with your bishop or branch president to get a recommend. Then make an appointment with your stake patriarch. Finally, prepare spiritually to receive your blessing. Erin remembered, “I had some definite questions in mind when I went to have my blessing. I prepared for several weeks to be spiritually in tune, and I went to the blessing fasting and praying. I received direction and inspiration for these and other questions I hadn’t thought of yet.”

There was no obvious reason for the prickle of alarm that raced up Snow Wolf’s spine when he saw the dead horse, but he decided to leave the snowy trail anyway and investigate. The Indian youth had been taught that to survive he must trust his instinct even more than his sharp eyes and keen ears.
The corpse was not that of an Indian pony. There were thick callouses caused by straining against a harness. One foreleg was broken. Mercifully, the suffering animal had been shot. It died about ten days ago, he decided after studying the signs. Deep wagon ruts led eastward. So the settlers could not have gone very far with only one horse to pull such a heavy load.
Snow Wolf looked around and strained to hear above the howling wind. Swirling snow narrowed his dark eyes to slits. Threatening clouds and a sudden drop in temperature had halted his hunt. Sensing that a blizzard was coming, he was loping back toward his village. Now, although he saw no danger, he proceeded more cautiously. Because of past incidents, there was a mutual distrust between his people and the settlers.
The youth picked up the faint scent of wood smoke. He hesitated, then turned aside to follow it. It could be a hunter from his village. But unless a brave were injured, he would not make a fire and camp so close to home in such threatening weather. The coming blizzard would rage for several days.
When he saw the crude shelter and a wagon, Snow Wolf stealthily made his way from one tree to another. It was a white man’s camp! He circled the clearing and saw that only a mud and stone fireplace and three log walls had been thrown up and roofed. It was not enough shelter for the raking blizzards common to this area where snow piled in fifteen-foot drifts. Three walls were nothing more than a windbreak. The settlers will not survive the coming storm! he thought.
A white woman huddled close to a meager fire with two small children wrapped in quilts. The oldest child’s face was red with fever. Both were wracked with constant coughing. There was no cooking pot over the fire. They had no food! Snow Wolf’s conscience felt the weight of the three fat rabbits dangling from his belt. His family had venison, buffalo meat, and fish they had dried in the fall. But will it be enough to outlast the blizzard? he wondered.
A horse plodded into the clearing, dragging a log. It was led by a tall man, who staggered with weariness and whose face was gray with fatigue. Snow Wolf knew that the man could not finish the remaining wall alone before the storm hit with its killing temperatures—not without food, at least. And building the cabin had robbed him of time to hunt.
The youth was deeply troubled about the plight of the little family. He was willing to share his food and to help build the wall, but he was hesitant about approaching them. It could be dangerous if they misunderstood his motives. A series of deep, croupy coughs from one of the children made him decide to risk the danger.
The frightened parents whirled and stared with dread and disbelief as Snow Wolf stepped out from the pine trees. He shouted his tribe’s word for friend and stood, waiting tensely, ready to leap back into the forest if anyone reached for the gun he saw leaning against a wall.
They didn’t understand the word, but their fear vanished when they saw the rabbits Snow Wolf held out toward them. An enemy would not bring food to his victims. The youth smiled as the blond woman took the rabbits and nodded her thanks. He walked to the log and lifted one end, to show his willingness to help.
Snow Wolf led the father to a ravine where floods and erosion had downed many tall trees—trees that would provide logs faster than felling them with an axe. The youth used the horse to drag them to the cabin site, while the white man trimmed them and notched the ends so they could be lifted into place. Chinking the gaps between the logs with moss instead of mud was easier and faster. When the wall was waist high, Snow Wolf motioned the woman and children inside. The wall was closed with canvas and a quilt was hung over the doorway to provide more protection while the men continued working.
The last log was in place, and the father was making a door from one side of the wagon bed, when he realized that both his horse and the Indian youth had vanished! He felt betrayed. Snow Wolf had hauled in a giant pile of firewood and given them food. He had worked hard to help build the wall. Did he help us only for an opportunity to steal our remaining horse? The man sighed in disappointment. Losing the horse was bad, but losing what he had thought was a friend was far worse.
The man nailed the door into place and straightened his aching back. He stood back and looked with pride at the snug cabin. His family could not have survived without it, and he could not have finished it without Snow Wolf’s help. The youth earned the horse, so I won’t begrudge it, he decided.
Smoke curled from the chimney and was snatched away by the wind as the full force of the blizzard struck. The father filled his arms with cut logs outside and came reeling into the warmth of their new home. The smell of rabbit stew was tantalizing. He decided that he would not mention the loss of their horse to his wife, who was already so worried about the children.
After supper, he split logs and made two sleeping platforms for beds. He tried not to hear the choked coughs and labored breathing of the little girls as he worked on benches and made a long table. But fear clutched at his chest nevertheless. The children were restless and feverish as their mother hovered over them, her face white and drawn. She was so worried that she hadn’t even thought to ask about Snow Wolf. How alone they were!
Suddenly there was a loud bump; then snow swirled into the room as the door burst open. The couple stared incredulously as Snow Wolf and an elderly Indian woman entered, bringing food and buffalo hides. How could they have found their way in such a blinding blizzard!
Sarah hesitated only a moment, then moved aside to let the Indian woman bend over the sick children. Expertly the Indian woman crumbled herbs into the water boiling on the hearth, and soon the cabin filled with steam and an aromatic scent. She warmed a pungent salve and rubbed it on the feverish children, then raised their heads to give them sips of the herbal drink to stop their coughing. Soon the children drifted off to sleep.
How quiet the cabin seemed, even with the lashing wind outside. The two women needed no words as they sat together near the hearth, occasionally nodding at each other in perfect understanding.
Snow Wolf and the father carried in more supplies, then stacked cut logs to the ceiling on both sides of the fireplace. Together they made a brush shelter for the horse.
The children slept, no longer struggling for each breath. They were almost cool when their mother walked over and tenderly touched them. Her lips quivered and her eyes were misty as she looked around the cabin, so cozy now in the firelight, and then into the faces of their new friends.

Church magazines: Sister Hinckley, you have said that “you don’t teach a child not to hit by hitting.”5
Sister Hinckley: When my daughter Jane was a young girl, she said to me one day that she had a friend who was grounded. I said, “Grounded? What does that mean?” We let our children figure things out for themselves. They knew when they were doing wrong, and they would fix it themselves. One of our daughters decided to stay home from church one Sunday. So she stayed home. She got very lonely. Everybody was in church but her, and she just sat on the lawn. She didn’t try that again. She figured it wasn’t any fun. It was lonely.

One day after having a good time cracking jokes at the expense of one of my closest friends, I began to feel guilty. It had seemed so harmless at the time. I tried to fight off my guilty feelings by telling myself, It was just a joke. She needs to lighten up. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that was all it ever was with me—a joke.
I couldn’t help but think back to how I had been acting. It had taken me a while to notice, even though others had told me, “You used to be so nice to everyone.” A few had even said, “I remember when you used to never say anything rude about anyone.” At the time I hadn’t thought much of what they were telling me. I just thought it was their problem if they didn’t like it.
But I really had changed, and it all began with a few harmless jokes. I had always loved to make people laugh, so when people began to tell me how funny I was or ask me how I could come up with such funny things, I naturally loved it. I figured if they liked how funny I was then, they would love it when I really started cracking jokes.
For a while I was right. But soon I was going overboard and taking two of my best friends with me. People began to feel insecure when they were around me. They were always very uncomfortable. I was even told by a boy who had been one of my good friends the year before that it seemed like I was thriving on making people mad. I don’t see how people like my close friends could have stuck by me. I guess I was just one lucky girl.
I decided that maybe I should kneel down and pray about what I was doing. I now had a habit that seemed impossible to break. I prayed wholeheartedly, but when an answer didn’t come immediately I began to doubt the Lord would help me. I remembered that sometimes it just takes patience, so I decided to continue praying until I received an answer.
After a week of prayer both morning and night, I was nearly ready to give up. One day after I finished praying, I propped my head up against the headboard and reached for my scriptures. I closed my eyes for a moment. I was feeling miserable, and I couldn’t help thinking about the story in the scriptures that taught if you wasted your talents you would lose them (see Matt. 25:15–30).
All of a sudden an answer came to me. If I could get in the habit of doing bad deeds, I could definitely work on doing good deeds until soon I wouldn’t have to think about doing good. It would just come naturally. I knew it wouldn’t be easy at first, but it was definitely a skill I needed.
I prayed for Heavenly Father to be with me. I began to plan service projects, volunteer for charities, and do many other positive things. It’s been a year since I started. I’m not yet to the point where I would like to be, and it’s not always easy for me to control what I say. But I’m getting there.
Old habits do die hard. But now I’m working to develop a new, better habit that I hope will be around for a long time.