A few weeks ago, I took my family to another General Conference. I wore a white shirt and tie, the same sort I wore as a missionary, and found a place among the pews. I listened to talks on hope and endurance and the ministering of angels. I sang the hymns along with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and bowed my head when the prayers were said. I vowed to be a better Mormon, and as conference ended, I looked at my little boys and said a silent prayer, asking God to help me keep the faith.
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