Gospel Story Finder

Some years ago I was assigned by President David O. McKay to talk to a group of ministers. Two churches were holding a convention in Salt Lake, and present were their leaders from California, Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Utah, and Nevada. I talked to them for two and one-half hours at their request to tell them what Mormonism really is. I told them before I closed my talk, “When I was the Presiding Bishop of the Church, we were responsible for the building program of the Church. We had the plans prepared for the Los Angeles Temple. We took those plans and showed them to the presidency of the Church one day. We didn’t have the electrical or the plumbing plans complete, and yet we had 84 pages, about four feet long and two and one-half feet wide, with literally thousands and thousands of figures and drawings and designs. There was that temple built spiritually, yet there wasn’t a hole in the ground. All the builder needed to do was to know how to read and execute those plans, and he couldn’t leave out 25 pages and have a completed building.
“You can take those plans and go all over this world and try to fit them to every building in the world. There is only one building they will fit, and that is the Mormon temple down in Los Angeles. Oh, of course, you can find buildings that have materials in them like in that temple, such as electric wiring, plumbing, cement, and lumber, but you can’t find any other building that they will fit.”
Then I held up the Bible. I said, “Here is the Lord’s blueprint. Isaiah said the Lord has declared the end from the beginning. (See Isa. 46:10.) It is all here if you know how to understand it.”
I said, “You can take this, the Lord’s blueprint, and try to fit it to every church in the world. There is only one church that it will fit, and that is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Of course, you can find churches that have some things in them which are in this, the Lord’s blueprint, but you can’t find any other church in the world that this will fit.”
Then I proceeded to illustrate. I took a lot of texts. I will take just one to illustrate. I quoted from John 10:16, where the Savior said, “And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd.”
I said to these ministers, “Do any of you know why that is in the Bible? Do any of you know any church in the world that does know why it is in the Bible?” Then I tied it in to what I had told them about the promise of Joseph of a new land in the utmost bound of the everlasting hills. (See Gen. 49:26.)
“In describing that land, Moses uses the word precious five times (see Deut. 33:13–17),” I said. “Do any of you know where that land is?” Then I told them what I had already told them, that it was the land of America. I talked about the two records that were to be kept. (See Ezek. 37:15–20.) “Do any of you know anything about the record of Joseph? Do any of you know why it is mentioned in the Bible?” Then I told them that when the Savior visited the Nephites here in this land of America, He told them that they were the other sheep of whom He spoke. He said that never at any time had the Lord commanded Him to tell His disciples who the other sheep were—only that He had other sheep that were not of that fold. (See 3 Ne. 15:11–24.)
We have the whole truth if we would just realize it, and that is why the prophets call it “a marvellous work and a wonder.” I do not think you will do anything in this world that will bring you greater joy than bringing people to a knowledge of the truth. We experience that constantly in our missionary work.
A woman was converted up in Idaho. She comes down to see me often. She calls me after nearly every conference. She is a nurse. She gave me a check for $500 for the children’s hospital because, at the death of her husband, one of our Saints stepped in to tell her what she might expect in the future if she just knew the truth. I got a letter from her recently. She said she had found more love in this church than she had ever known in her life—even from her own mother.
I received a letter from a woman down in Alabama. She had lost her husband. She is a dignified, wonderful woman. The missionaries brought her the truth. Now she writes that she has never known such joy in all her life as she has known since the elders brought the gospel to her, and she is doing a wonderful work in the Church. We get reports like that constantly.
You remember the little story President Grant used to tell about the Scandinavian brother who was converted and came over to America. He hadn’t been taught too much about the Church. So the bishop went to him to teach him the law of tithing. He finally agreed to pay his tithing. Then the bishop wanted some fast offering. He agreed to the fast offering. Then they wanted to build a chapel. The man thought that ought to come out of the tithing, but before the bishop got through with him, he had paid his donation for the chapel. Then the bishop went to him to ask his son to go on a mission. He said, “That’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back.” Then this bishop said, “Brother So-and-so, whom do you love in this world more than anyone else, aside from your own family?” He thought a minute and said, “I guess I love that Mormon elder who came up to the Land of the Midnight Sun and taught me the gospel of Jesus Christ.” Then the bishop said, “Brother So-and-so, how would you like somebody to love your boy just like you love that missionary?” He said, “Bishop, you win again. Take him.”
You just cannot get away from it.
President Anthon H. Lund told us missionaries years ago when I went on my first mission that the people would love us. He said, “Don’t get lifted up in the pride of your heart and think they love you because you are better than other people. They will love you because of what you bring to them.” I didn’t know what he meant then, but before I left the little land of Holland, I knew. I shed a thousand times more tears when I left there than I did when I left my loved ones at home to go to Holland.
I went with my companion into one home where I had been the first missionary. One little short woman, with tears rolling clear down the front of her apron, looked up into my eyes and said, “Brother Richards, it was hard to see my daughter leave for Zion a few weeks ago, but it is a lot harder to see you go.” Then I knew what Brother Lund meant when he said, “They will love you because of what you bring to them.”
I went to tell a man good-bye who stood in the uniform of his country. He was tall and wore a little Dutch beard. He got down on his knees and took my hand in his and hugged it and kissed it. Then I think I understood what Brother Lund meant when he said they will love you.
If we go back far enough, each one of us is indebted to some missionary for our being in this Church. Why shouldn’t we assume the responsibility to pass it on?
I want to tell you, when you bear your testimony of the divinity of this work, it is going to do something.
Do you remember when Peter stood before the people, following the day of Pentecost, and they heard the gospel preached in their own tongue? They were pricked in their hearts, not just because of philosophy, but because of the witness that Peter bore that Jesus was the Christ, the Son of the living God.
I tell the missionaries when they go out into the field that they will never raise their voices to testify that Jesus is the Redeemer of the world, and that Joseph Smith was His Prophet, and that the Book of Mormon is true, without the Lord causing their bosoms to burn within them; and if they will bear their testimonies, with the Spirit of the Lord accompanying it, so that their words are not as sounding brass and tinkling cymbal, the words will pierce the hearts of the honest, and they can all be instruments to bring people into the Church.
I was in New York some time ago. I told the Saints I met with there that the president asked them all to be missionaries. I said, “Now, won’t you all stop and think for a minute of someone you know who isn’t a member of the Church—someone you work with, your neighbor, your friend, or a relative—someone you can bring to a knowledge of the truth? They will love you for it throughout the eternities. It would be worth more to them than if you would give them a million dollars.”
Not long after that I received a letter from a young man in Houston, Texas. He had been in New York attending a convention in his particular field and had attended our meeting. The letter went like this. He said, “Brother Richards, I heard you invite each one of us to be an instrument in the hands of the Lord in bringing someone to the knowledge of the truth. I wrote a letter to my wife and told her that I had a proposition to make to her when I came home.” When he got home he told her what I had said. He said, “There is a young man who works in the office with me. He knows I’m a Mormon, but I have never told him why. I would like to invite him over, with his wife, for supper some night. After supper we will have something to talk about.”
To make this story short, he wrote me a two-page letter telling me the joy he had had in leading this man and his wife into the waters of baptism. I have since met them down in Houston. I believe he is now the stake president of the Sunday School.
I heard a young missionary up in the Northwest say that he wouldn’t take a million dollars for the experience of his mission. I sat behind him and said to myself, “Would you take a million dollars for your first mission in the little land of Holland?” I began counting the people I had been privileged to bring into the Church, and I have lived to see their boys and girls and their grandchildren and now their great-grandchildren going on their missions. What kind of a man would I be to sell them out of the Church for a million dollars? The son of one man alone has done enough for this Church to more than compensate me for everything that I did.
Brother Matthew Cowley was one of the great missionaries of the Church. Talking in one of the BYU devotionals, on March 12, 1946, he made this statement. I would like to give it to you because it so clearly voices my feeling toward the great missionary program of the Church. He said:
“As you have heard, I have been on two missions to New Zealand. I have attended two universities, and I will say now at the outset, if I had my life to live over again and I had to choose between the missions to New Zealand and my education in two universities, I would select my missions to New Zealand from every standpoint: from the standpoint of education, from the standpoint of spiritual development, of character development, and every other angle of development that we might consider. I would not exchange one for the other for anything. And so, I am pleased to stand before you now, not as a lawyer, not as a college graduate, but as a missionary.” (Matthew Cowley, Man of Faith, p. 203.)
That is my feeling. I think the missionary program of the Church is the greatest thing in all this world, and it is a program that we can all be engaged in, no matter where our lot is cast—not only in the words that we speak, but in the nobility of our lives, to let our light so shine, that the world, seeing our good works, can glorify our Father which is in heaven. (See Matt. 5:16.)

I love the Instant Messages. They’re incredibly relevant to my life. When I read the Instant Message “Dating Dilemma” in the October New Era, I felt I knew exactly what the author was talking about. I have been casually dating a really great guy from school for over a year, and lately I have felt that our relationship was getting a little too serious. I prayed about it and felt that we should just be friends. I finally told him this morning and was a little down the whole day because of it. Then I came home and saw this Instant Message reminding me that I am happiest when I follow the Lord’s will. Thank you, Tiffany Day, for writing about your experience.Leila Watts, Andover Ward, Anoka Minnesota Stake

“Me?” I asked, looking at the Young Women president in utter shock.
“Yes,” she said. “You’d only have to play one hymn each week for opening exercises. You can tell us ahead of time which one you choose, and practice during the week. Besides, it’s only for Young Women. You’re all friends anyway.”
“Well, I guess so. But I’m not making any promises,” was my response.
For as long as I could remember, my mother had been teaching me how to play the piano. But I was only to the point where I could study a piece of music one measure at a time and eventually memorize it.
For that first Sunday, I chose a piece in the key of C that looked fairly simple. I began practicing it, and it turned out to be quite a chore. But by the end of the week I had memorized the hymn and felt ready for Sunday. Unfortunately, with 20 girls singing and a director setting the pace, I was lost within the first three measures. I tried with all my might to catch up, but the song dragged on—a capella.
When the song ended, I buried my head into my folded arms through the opening prayer. At its conclusion I took a seat by my best friend who greeted me with a sympathetic pat on the back. I also received an affirmative thumbs up and a smile of encouragement from our Young Women president.
After class, she came over to talk to me. I figured she had realized her mistake and was going to let me sing each week rather than play. “So, what song will it be next week?” she asked. Silent groan.
The next week I spent every free second playing “Come Follow Me.” I was not going to make a fool of myself again. All this practicing did was slowly cause me to dislike the piano and dread the quickly approaching Sunday. However, I managed to master the hymn, and even practiced with my mom leading and my little sister singing. I was prepared.
Sunday came, and by the time we got to the part of the song “… the Savior said,” I was lost. Tears were forming in my eyes. I tried with all my might to blink them away, but couldn’t. It wasn’t fair. I had worked so hard—and for what? More embarrassment.
I finally decided there was only one thing to do. I looked very closely at the final measure through my tears. I wanted to play the last chord of the song, and I carefully placed my shaking fingers on each key while the young women warbled on without me. “With God’s own loved, begotten Son.” I attacked that last chord with all the power I could muster, then confidently bowed my head for the prayer.
Unfortunately, the prayer was delayed until everyone stopped laughing. I can see the humor in it now, but at the time I decided to never touch another piano key for the rest of my life.
Thankfully, I stuck with the weekly chore. As the Sundays went by, playing became easier. I used most of my free time to practice the piano, which helped me learn how to play without having to memorize the piece.
I still play a hymn each week and usually hit a few sour chords. Every day I sit down at the old piano and play all sorts of music. I have gained a talent that I love, but almost missed.
I’m so thankful that after my first catastrophic experience, I was convinced to stick with it and not give up. I think about the friendly smile from my supportive president, and realize my assignment to play each week was a blessing in disguise.

When my friend Fernanda (not her real name) didn’t show up to class one Friday, I wondered what was wrong. “Is Fer feeling sick? Is she OK?” I asked as I ran over to some friends at the end of the day. “She isn’t sick,” another friend answered, “she just had to go to a psychologist.” When I asked why, she told me that Fernanda was suffering from depression and had been hurting herself. Shortly after I found out, Fernanda was admitted to the hospital for treatment, and we didn’t see her for a few weeks.
Even though we were friends, she hadn’t shared that part of her life with me. She had been hiding it from everyone because she was ashamed. She later told me that she didn’t want others to pity her or her situation. But I didn’t pity her—I just felt compassion.
That first day, I lay on my bed after school, my face buried in a pillow. I was emotionally exhausted but too anxious to sleep. My world was in chaos. I felt like I was in the middle of a storm, and so many thoughts and feelings whirled in the wind. I felt confused, lonely, and, most of all, so powerless to help.
What could I do or say to help her? How could we as friends pull together and lend our support? I couldn’t find any sort of solution to comfort my friends or myself. I prayed for inspiration but felt like my prayers just weren’t getting answered.
But the next week I had an epiphany. I was sitting in my early-morning seminary class when my teacher reminded us of the First Vision and how Joseph Smith asked Heavenly Father directly for help with his difficulties and concerns. My teacher then said, “If we seek out the Father and ask Him, He will answer us. We will never be alone.”
I realized that in my sadness, I had closed my heart off to my Heavenly Father. Even though I was trying to pray often, it wasn’t enough—I still had too much fear to find peace. I knew that He understood exactly how I felt and that He could help me. But I needed to open myself up to Him and truly trust that He could do it—I needed to exercise faith.
So I did. Over time, as I continued to pray and read my scriptures, striving to let the Savior take my burdens, I came to understand that eventually my friend’s depression would end. Despite the fact that the external chaos continued, I felt calm, balanced, in harmony. My mother kept encouraging me to seek out peace, saying, “Your friend will be OK and so will you. Stay strong in the gospel, and it will all work out.”
When Fernanda finally came back to school, I was able to provide strong support for her, but only because I had sought out and found peace through Jesus Christ myself. I tried my best to be a good listener, to be positive, and to share the gospel. I felt confident when I explained the plan of happiness and when I told her that our Father wants us to find joy, despite our challenges. It may take time, but it is possible for every one of His children.
There have been many situations in my life in which I have felt anguish and sadness, but because of the gospel I always remember where I come from. I know that I am a daughter of God and that He has a plan for me—and for Fernanda. We all walk distinct paths, but each is for our good because He loves us. Each path, each trial, has a purpose. And if we can find peace in those trials, we can share the peace we gain with others.

As a bishop, I worried about any members who were inactive, not attending, not serving. Such was my thought as I drove down the street where Ben and Emily lived. They were older—even in the twilight period of life. Aches and pains of advancing years caused them to withdraw from activity to the shelter of their home—isolated, detached, shut out from the mainstream of daily life and association.
I felt the unmistakable prompting to park my car and visit Ben and Emily, even though I was on the way to a meeting. It was a sunny weekday afternoon. I approached the door to their home and knocked. Emily answered. When she recognized me, her bishop, she exclaimed, “All day long I have waited for my phone to ring. It has been silent. I hoped that the postman would deliver a letter. He brought only bills. Bishop, how did you know today was my birthday?”
I answered, “God knows, Emily, for He loves you.”
In the quiet of the living room, I said to Ben and Emily, “I don’t know why I was directed here today, but our Heavenly Father knows. Let’s kneel in prayer and ask Him why.” This we did, and the answer came. Emily was asked to sing in the choir—even to provide a solo for the forthcoming ward conference. Ben was asked to speak to the Aaronic Priesthood young men and recount a special experience in his life when his safety was assured by responding to the promptings of the Spirit. She sang. He spoke. Hearts were gladdened by the return to activity of Ben and Emily. They rarely missed a sacrament meeting from that day to the time each was called home. The language of the Spirit had been spoken. It had been heard. It had been understood. Hearts were touched and lives saved.

Nearly all 147 youth in the Logan Utah Central Stake signed their names to a scroll, committing to read the Book of Mormon in a six-month program started by the stake. The scroll was sent to President Benson, who replied with an encouraging letter.

Several ward and stake events were held to motivate and encourage the youth committed to reading. There were ward reading marathons, Book of Mormon bowls, and special speakers. Yet with all the fun, hard work, laughs, and catch-up reading, something extra began to happen. Solid testimonies of the Book of Mormon were being built, along with a lifelong habit of reading the scriptures.

At the completion of the reading program, the youth gathered at the stake center to bury a time capsule. Among the items included were letters written by the youth to future generations. The youth couldn’t help think about how Moroni must have felt as his words to future generations were etched in the plates and buried. The letters by the youth spoke of their testimonies and encouraged future readers to try out Moroni’s promise about the Book of Mormon for themselves. The Logan Utah Central Stake youth found out that Moroni’s promise does work after they did their part: reading, pondering, and praying.

No one else should have noticed it. That I was aware of it was odd. In the midst of a crowded church foyer filled with lively Japanese members hurrying to Sunday School, the tiny spider was truly insignificant. Having arrived at the church a few minutes early with my missionary companion, I was sitting on a flight of stairs observing the members as they arrived. The spider had first appeared from under a wall heater, a tiny brown speck slowly progressing toward the middle of the hall. By the time its painstaking progress had lengthened to three feet, most of the members had arrived and were socializing in the hall before meetings.
My first impulse had been to brush it back under the heater. This idea was followed by the more childish notion of stepping on it. Fortunately for the spider, cruelty was quickly substituted by curiosity. The spider’s remaining lifetime appeared to be limited, increasingly so as it continued in a determined course toward the center of the crowded foyer. I was fascinated into inaction, watching and wondering how it would end—that inevitable, accidental footfall.
I will never understand how Brother Tashiro, the district president, saw it. He was obviously late as he hurried through the outside door to yet another meeting, briefcase in one hand, cassette recorder and slide projector precariously positioned under the opposite arm. His mind was surely filled with the endless responsibilities of running a mission district; yet he, too, somehow saw the tiny spider among the crowd. Immediately stopping, he set aside his load and, excusing himself, parted the crowd, stooped down and gently scooped the spider into his palm, then released it outside to a more hospitable environment. As though hardly aware of the interruption, he hurried to the waiting meeting.
It was so simple, such a natural act for that humble servant of the Lord. Then a wonderful analogy unfolded before me. I saw in my mind’s eye the Savior, stooping down from the complex business of creating worlds without number, to personally teach, exhort, and sacrifice for the sake of an uncomprehending human race, a seemingly insignificant speck in the endless corridors of eternity. With Godly devotion, he lifted man from certain doom, transporting him to an environment of freedom and opportunity wherein he could live and grow.
I thought of all the thousands of Japanese people yet unaware of the Savior’s great love, people I had been sent to teach. A new resolve filled my breast as I hurried into Sunday School class. Next time, I resolved, I would save the spider.

Jacob slipped in the cold slush on the entry floor. “Hold still, Annie!” he shouted.
He squatted next to the big dog and reached for her front paw. He held a towel in his other hand. Annie whined and jerked her paw away when Jacob touched it. She shook herself and nearly knocked Jacob over. He grabbed at her collar and shouted, “Annie! Hold still!”
Jacob let Annie go and wiped up the puddles with the towel. It was his responsibility to clean Annie’s paws when she came in the house, but it was frustrating. Annie didn’t like having her paws cleaned. Jacob sighed. He loved Annie, but she was a lot of work.
So was school. Mrs. Randall assigned a lot of homework, and Jacob didn’t think she was fair. Yesterday, Jacob went to school with his homework unfinished.
“But I already know how to do it, Mrs. Randall,” Jacob said. “I don’t see why I should have to do 20 problems to prove it!”
Mrs. Randall frowned. “I require 20 problems, Jacob. No arguments.” She marked his check-off sheet “Incomplete.”
It seemed that every week Jacob had a problem with Mrs. Randall. Jacob couldn’t wait until Christmas break.
Things were getting worse with Annie too. Whenever Jacob tried to wipe Annie’s feet, she nipped at his fingers.
“No!” Jacob would shout.
By Christmas Eve, Jacob’s fingers were seriously sore. There were little nip marks all over them. Annie didn’t bite hard, but her teeth were sharp.
“Ouch!” Jacob shouted as Annie bit him once again. “Stop it, Annie!”
“Why are you shouting at your dog, Jacob?” Grandma asked. She had been watching from the sofa as Jacob wiped Annie’s paws.
“She chews my fingers,” Jacob explained.
“Well, shouting won’t help,” Grandma said. “People and dogs are alike that way.”
For some reason, a picture of Mrs. Randall came into Jacob’s head. Could he be speaking to her the wrong way too?
“The scriptures say, ‘A soft answer turneth away wrath,’” Grandma said. Then she got up from the sofa and went to the kitchen.
Jacob was thoughtful as he went to the kitchen for dinner. “Grandma, what’s wrath?” he asked.
“Wrath is anger or wanting to punish,” she said.
Jacob thought about that. Maybe he hadn’t tried everything with Annie.
Before bed, Jacob had to mop Annie’s feet for the last time of the night. Instead of shouting and scolding, he tried to speak quietly. He talked to her about Christmas. He called Annie a good dog and told her he loved her. He politely asked her to stop biting his fingers. Annie had been whining and nipping at his hands, but as he got to her last paw, she stopped. Jacob kept talking, kindly and softly. Annie twitched a little as he finished toweling between her toes, but she didn’t bite.
Jacob could hardly wait to tell Grandma. He knew the “soft answer” was the right answer. He knew it would help Annie to stop nipping at his fingers. Jacob felt good inside. The Holy Ghost was testifying to him that he had learned a true principle.
As Jacob got ready for bed, he thought about Mrs. Randall. He knew he needed to work hard on his assignments and be responsible for his schoolwork. He also knew that he needed to speak more respectfully. Could a soft answer turn away some of Mrs. Randall’s frustration with him?
“There’s only one way to find out,” Jacob thought.
He was excited to try.

We vividly remember our own experience in marrying each other and having our first baby. After we became parents, we began to discover what Lehi had been talking about when he said that if Adam and Eve had remained in the Garden and had had no children, “they would have remained in a state of innocence, having no joy, for they knew no misery” (2 Ne. 2:23).
That scripture seems to say that if they had had no children, they would have known no misery. Only the parents of two-year-olds and teenagers can understand that! But it also says that without children and misery, they would have had no joy. How important is joy? Within two verses, Lehi tells us that “men are, that they might have [that very] joy” (2 Ne. 2:25; emphasis added).
In our case, here is what all that meant in a very down-to-earth sense. During her first pregnancy, Marie was sick—an odd way to be showered with joy. For part of each day for several months, she felt just terrible. It was morning sickness ad nauseum.
Then about four weeks before delivery she threatened to miscarry, which sent her to bed for several days, causing serious complications in the classes she was taking and those she was teaching. But when the big day finally came, even the hours of labor were worth it as she lay there in the hospital bed holding that beautiful baby boy.
Nothing could be more wonderful than this, she thought. Surely the world stops for such a beautiful baby.
The day after the baby was born, she was cuddling him happily in her hospital room when her doctor came in. A plain-spoken man, he looked at them and said cheerily, “How does it feel to have the easiest part over with?”
“Easiest part?”
“Why sure,” he replied. “It’s the next twenty years that are going to be tough.”
Now, more than twenty years later, we have discovered, right there among mortality’s thorns, the sweet fruit of having joy in our posterity. After all the diapers, the bruises, the washing, the cheering, the cleaning up, the pleading, the nail biting, the crying, the laughing, the pacing, and the praying, we understand. We feel about raising children the way Ammon felt about missionary work:
“And this is the account of Ammon and his brethren, their journeyings in the land of Nephi, their sufferings in the land, their sorrows, and their afflictions, and their incomprehensible joy” (Alma 28:8; emphasis added).

“I’ve got it!” Lindsay yelled as she ran backward. The red rubber ball fell with a whump into her outstretched arms, and her friends cheered. Lindsay loved playing kickball at school. She loved running to kick the ball, rounding the bases, and trying to get home before someone got her out. She also liked catching the ball to get the other team out.
Lindsay looked to see who was next to kick the ball. Molly stood in front of home base, shuffling her feet and looking down at the ground. Long, tangled brown hair hid her face. Her clothes were dirty and didn’t fit, and her shoes had holes in them. Lindsay and Molly were in the same Primary class at church, but they weren’t really friends. Actually, nobody seemed to be friends with Molly. Most of the kids made fun of her, and sometimes Lindsay made fun of her too when Molly wasn’t around.
As Molly waited to kick the ball, some kids started whispering and giggling. The pitcher rolled the ball toward home base. Molly kicked and missed. Some of Lindsay’s teammates cheered while Molly’s team groaned. The pitcher rolled the ball again. Molly ran and kicked as hard as she could—and missed again! This time, Carrie, one of the school bullies, laughed loudly. “She can’t even kick a ball!” she yelled. Lots of other kids joined in the laughter. Carrie and a couple of her friends started yelling mean things about Molly’s hair and clothes and the way she ran.
Molly looked sadder and sadder as more children made fun of her. She seemed to scrunch up inside of herself and wouldn’t look up from the ground. Watching Molly, Lindsay felt sick to her stomach and wanted to make the bullies stop. But what could she do? She thought about the family home evening lesson her mom had given the night before. They had talked about how Heavenly Father loves all of His children and wants them to love each other. She thought about the song they sang: “I’m Trying to Be like Jesus.” Mustering her courage, she called out, “Leave her alone!”
It was suddenly quiet as everyone turned to look at Lindsay. Carrie and her friends stopped laughing, and one of them yelled, “What did you say?”
“I said leave her alone,” Lindsay repeated. “She’s doing her best.” Lindsay held her breath while she waited to see what the girls would do. Carrie and her friends whispered to each other for a minute. Then they started yelling mean things about Lindsay! They made fun of her clothes, her hair, and the way she played kickball. Lindsay started shaking and felt tears drip down her cheeks. Then the bell rang for school to end.
Lindsay ran all the way home and cried as she told her mom what had happened. “Mom, I was trying to be like Jesus and think about Molly like He does. I thought I was choosing the right, but I got made fun of! It’s not fair!”
Her mom stroked her hair. “You did choose the right, honey, and it isn’t fair. But choosing the right doesn’t mean that nothing bad will ever happen to you. Just think about Jesus.”
Lindsay remembered that Jesus had always chosen the right, but people made fun of Him, spit on Him, and even crucified Him. “Then why should I try to be like Him if bad things are going to happen to me?” she asked, wiping away a tear.
Mom hugged her close. “Bad things might happen to you, but I promise you that wonderful things will happen when you follow the Savior,” she explained. “How did you feel when you stood up for Molly?”
“I was scared, but at the same time I felt good inside. I knew I was doing the right thing.” Lindsay started to feel a little better. “You know what, Mom? When those kids were saying all those mean things about me, I thought, ‘This must be how Molly feels a lot of the time.’ And it’s terrible! I’m never going to say mean things about her again.”
Just then the doorbell rang. When Lindsay answered it, she saw Molly standing on the porch, shuffling her feet and looking nervous. “I wanted to thank you for standing up for me during kickball,” she said.
Lindsay’s heart filled with happiness. Suddenly the bullies didn’t seem to matter that much. “You’re welcome,” Lindsay said. “Do you want to stay and play?”
Molly smiled, and Lindsay didn’t notice her clothes or shoes or hair at all. When she looked at her, she only saw a friend.

After I had been in the hospital two and a half weeks, the doctors said I could leave. They suggested, however, that my family take me to a convalescent center. I was quite frightened at the thought of moving. I remember pleading with Cal to ask the Lord what we should do. I had been leaning very heavily on the Lord, and I didn’t want any decision made without consulting him. My family was there, and I had been leaning on them, but I knew that, above all, the Lord was caring for me.
On September 20, I was transferred to a care center. The medication was cut in half, so I became more aware of what was going on around me. For a week, I worked hard at building up my strength and learning how to get around with broken bones. Then I was moved to Cal’s house. I appreciated him and his wife for letting me stay with them. It felt good to be in their home. His children would come to my room after school and tell me what they had done that day. Their visits did much to ease me back into normal life.

I volunteered for service in the United States Marine Corps during the Vietnam War. Soon after my arrival in Quantico, Virginia, for basic training, I found myself standing at attention in front of my barrack’s bunk along with 54 other Marine Corps recruits. I met my drill instructor, a battle-hardened veteran, when he kicked open the door to the barracks and entered while screaming words laced with profanity.
After this terrifying introduction, he started at one end of the barracks and confronted each recruit with questions. Without exception, the drill instructor methodically found something about each recruit to ridicule with loud, vulgar language. Down the row he came, with each marine shouting back his answer as commanded: “Yes” or “No, Sergeant Instructor.” I could not see exactly what he was doing, because we had been ordered to stand at attention with our eyes looking straight ahead. When it was my turn, I could tell he grabbed my duffel bag and emptied the contents onto my mattress behind me. He looked through my belongings, then walked back to face me. I braced myself for his attack. In his hand was my Book of Mormon. I expected that he would yell at me; instead, he moved close to me and whispered, “Are you a Mormon?”
As commanded, I yelled, “Yes, Sergeant Instructor.”
Again I expected the worst. Instead, he paused and raised his hand that held my Book of Mormon and in a very quiet voice said, “Do you believe in this book?”
Again I shouted, “Yes, Sergeant Instructor.”
At this point I was sure he would scream disparaging words about Mormons and the Book of Mormon, but he just stood there in silence. After a moment he walked back to my bunk and carefully laid down my Book of Mormon. He then proceeded to walk by me without stopping and went on to ridicule and disparage with profane language all remaining recruits.
I have often wondered why that tough Marine Corps sergeant spared me that day. But I am grateful I was able to say without hesitation, “Yes, I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” and “Yes, I know the Book of Mormon is true.” This testimony is a precious gift given to me through the Holy Ghost with the help of two missionaries and a priests quorum adviser.

Recently, I visited the mother of a large family, whom I have known and admired for many years. I have watched her children grow and develop. Education, missions, temple marriages were all part of their program. I asked her what was the secret of her success. Modestly, she told me that success had not yet been achieved, that life was a continual series of tests and challenges. But she did indicate that keeping close family ties had been very important in their lives.

She said, “We have recognized that each family member needs to be treated with dignity and respect. Though the capabilities and talents of each are different, each needs to know he or she is a child of God, loved by Him. We hold regular family conferences (even after the children are married). We feel since the Church has general conference for the edification and instruction of the saints, we need to have family conferences for the same purpose. The have truly strengthened the love in our family.”

“You’re going where?” The Mexican official seemed genuinely amused.
“Quitovac.”
“But nobody goes to Quitovac,” he laughed. “There’s nothing there.”
“We’re going to the school. To see friends.”
“Okay,” he said, shaking his head. “Go ahead. But if I were you, I’d go to the beach instead.” He was still chuckling as we left.
Americans do come down this way from Tucson, Arizona, across the Tohono O’odham Nation (Papago) Indian Reservation to the Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, through Lukeville, then over the border into Sonoita. Mostly the Americans are tourists or university students on break, looking for the sun. They find it on the beaches of the Gulf of California, which aren’t far away.
But nobody goes to Quitovac. Nobody.
That is, of course, unless you have friends there. And the LDS youth of Tucson have friends in Quitovac, more than 70 of them.
The friendships began, as many good things do, at Christmas. And even though right now the sun was beating down, the five young people and two leaders headed to Quitovac today were quick to tell their Christmas story.
“Brother Rehm got things going, I guess,” said Brian Simmons, 18, referring to Norbert Rehm, a high councilor in the Tucson Stake who previously served as branch president on the Indian reservation. Through that association, Brother Rehm became aware of the Alberque School in Quitovac, a school in need of help.
“It’s a boarding school where parents who can’t afford to raise their children send them to live,” Brian explained. “The government built the school for the Indians, but it’s funded only by donations.”
Conditions are tough. The dormitory is a barracks-like structure with concrete floors and broken windows. There is no running water. Showers from a bucket are allowed once a week. Two small bathrooms serve all 70 children. Toilets don’t flush unless tanks are filled with water carried from half a mile away. Electricity is available only when a generator is working—twice a year. Sometimes food runs out.
“To keep warm, the kids sleep two to a bed” (four to a bunk bed), said Danyel Colvin, 15, also of the Tanque Verde Ward. “In the winter, the cold wind blows right in.”
The LDS youth wanted to help. With Brother Rehm acting as go-between with the school and the Mexican government (there are strict limitations about who and what—like glass for windows—can cross the border), a campaign was launched to gather supplies the school could use. Youth in the Tucson 17th Ward gathered and prepared clothing and toys. Canned food, some basic medical supplies, and vitamins were also collected. When the ward was divided to form the Tanque Verde and Bear Canyon Wards, both units kept the project going.
The day after Thanksgiving, about 30 young Latter-day Saints and their leaders (one dressed as Santa Claus) headed to Quitovac. “We got our first look at the village,” Danyel said. “Many houses were built only of sticks. There were no trees or bushes, no roads. Just dirt and some buildings.” The school yard—an administration building, a study building with two classrooms, a covered pavilion for outdoor assemblies, and the dormitory—was also set in a barren landscape.
“Then we met the children,” Danyel continued. “There were lots of kids with no shoes. It was cold and windy, but they were wearing shorts and T-shirts.”
“We started by handing out some candy,” said Michael Walston, 14, of the Tanque Verde Ward. Then, with help from school officials, shoes and clothing were distributed. And toys.
“I helped one boy put together a toy,” Michael’s sister Susanne, 17, remembered. “He kept talking and talking. He knew I didn’t understand Spanish, and he didn’t understand English. But it was like I was his best friend. We didn’t have to speak the same language. We could communicate without saying anything.”
That was typical of the magic that happened. Teenagers and young children paired up like they’d known each other forever. There was a Christmas program, there were lots of hugs, and there was a lot of joy in Quitovac that day. But the thing Susanne remembers most is how eager the children seemed just to have someone take an interest in them.
“Sure, they were glad we brought some things,” she said. “But more than that, they wanted to share with us, even if all they could share was a smile.” That was what made the memory pleasant. That was what made a return to Quitovac worthwhile.
And now, here we were.
We turned from one dirt road to another, came over a small hill, and there, in the middle of nowhere, was the village. Now, months after Christmas, would the children even remember the earlier visit? Now, when the sun was hot and winds calm, would the friendship still be there?
The answer was quick in coming. The dust from our arriving vehicles had hardly settled when we were mobbed by children. Yes, we brought some supplies, some candy, some food. But again what mattered was the sharing. Children who didn’t speak English guided teenagers who didn’t speak Spanish around their school, their classrooms, their playground. Kids watched Brian, who brought along a tool kit, fix a broken swing and re-attach fiberglass panels on the pavilion.
Michael and Susanne organized volleyball and basketball games. Danyel gave piggyback rides. Crystal Smith, 15, of the Sonora 18th Ward, Tucson Stake, became an instant celebrity with school officials because she speaks Spanish and could act as an interpreter.
We were shown the school’s new hand-operated mimeograph machine. A flag ceremony and school assembly were held in our honor. And the principal presented a letter of thanks to the LDS youth.
But it was Walt Stone, a seminary teacher who accompanied the group, who summarized what meeting with the children of Alberque School taught us. “These kids have dignity,” he said. “Everything they own fits on the half of the bed they sleep in. But they share whatever they have.”
An example: “One boy brought out his bag of marbles—the only marbles in the school,” Walt said. “A bunch of us joined him in a game. Nobody argued about winning anything; they just had fun. And when the game was over, the marbles went back in the bag, and he put them back on his bed. He knew they would be safe.”
Many times we saw older children looking out for others, making sure the youngest (some are little more than one year old) weren’t neglected. If anyone tripped and skinned a knee, others were instantly there to help. When teachers asked students to do something, it was immediately taken care of. Students marched, stood at attention, posed with us for a school photo, hugged us over and over again, and literally clung to the teenagers when it was finally time to leave.
All the way home, the youth talked about their day in the sun.
“That was great, even better than Christmas,” Brian said.
“What you never forget are their faces,” Danyel added. “There’s such joy in their faces. Designer jeans and worldly things don’t really matter down here. What’s important is to enjoy life, and to share your joy with others.”
Nobody goes to Quitovac, the Mexican official said. But he was absolutely wrong. Friends come to Quitovac. And their friendship shines all the brighter when they leave. The tourists and the students who drive to the beach seeking the sun take the wrong road. The brightest light is found where people help each other. It’s the light of Christlike service, and it’s a light that shines brighter than any sun.
The friendship with Quitovac didn’t end with just two visits. As this story was being prepared for publication, we learned that the youth from the Rincon Stake had been to the Alberque School again.
They brought quilts they had made, one for each child at the school. An LDS dentist came along to check the children’s teeth. And they also brought a foot-powered sewing machine, with the promise that a Relief Society sister would soon be along to teach villagers how to sew.
“When we arrived, the children lined up on the left and right of the road, clapped their hands, and saluted us,” Brother Rehm said. “We played the same games, had the same fun, left with the same feelings.”
And, he noticed, the school was cleaner. The students all had shoes and proper clothing. And even though there were still some broken windows in need of repair, it seemed like there was a brighter, happier feeling in this place in the sun.

Everyone has imperfections, and sometimes these shortcomings become more apparent in marriage. When Ken Nollsch of Highlands Ranch, Colorado, married his wife, Chalyce, he was continuing to overcome his long-held fears of being an inadequate spouse. As he has learned to share his burdens with the Lord, his fears have diminished.
Brother Nollsch wants to be fully committed, he says, “to putting her needs ahead of mine,” explaining, “I worry about how I spend my time and about staying away from selfish activities.” When Brother Nollsch gets overwhelmed by his fears, he reminds himself to emulate the example of the Savior, who said humbly to Heavenly Father, “Thy will be done” (Matt. 26:42). “I say that over and over in my mind, and then I move on to what I need to accomplish,” Brother Nollsch says.
Brother Nollsch says his confidence in himself and in his wife has grown over time. He also focuses on the joy he finds in being a husband and father. “God wants us to be happy, and being a husband and father is one of the best ways to find happiness,” he says.

During this time I was blessed with so many people who would tell me about what they learned each Sunday at church. One of those people was Stephanie. She had been living in Italy when my uncle joined the Church, but she had returned to her home in the United States. My uncle thought it would be good for us to write to each other, so I added her as a friend on Facebook.

Even though we had never met in person, I will always be grateful to her for helping me build my faith and learn more about the gospel of Jesus Christ. She wrote to me almost every Sunday and told me everything she learned in church and then would answer my questions. She was a great friend to me.

June 7. Billy’s mother called me and asked if I wanted to come over and have dinner with them tonight. Billy was too shy to ask, she said, and wanted her to ask me. (Mom and Dad said it would be fine.) She also said that Billy can’t stop talking about me, that the past few weeks he’s been happier than she can ever remember. “He thinks the world of you,” she said, and she thanked me for being so good to him.
I could tell that she was crying, because her voice started breaking up. I told her that it was easy to like Billy because he was so good. I didn’t tell her, but I had been starting to feel happier inside myself than I had in a long time, and I was already happy. Dad says, “When we open our hearts to others, like Jesus did, we feel a whole different kind of joy.”

Just about four months ago a missionary was released from one of our Australia-New Zealand missions and in the following report talks about the Lord’s interest payments or dividends received following an investment of two years in His service. The missionary writes:

“First and foremost, I learned the importance and power of prayer—I learned to communicate with the Lord, and how to recognize His answers—even when He says no. I learned about having implicit faith and trust in the Lord, something I never had before. I learned to heed the promptings of the Holy Ghost. I also developed the gift of discernment. I had this to a degree before, but in the mission field I learned how to use it properly. Most important of all, I learned about myself, what I could really do.

“I found an ability to communicate with other people,” he continues, “and that has been a major milestone in my life. Since finishing my mission, I can walk across campus with my head held high, and look others in the eye. I am now at ease with people; I can face situations. I am not afraid to speak my piece—and I can do it appropriately. I find myself much more organized and tidy—Mom can’t believe it’s me! I can work harder and accomplish more. I have always cared for others, but now I know how to show my concern. I don’t fall apart as easily as I used to; so you could say without question, I have changed significantly, thanks to my mission.”

Now listen to this part: “As I awaited my hour of release, I received a witness that the Lord was pleased with my effort. It was thrilling when I talked to the mission president, especially when he looked me in the eye and said, ‘I am proud of you.’ That was reward enough for me. What a great feeling to look back and know that I gave the Lord the best that was in me! It brings a satisfaction and a peace that can come in no other way.”

Here’s another choice bit: “I was very nervous about my homecoming talk in sacrament meeting. I wanted to say the right things. Since that special Sunday evening, my bishop writes me down here at the “Y” [Brigham Young University] and tells me that there are three young people in the ward beginning to plan for missions as a direct result of my talk!”

And finally: “Not once have I ever regretted accepting the call to go on a mission. It is the most worthwhile thing I ever did. I am even thankful for the hard times, for they strengthened my character and helped me to at least begin to be the person my Heavenly Father would have me be. I learned so much more than I could have learned if I had stayed home. The Church is true without a doubt, and I am so thankful just to be a member. I am so thankful for the relationship which I have developed with the Savior, for it is an outgrowth of my mission and nothing else.”

Osc and I both ordered the Porter House special. Carol wanted filet mignon, and Marie ordered salisbury steak. After the waitress had taken our orders, Marie said, “Did you hear what Brother Craig did at Mutual last week?” Osc and Carol shook their heads. “He found out that last month it was the teachers from the Fourth Ward who started playing basketball in the cultural hall before our Relief Society was finished.”
Osc and Carol listened with interest, but I had no idea what Marie was talking about. She was speaking English, but most of it didn’t make a bit of sense to me.
“Well,” she continued, “one of their basketballs bounced right onto the table that held all the cakes the women had made in their cake-decorating lesson and smashed almost all of them.”
“Oh, man,” said Osc, “I bet Sister Hansen went nuts.”
Marie nodded. “She tried to make the boys stop, but they just grabbed the ball and ran out of the cultural hall, tracking frosting all over the building.”
“So that’s where all that mess came from,” said Carol.
“Right,” nodded Marie.
Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Wait a minute; wait a minute,” I interrupted. “Will somebody please explain what in the world you’re talking about?”
“Church stuff, Jared,” said Osc.
“I figured that much, but I never knew Mormons had nuns and monks.”
“Huh?” we said in unison.
“Nuns and monks. You know, sisters and brothers.”
Marie giggled and Carol tried to hide her grin behind her napkin.
“Don’t be such a Gentile,” said Osc. “We’re talking about people in our ward. Mormons call each other brother and sister. Like Carol, she’s Sister Lunt. Marie is Sister Allen, and to them I’m Brother Whitman. Understand?”
“Okay, I get it,” I said. “But I don’t understand what a bunch of teachers were doing in a cultural hall playing basketball. Imagine what would happen if some faculty members got caught dribbling a basketball in the school auditorium?”
Osc sighed. “A cultural hall is a Mormon gym.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. And teachers aren’t teachers. They’re 14- and 15-year-old guys who have the Aaronic Priesthood.”
“Give me a break. High school guys have the priesthood in your church?”
“Sure,” said Osc. “I’m a priest.”
“Oh, really, Father Whitman? Where’s your collar?”
“Come on, Jared. Not a Catholic priest. It’s different with Mormons.” He looked at Carol who was biting her lower lip to keep from laughing. “Sister Lunt, would you mind translating our Mormon talk for Jared tonight? I’m not getting through to him.”
“Sure, Brother Whitman, I’ll be glad to.”
Our dinner arrived and interrupted the conversation. It took us nearly an hour to work our way through the steaks, baked potatoes, salads, and vegetables. But dinner was fantastic, and not because I was sitting in front of the largest and most delicious steak I had ever seen. Osc, Carol, and Marie were great company, too, even if they were Mormons.
While the waitress was clearing away the remains of our feast, Marie and Carol excused themselves so they could go make themselves even more beautiful for part two of the double date.
“Great meal, Osc. This is a blast,” I said, after they’d left.
“Hey, what else could you expect from your best friend?”
“So what’s next,” I inquired.
Osc slid a toothpick into his mouth. “I told you this was a steak night, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, and we’ve had our steaks. Now what?”
“Another steak,” was his reply.
“No way, man. I can’t eat another bite. I thought we’d be going to a movie or something.”
He shook his head. “Nope. Carol and I planned this. It’s steak night all the way.”
When the girls came back, we paid our bill, left the restaurant, and drove until we came to a large building. “This is the place, guys,” said Osc, as he pulled into the crowded parking lot.
I couldn’t believe it. These guys had led me into a Mormon trap! “Hold it,” I said. “I’m not going to church with you. Osc, you said this was going to be a steak night.”
“Yeah, a steak dinner and a stake dance. This building is a stake—s-t-a-k-e—center, Jared, and there’s a dance here tonight.”
“Oh, a dance.” I blushed for doubting my friends. “Sorry I panicked, but I figured you guys were dragging me to some sort of religious revival. Let me guess. The dance is in the cultural hall.”
Osc chuckled and Carol said, “Very good, Jared. You’re finally getting the hang of Mormon-talk.”
I wasn’t sure what to expect from my first Mormon dance. Waltzes, maybe. Or if it was really wild, a square dance. But the music coming through the door of the cultural hall sounded familiar enough, and the few kids I saw in the lobby looked like regular kids.
On the inside, though, it didn’t look like any dance I’d ever seen before. The first thing I noticed were the lights—they were still on. They weren’t glaring bright, but they were on. And the music was different too. At most school dances, the music’s loud enough to pry the floorboards loose; this music was loud, but not enough to melt anybody’s eardrums.
As it turned out, we danced every dance that night, and I had the time of my life. After it was over, Osc drove us all home. When he got to my house, the first stop, he parked the car, turned around from the front seat, handed Carol a shopping bag, and said, “Go ahead, Carol.”
She reached into the bag and pulled out two packages, each wrapped in the Sunday comics. “These are mementos of tonight,” she said, handing one to Marie and one to me.
“The finishing touch on steak night,” Osc added. “And yours has something special inside, Jared. You just can’t open it until you get home.”
I said good night and went inside. I went straight to my bedroom and opened the package. Inside was an aluminum tent stake with “Steak-Stake Night” written on one side in light red nail polish and “Group Date #1” written on the other side. Also in the wrapping was a navy-blue paperback book, the Book of Mormon. I propped the stake up among the trophies on top of my dresser and flopped down on my bed to look at the book my friends had given me.
Pasted inside the front cover was a photo of the three of them taken at one of those instant photo booths. Under the photo was a message Osc had written:
Dear Jared,
This book contains the precious truths of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and it’s a book that each one of us has studied and read. We know it’s true, and we know its principles are the keys to happiness, not only in this life, but in the life to come. As your friends, we hope you’ll read it, think about it, and pray about it. If some parts are difficult to understand, we’ll be glad to explain them to you or find someone who can. We know if you’ll read and pray about this book, you’ll learn for yourself that it’s true.
Your Mormon friends,Oscar, Carol, and Marie
I closed the book and lay on my bed thinking about the three of them. Oscar, Carol, and Marie were special people, some of the best I’d ever known. I wondered what made them that way. Whatever it was, I was glad to have friends like them, friends who cared enough about me to share something that was obviously very important to them.
It was getting late, so I put the Book of Mormon on my desk and started getting ready for bed. Tomorrow I’d start reading that book to see if I could find out what makes it—and my friends—so special.

One day the three of them took Old Brownie and Belle and went up City Creek Canyon for a jag of firewood. As soon as they’d found a good place to stop and load up, Pa had Jeremy unhitch the team so that they could graze while the wagon was loaded.
“There,” said Pa, when the wagon was full. “That’ll do it for this trip. Hitch the horses back to the wagon, Jeremy, while Brose and I fasten the chain around the load to keep any logs from falling off.”
“Let me hook up the horses, Pa!” cried Brose. “I can do it, honest! I watched you and Jere do it every day, coming across the plains! Let me hook ‘em up, Pa!”
Pa hesitated, then said, “All right, Brose. Don’t forget to fasten the crosslines, so you can drive the team together without their trying to go off in all directions.”
“So you can drive them!” That’s what Pa said! Maybe, if I hook ‘em up just right, thought Brose, Pa’ll let me drive all the way home!
Brose didn’t have any trouble leading the horses into place. Brownie stepped right over the wagon tongue into her place while Belle stood quietly waiting on the other side. Then, just as Pa had cautioned, Brose fastened the crosslines, snapping the one from Belle’s harness onto the ring on Brownie’s bit, and the other onto the ring on Belle’s bridle.
Next he took the wide leather strap on the front of Brownie’s harness, slipped it through the big ring on the end of the yoke, and fastened the snap to the ring on the other side of the harness. “There! That was just the way Jeremy would have done it,” Brose murmured, pleased. He fastened the strap on Belle’s harness to the yoke the same way. Then he took the driving line from where Jeremy had hung it on Brownie’s hame and threw it ever so gently over Belle’s back, just the way Pa would have done it—quiet, easy, so as not to frighten the team.
When he walked around to put Belle’s line with the other, Brose heard a bird call. It was a new sound, something like a meadowlark’s, yet different. It was more like that little brown bird he used to hear back in Connecticut before the family had come west. Maybe it was! Maybe that very same little brown bird had followed him, Ambrose Dodd, all the way to the Valley!
Brose didn’t know how long he had listened to the bird before he saw Pa and Jeremy. They had walked a little way down the canyon and had stopped, waiting for him.
Brose was to bring the team and wagon! He was going to drive! He climbed up onto the seat, picked up both of the lines, and slapped them against Brownie’s side, just as Pa would have done.
“Giddap!” he cried, loud enough for Pa and Jeremy and the horses to hear. The horses stepped forward. But the wagon did not move. Only the yoke went with the team, the ring on it sliding off the end of the wagon tongue and the lines slipping through Brose’s hands.
Jeremy ran toward him just as the wagon tongue banged to the ground. “Brose!” he called. “Hey, Brose! You forgot the wagon! It won’t move unless you hitch the tugs!”
Brose couldn’t move. How could he have been so dumb! How could he possibly have forgotten about the tugs?
Jeremy reached out and took the lines and drove the team around in a little circle, putting the team right in place. Brose came out of his daze and scurried around to pick up the end of the tongue and slip it through the ring of the yoke, which was still fastened to the horses.
Jeremy was just hooking the last tug to the doubletree when Pa came. Brose watched Pa climb over the front wheel and take his place on the front of the load. Pa reached for the lines, and Jeremy handed them up to him. Pa took them without a word, and Brose knew that he had lost another chance.
There wasn’t much talking during chores that night. When supper was over, Brose sat on the little stool beside the fire, listening to the crackling and hissing of the pine knot and watching the sparks it sometimes sent up with the smoke.
Jeremy took Pa’s fiddle from its case, and music began to fill the little cabin, then float away on the night air. Brose leaned back against the warm cabin wall near the fireplace and listened. He wished—oh, how he wished!—that he could play like Jere. Pa had been fair about it, though. He had tried to teach both of them. Brose still remembered Pa’s words: “Seems as though you’ve got ten thumbs, Brose, and they all want to go in different directions.”
Pa had quit trying to teach him soon after that, and at the time Brose had been relieved. But now every time he listened to the fiddle singing under Jere’s fingers, Brose wished Pa hadn’t given up quite so quickly.
He’d much rather be standing there by Pa’s chair, playing the fiddle, with Ma and Trudy and Willie giving him all the smiles Jeremy was getting, than do the job he was supposed to be doing. He saw Ma looking at him from time to time, but she didn’t interrupt the music with talking, and after a bit Brose made himself get started.
He knew someone had to straighten out the kinks in the wool so that Ma and Trudy could knit it into socks for winter. Brose hated to card. Mostly women and girls did it, but Ma said that Trudy was as fast at knitting as she was, herself. With both of them knitting, they could have twice as many socks ready when winter came. They could, that is, if Brose would just keep ahead of them with the carding.
Brose had his problems with this job too. Sometimes he got the wool so tangled up that Ma said it was worse for knitting when he got through with it than before he started. But she had more patience than Pa. Or maybe she needed the wool carded more than Pa needed another boy to play the fiddle.
Across the firelight Brose saw both Ma and Trudy knitting, each tapping a foot in time to the music. The only time either of them stopped was if one of them happened to drop a stitch. Then the stitch-dropper would move closer to the fire so that she could see to pick it up. Brose sighed as he pulled the big basket of wool closer to him and reached for the cards.
He laid one card close to the fire so that the wire brush would warm. He picked up a handful of wool and drew it across the other card. Then he took the card he had warmed and pulled it carefully across the wool, trying to get the strands straight.
“Learned that fiddle quicker’n I did,” said Pa, as Jeremy stopped for a moment. “Never did see a boy pick it up as fast as that.”
Pa will never be that proud of me, thought Brose, even if I did the carding perfectly! Ma would be pleased, but Pa and Jere wouldn’t care about it at all. Maybe … just maybe someday I’ll do something that they’ll think is important …
“Brose!” He was startled from his daydream by Ma’s voice. “The wool, Brose! I can smell it! You’ve got it too close to the fire!”
(To be concluded.)