Gospel Story Finder

Despite Františka’s diligent efforts and prayers, years passed without the return of Latter-day Saint missionaries. Despite such isolation, so thoroughly did the gospel permeate the Brodil home that Františka’s daughter Frances insisted she was raised in the Church.

After a decade of praying for missionaries to reenter the land, Františka felt impressed to write to the First Presidency of the Church. (This was prior to present-day policies, which encourage members to contact local leaders.) “An unseen power seemed to be pushing me to do it,” she said. “It was my last try in this matter. I thought the Lord would surely do the rest.”3

To Františka’s great joy, her letter to President Heber J. Grant got immediate results. On 24 July 1929, in the presence of the Brodils, Elder John A. Widtsoe of the Quorum of the Twelve dedicated Czechoslovakia for the preaching of the gospel and opened the Czechoslovak Mission, with Arthur Gaeth as president.

Of that glorious event, Františka said, “Few people can realize the joy we experienced; we had been praying years for this day … We thank the Lord from the bottom of our hearts.”

When I was six years old, my family moved to the United States. We loaded everything we owned into a truck and drove to my grandmother’s house in Mesa, Arizona.
I remember standing on her porch with my father when a truck playing music came down the street.
“Dad, what’s that?” I asked. He explained that it was an ice-cream truck, and he gave me money to buy something. I ran over to the truck and said, “I want a paleta (frozen dessert on a stick). I had grown up in Mexico and spoke English and Spanish, but I didn’t know the English word for the thing I wanted. My father told me that I had to ask for a Popsicle.
I remember walking up the steps of my new school on the first day of first grade. When I saw some of the other children crying, I asked my mother, “Why are those kids crying?” My mother had taught us how important education was, so I couldn’t imagine what was so sad about going to school.
I soon learned that in the United States, most children my age had many things that I didn’t have. One of those things was a bike, and I wanted one badly. Somehow, my dad got me a bike for $5. Unfortunately, it had one major defect: it was a girl’s bike! It was humiliating for me to ride it. I found my shiny new dream machine in a mail-order catalogue, and it cost $65. I decided to earn the money to buy the bike myself, so I started working in the cotton fields every day after school. I would drag a long canvas bag up and down the rows of plants, filling it with cotton. Each afternoon, I could usually pick between twenty and forty pounds of cotton. I was paid two cents a pound, so I could usually make at least fifty cents a day.
As the end of the harvest drew near, I realized that I was not going to earn enough money for the bike. I told my dad, and he agreed that if I could raise half the money, he would pay the other half. Even after I had earned my part, the bike didn’t show up immediately. But then on Christmas morning, I got my beautiful new bike. From that experience, I learned that sometimes when we work very hard to reach a goal but fall short of reaching it, we can ask someone for help. Just as my father helped me, our Heavenly Father will help us, too.

As our youngest son, Clark, was approaching his 12th birthday, he and I were leaving the Church Administration Building when President Harold B. Lee approached and greeted us. I mentioned that Clark would soon be 12, whereupon President Lee turned to him and asked, “What happens to you when you turn 12?”
This was one of those times when a father prays that a son will be inspired to give a proper response. Clark, without hesitation, said to President Lee, “I will be ordained a deacon!”
The answer was the one President Lee had sought. He then counseled our son, “Remember, it is a great blessing to hold the priesthood.”

After the Prophet Joseph translated the first 116 pages of the Book of Mormon, Martin Harris insisted that he be loaned the manuscript. He wanted to show people what he was doing—his family and others. The Prophet responded by seeking the counsel of the Lord, who told him very clearly not to share the manuscript. But Brother Harris was undeterred, and the Prophet continued to ask the Lord. Finally, the Lord said, in effect, “All right, Joseph, have it your way.” The Lord does not control or interfere with the exercise of our agency. The song in the hymnbook says He “will force no man to heav’n.”
So the Prophet loaned the manuscript to Brother Harris. He listened to the people’s voice, as Saul learned. And then the manuscript disappeared. As a result, Joseph lost his ability to translate, and he had to come back and repent to the Lord. In this way the Prophet painted himself into a corner, and his options were reduced. Blessings were taken away from him. It was an agonizing experience until he was able to repent, to turn around, and to receive his power to translate once again so that he could fulfill the mission the Father had for him here on earth.

Some years ago, just before leaving Salt Lake to attend the annual meetings of Boy Scouts of America in Atlanta, Georgia, I decided to take with me enough copies of the New Era so that I might share with Scouting officials this excellent publication. When I arrived at the hotel in Atlanta, I opened the package of magazines. I found that my secretary, for no accountable reason, had put in the package two extra copies of the June issue, an issue that featured temple marriage. I left the two copies in the hotel room and, as planned, distributed the other copies.

On the final day of meetings, I had no desire to attend the scheduled luncheon but felt compelled to return to my room. The telephone was ringing as I entered. The caller was a member of the Church who had heard I was in Atlanta. She introduced herself and asked if I could provide a blessing for her 10-year-old daughter. I agreed readily, and she indicated that she and her husband, their daughter, and their son would come immediately to my hotel room. As I waited, I prayed for help. The applause of the convention was replaced by the feelings of peace which accompanied prayer.

Then came the knock at the door and the privilege which was mine to meet a choice family. The 10-year-old daughter walked with the aid of crutches. Cancer had required the amputation of her left leg; however, her countenance was radiant, her trust in God unwavering. A blessing was provided. Mother and son knelt by the side of the bed while the father and I placed our hands on the tiny daughter. We were directed by the Spirit of God. We were humbled by its power.

I felt the tears course down my cheeks and tumble upon my hands as they rested on the head of that beautiful child of God. I spoke of eternal ordinances and family exaltation. The Lord prompted me to urge this family to enter the holy temple of God. At the conclusion of the blessing, I learned that such a temple visit was planned. Questions pertaining to the temple were asked. I heard no heavenly voice, nor did I see a vision. Yet there came clearly into my mind the words, “Refer to the New Era.” I looked toward the dresser, and there were the two extra copies of the temple issue of the New Era. One copy was given to the daughter and the other to her parents. We reviewed them together.

The family said farewell, and once again the room was still. A prayer of gratitude came easily and, once more, the resolve to ever provide a place for prayer.

One of the blessings I have had while working at BYU–Hawaii has been to have the friendship of Isileli Tupou Kongaika. He comes from a family of faith, one that understands the importance of covenants. Isi’s parents were poor by U.S. standards. They had saved for years to go to the temple. When a group from Tonga was going to the New Zealand Temple, they wanted to go too, but Isi’s father Viliami realized that there was only enough savings for him and his wife to go. He postponed going because he said, “When we go we all go.” So he set to selling everything they had. They sold their frame home, the cook house, the stove, the furniture, all the furnishings and then the cows, pigs, and other animals, even Viliami’s bicycle and his wife’s sewing machine. They literally had nothing but their clothes, but they had enough money that all could go to the temple. They travelled to New Zealand and made the sacred covenants in the holy temple and had all their family sealed together. Later after returning home, they began to try to build a home again, starting from nothing. Not long after, a hurricane hit the small island, and everyone on the island lost everything. Viliami was to remark something like this: “We are poor, but everyone on the island is poor. The difference is that now we have a family sealed for eternity.” If they had kept everything, they would have lost it and not had the covenant. To the Kongaikas, obtaining the covenant was worth selling all they had. It was like the pearl of great price mentioned in the New Testament where the individual sold all he had so he could buy it.

Photograph courtesy of Allie Bradford
I received my mission call in January to the Cape Verde Praia Mission! I’m really excited about my mission, but I was just as excited to be able to go through the temple and receive my endowment.
Both my bishop and my stake president reminded me that the temple is not merely a stepping-stone to the mission. The covenants I make in the temple are literally vital for my salvation; a mission is not.
I prepared to go to the temple by focusing on my baptismal covenants, reading the booklet Preparing to Enter the Holy Temple, reading my scriptures daily, and praying a lot. I felt like I was about as prepared as I could have been, without actually knowing specifically what was going to happen.
I feel like I’ve been preparing for my endowment my whole life. I wasn’t really nervous about it, even though I still didn’t know what to expect. I had my parents, other family members, and temple workers escorting me the whole time, so I was never alone.
Before I went to the temple, I got the same advice from a lot of people: Don’t worry about trying to learn or remember it all the first time, don’t stress about the symbolism, and don’t worry if you don’t understand everything; just focus on feeling the Spirit. That’s just what I did, and my first time in the temple was a very good experience. The Spirit was so strong.
The things that happen in the temple are different from the way we worship outside the temple. But the Spirit is the same, and that’s the most important thing. When we’re worthy and prepared to be there, we can truly feel God’s presence in His house. I’m so grateful that I’ve been able to receive my endowment and make those important covenants. I look forward to going back again and again.
Allie Bradford, 20, Utah, USA

Over the recent Labor Day weekend, President and Sister N. Eldon Tanner and their family had a family reunion up at Bear Lake. There were sixty-one family members present. Sunday evening one of the members in the area came up to President Tanner and asked to shake his hand and say a word to him. She said that earlier in the day she and her husband had been discussing the proper observance of the Sabbath day. They decided to watch the Tanner clan during that day. They saw all the men and boys get ready and go to priesthood meeting in the morning, and the whole group went to Sunday School and later to testimony meeting. She said that after seeing this, her husband remarked, “Well, I think I had better go in the house and put on my suit and tie.” You see, my young brothers and sisters, the powerful influence of a good example. At all of the meetings during the day, all sixty-one members of the Tanner family had been well groomed, well dressed, and in their Sunday best.

READER 6: How do we know that God really cares?
READER 1: Mrs. Houstalis, I’m sorry, but the examination shows that your baby has no vision in one eye and just partial vision in the other.
READER 4: How much vision? How much?
READER 1: Well, very little.
READER 4: No, it can’t be. Surely there’s enough to see. He’s got to see.
READER 1: Now, Mrs. Houstalis, I’m going to tell you something. It doesn’t matter whether your son can see or not as to what kind of a person he’s going to be. If he is going to be a healthy human being, it will be your doing. And if he is going to be an emotional cripple, it will be your doing. The fact that he can see or not has nothing to do with it.
READER 4: We took Steve home, and it was something to adjust to … frightening. We were very grateful for the tiny bit of vision—something like 3 percent—that Steve had in his right eye. Not much, but next to total blindness it meant everything. One afternoon when Steve was seven, he came home from school, and I gave him a plateful of his favorite cookies that I had just finished baking.
READER 3: Mommy, there must be something wrong with the lights in the classroom because they kept flashing off and on today.
READER 4: I absolutely froze. My heart started pounding. I had refused to face the possibility that Steve might lose the little vision he did have—although the doctors warned me that he might. And now the doctor confirmed. There was no hope. The retina had detached. He had no sight now. But I will never forget a most beautiful experience at the end of a Church meeting. I had been deeply moved, and I turned to Steve and said that anything he would ask in prayer would be granted.
READER 3: Anything? Anything, Mom?
READER 4: Immediately I realized what a foolish thing it was to have said. But I had to stand behind my words. “Anything, Steve.” After the service Steve wanted to tell me what he had asked for. I didn’t really want to hear. I was nearly afraid to. “What did you ask for, Steve?”
READER 3: Well (pause), do you think God would help me get some music in braille for my flute?
(Music interlude.)

In January 1994, while living in Provo, Shane and I arrived home one evening after attending the temple. When we walked into our tiny studio apartment—and by tiny, I mean tiny!—we noticed a message on our answering machine from my grandma informing us that my mom had a brain aneurism and was at LDS Hospital being prepped for emergency brain surgery. We immediately jumped in the car and drove to Salt Lake City. I cried all the way there while Shane drove as fast as he could.

When we arrived, we were met by my dad and two of my sisters. The mood was somber as we waited for the doctor to come talk to us. After a time, the doctor arrived and explained all the things that could go wrong related to the surgery. He then gave our family a few minutes for my dad and Shane to give my mom a blessing. As they wheeled her out on a gurney, she looked at us and said, “Don’t worry about me, I’m going to be just fine.”

We were shown to a waiting room, where we waited and waited and waited. It was a long night of waiting, crying, and praying. Early the next morning, the surgeon reported that the surgery had gone well, and he let us see Mom for a few minutes. We gathered around her bed and had a family prayer. Once again my mom said, “Now quit worrying about me. I’m going to be just fine. You just need to trust in the Lord.”

Shortly after the surgery, the doctors did another scan of her brain and found that they hadn’t quite gotten all of the aneurism and also discovered a second aneurism. The weeks ahead were difficult and filled with uncertainty, fear, and worry. Two more brain surgeries and many miracles later, my mom was doing well. Miraculously, the only side effect was a loss of smell.

Fast-forward to November 2022, when there was another aneurism and another brain surgery. In a journal entry from that day, I noted her amazingly positive response to this trial. I wrote that she said, “I’m not going to fear—I’m to be of good cheer! We just need to trust in the Lord.”

I continued to write: “My mom’s faith is unwavering! She is a rock. She is solid. She is positive all the time. She always finds the good in something when it would be so easy to fall into the trap of negativity.”

While riding the bus on a school field trip, I was sitting in front of a girl who kept making rude comments and jokes that made me feel uncomfortable. My teachers and other students told her to stop, but she kept going. I didn’t know what to do, so I decided to pull out my MP3 player and listen to some of my favorite music.
I turned it on shuffle and one of the first songs that came on was a song from youth.lds.org/music. I was about to skip over it when something inside told me that I should just listen to the music. I kept listening to inspirational music for the next 20 minutes. The lyrics encouraged me to hold on, and they reminded me that I was a beloved daughter of Heavenly Father.
I know that music can have a profound influence in our lives. I know that listening to the inspirational music on my MP3 player a couple days before had helped give me the courage I needed to leave the dance. These experiences helped me get much closer to my Heavenly Father.

None of the changes described above, of course, needs to happen all at once. Neuroscientist Alex Korb writes that “one small change at a time” can reverse the course of depression by creating an “upward spiral.” I once visited with a family whose depressed teenager felt unable to commit to anything except getting a little more sunshine. After two weeks of getting outside more to play sports with his father, this young man felt enough energy to experiment with adjustments to his diet, which triggered other improvements and a new momentum of gradual healing. This reflects “the aggregation of marginal gains” that Elder Michael A. Dunn of the Seventy recently emphasized.18

Jonathon grumbled as he climbed into the car next to his brother, Mike. He wanted to stay home and play the new game he had been given for his birthday last week. But his mother insisted they all go to the meetinghouse and help with the ward’s cleanup day.
“Why do we have to go?” Jonathon had asked his mother as he helped her load their vacuum into the car.
“It will be fun,” she said, smiling. “Besides, all of us use the meetinghouse. It’s only right that we help clean it from time to time.”
Jonathon stared out the window and watched the houses and trees pass by as they drove to the church. As his mother pulled the car into the church’s parking lot, Jonathon was surprised to see Brother Lawson park his car next to theirs.
“What is Brother Lawson doing here?” Jonathon wondered.
Brother Lawson had been very sick lately with a type of cancer called leukemia. He had been in the hospital for a long time. Jonathon remembered his parents encouraging Mike and him to pray for Brother Lawson during their personal and family prayers. Brother Lawson hadn’t been home from the hospital for very long.
Jonathon had always liked Brother Lawson. He was older than Jonathon’s grandfathers, but he went out of his way to talk to Jonathon and ask him about school and his sports team. One time he even came to one of Jonathon’s games.
As Jonathon climbed out of the car, Brother Lawson waved and said, “Hi, Jonathon.” Brother Lawson walked around to the back of his car and took a vacuum out of the trunk. Walking slowly, he pushed the vacuum into the church.
“Jonathon,” his mother called, “can you give me a hand with this?” She was struggling to pull their vacuum from the back of the car.
“Sure, Mom,” Jonathon said. He helped her pull the vacuum out and quickly pushed it across the parking lot.
All that evening Jonathon and Mike worked beside Brother Lawson. Several times Jonathon became tired and stopped to rest, but he noticed that Brother Lawson continued to work. And he was smiling! “It’s nice to be able to help, isn’t it?” Brother Lawson asked.
Jonathon felt something change inside him. “If Brother Lawson can be happy while he’s helping, so can I,” he thought. He started working even harder.
“Thank you for coming with me,” his mother said later as they were heading home.
“You’re welcome,” Jonathon said. “I’m sorry I complained about coming. I didn’t know you could learn so much from vacuuming.”

Many years ago I spoke of one who took his example from the Savior, one who stood firm and true, strong and worthy through the storms of life. He courageously magnified his priesthood callings. He provides an example to each of us. His name was Thomas Michael Wilson, the son of Willie and Julia Wilson of Lafayette, Alabama.
When he was but a teenager and he and his family were not yet members of the Church, he was stricken with cancer, followed by painful radiation therapy, and then blessed remission. This illness caused his family to realize that not only is life precious but that it can also be short. They began to look to religion to help them through this time of tribulation. Subsequently, they were introduced to the Church, and eventually all but the father were baptized. After accepting the gospel, young Brother Wilson yearned for the opportunity of being a missionary, even though he was older than most young men when they begin their missionary service. At the age of 23, he received a mission call to serve in the Utah Salt Lake City Mission.
Elder Wilson’s missionary companions described his faith as unquestioning, undeviating, and unyielding. He was an example to all. However, after 11 months of missionary service, illness returned. Bone cancer now required the amputation of his arm and shoulder. Yet he persisted in his missionary labors.
Elder Wilson’s courage and consuming desire to remain on his mission so touched his nonmember father that he investigated the teachings of the Church and also became a member.
I learned that an investigator whom Elder Wilson had taught was baptized but then wanted to be confirmed by Elder Wilson, whom she respected so much. She, with a few others, journeyed to Elder Wilson’s bedside in the hospital. There, with his remaining hand resting upon her head, Elder Wilson confirmed her a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Elder Wilson continued month after month his precious but painful service as a missionary. Blessings were given; prayers were offered. Because of his example of dedication, his fellow missionaries lived closer to God.
Elder Wilson’s physical condition deteriorated. The end drew near, and he was to return home. He asked to serve but one additional month, and his request was granted. He put his faith in God, and He whom Thomas Michael Wilson silently trusted opened the windows of heaven and abundantly blessed him. His parents, Willie and Julia Wilson, and his brother Tony came to Salt Lake City to help their son and brother home to Alabama. However, there was yet a prayed-for, a yearned-for blessing to be bestowed. The family invited me to come with them to the Jordan River temple, where those sacred ordinances which bind families for eternity, as well as for time, were performed.
I said good-bye to the Wilson family. I can see Elder Wilson yet as he thanked me for being with him and his loved ones. He said, “It doesn’t matter what happens to us in this life as long as we have the gospel of Jesus Christ and live it. It doesn’t matter whether I teach the gospel on this or the other side of the veil, so long as I can teach it.” What courage. What confidence. What love. The Wilson family made the long trek home to Lafayette, where Elder Thomas Michael Wilson slipped from here to eternity. He was buried there with his missionary tag in place.

Not many children serve in a Church calling before they graduate from Primary. But George N. from Uganda was only five years old when he was called to be the chorister in his branch.
The chorister is the person who stands up in front of everybody during sacrament meeting to lead the singing. It’s an important job!
“I used to be very nervous when I was younger,” George says. But even then he always did his best. He improved every week. Before long he was leading the music confidently.
George enjoys serving in his calling. “I feel good,” he says. “I feel like the Spirit is inside the room.”

Horace Mann, that great educator somewhere back in the time of Abraham Lincoln, told how he was the speaker at the dedication of a great boys’ school, and in his talk he said, “This school has cost hundreds of thousands of dollars; but if this school is able to save one boy, it is worth all that it cost.” One of his friends came up to him at the close of the meeting and said, “You let your enthusiasm get away with you, didn’t you? You don’t mean what you said that if this school, costing hundreds of thousands of dollars, were to save just one boy, it was worth all that it cost? You surely don’t mean that.”
Horace Mann looked at him and said, “Yes, my friend. It would be worth it if that one boy were my son; it would be worth it.”

Ray Ivie, however, still loves rivers.

Brother Ivie is a spry little man, wiry and elfish, an electrical engineer by trade. Mention a river to him, and his eyes come alive. His already animated face becomes even more eager. His pulse picks up so fast that yours races with it. Listen to him speak, and the fascination for rivers is rekindled in you once again.

Ray Ivie is also the Scoutmaster of Troop 477 chartered to the 77th Ward of the Orem Utah South Stake. A couple of years ago he and his Scouts had built some pioneering projects, lashing poles together with rope to form furniture, camp equipment, even towers.

“We had poles and ropes,” he said. “And we’d been talking about a river trip, but we didn’t have any canoes. One of the projects mentioned in the pioneering merit badge book is to build a raft. I don’t think they had anything elaborate in mind, but it started me thinking, hey, we could do that; it wouldn’t cost much.”

That’s what happens when an engineer gets loose. Soon the boys in Brother Ivie’s troop were fashioning willow sticks into model rafts.

“We did some calculating of flotation needed for the weight we planned to carry, what we’d need to do in terms of water displacement,” Brother Ivie said. “We figured out that inner tubes would give adequate flotation, and we found some businesses where tubes with holes in them were just throw-aways. For the cost of patching materials and the time spent a couple of Saturdays fixing the tubes, we had the materials we would need.” The two-level rafts were designed with inner tubes lashed together underneath a log framework.

“The whole principle of pioneering is to use what’s available,” Brother Ivie added. “Teaching the boys about that is much more valuable than hiring some commercial company to ferry them down the river. And when you know you’re going to be floating on your own raft, you make sure it’s well built. It’s not like some tower you sit on for a minute. If a raft falls apart, you’re in the drink.”

After reviewing safety procedures and checking with Green River (Utah) State Park officials, Troop 477 set sail in the summer of 1983. The trip was so memorable that Brother Ivie and his boys automatically talked with friends and family about what they had done, inviting others to go with them the next year. Brother Ivie gave them copies of his assembly and instruction manual, “The PT-13 (Patrol Transport, 13-tube, 13-foot pole, Live-aboard Ship).” By the following summer, two more troops (from the Orem 15th and 27th Wards) manning a total of five rafts were scheduled for the second flotilla.

President Juan Medina is serving as branch president for the second time, but this experience is a bit different. This time, he can’t see those he is ministering to. “I lost my vision little by little, but I did not lose the capability to serve that the Lord has always offered me,” President Medina said from his home in Sonora, Mexico. “Being able to minister to my brothers and sisters is a privilege.”
During the COVID-19 pandemic, President Medina called each member of his branch to see how they were doing. He said that this not only helped others but also helped him feel less stressed and depressed. “It is through ministering, whether someone has ministered to me or I am ministering to others, that I come to know the true love of Christ.”
President Medina said he especially loves working with newly baptized members. “You can see a clear difference between their lives before and after baptism,” he said. “Love changes them.”
When asked about the challenges he faces, President Medina didn’t mention his visual impairments at all. Instead, his comments focused on the people who are missing from sacrament meeting each week and how he wants them to know how much they are missed.
“The biggest blessing I have received is that my life has changed through the gospel,” he said. “Being blind has not changed that.”

I am one who likes to know of happy ironies and happy intersectings. There are many intersectings, of course, that are not happy. I will mention an episode to you now of which you probably do not know, nor did I until recently.

In 1855 Abraham Lincoln, then a lawyer in Illinois, was asked to participate in a patent infringement case involving McCormick, of reaper fame. Lincoln had been given a $400 retainer and was told he might actually argue the case, so he studied and went to Cincinnati for the trial. A lead lawyer in the case was a man named Edwin M. Stanton—a brilliant Pittsburgh lawyer—who said when Lincoln arrived, “Why did you bring that . . . long armed Ape here . . . ; he does not know any thing and can do you no good” (David Herbert Donald, Lincoln [New York: Simon and Schuster, 1995], pp. 185–187). Lincoln stayed at the same hotel as Stanton and the other attorneys, but he was never even asked to eat or to confer with them. Lincoln went home feeling insulted and “roughly handled by that man Stanton” (Donald, Lincoln, p. 187).

The years tumbled on, and later Stanton was to join the cabinet of the newly elected president, Abraham Lincoln. There were differences of views, of course, but Stanton came to deeply admire Abraham Lincoln. After the shooting of Lincoln, a few, including Stanton, stood mournfully by his bed as Lincoln was in the process of dying. When Lincoln died, Stanton, who had once described Lincoln as “an Ape,” paid tribute to his fallen chief:
With a slow and measured movement, [Stanton’s] right arm fully extended as if in a salute, he raised his hat and placed it for an instant on his head and then in the same deliberate manner removed it. “Now,” he said, “he belongs to the ages.” [Donald, Lincoln, p. 599]
Would that all rough relationships could have that kind of resolution and generous ending.

Our youngest son, Zachary, and his family came to visit us during spring break in March of this year. We had a wonderful time together and did a lot of fun things during their visit. On the night before they were to return to their home in Arizona, Zach wanted to go swimming one last time in the ocean, so we headed out to the beach. It was late in the afternoon, with a very strong wind blowing from the East, so we decided to go to Pounders Beach, a place that we had not previously gone to. Because it was so late in the afternoon, and also because I'm basically a coward when it comes to big waves, I decided to stay on the shore and take pictures of Zach as he was enjoying the waves. I now understand why you call it Pounders Beach. The waves were frequent, very large, and very powerful. There were 15 or 20 other young people that were also in the waves that day. Zachary loves the ocean but he had a very difficult time getting out far enough where he could boogie board back to the beach. This picture shows him just coming up after being pounded into the sand by a big wave. I quickly took the picture and at the same time I pointed to the wave that was immediately behind him and was again going to pound him into the beach. I was concerned for his safety because he was not paying attention to the danger that was behind him. He talked to one of the locals and asked him how he was able to get through these large waves without constantly getting pounded into the sand. He looked at Zach somewhat quizzically and said that you always get pounded, but there are some things you can do to make it through the experience and have a wonderful time. He said that the trick is you have to do it right and you have to pay attention to what's going on. Just as Zach learned-how to surf at Pounders, we need to learn and be taught by someone with experience and authority.