Gospel Story Finder

When one young woman read this statement, she decided she didn’t want to walk even close to the line of immodesty. Immediately she removed anything in her wardrobe that wasn’t consistent with being a representative of the Savior. She said, “I would be smart if I didn’t even try on anything in stores that I knew I shouldn’t wear. Why be tempted?” The principle of representation helped her make that firm resolve.

Years ago, when I served as an Area Seventy in Tennessee, a new stake was created, which required the reorganization of a stake presidency. I was assigned to be the junior companion to Elder Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. As you can imagine, I was thrilled!

Elder Christofferson and I approached that weekend in a Spirit of prayer and fasting. We had no agenda other than to seek revelation about who the Lord would have serve as the new stake president.

As is typical, we conducted a series of interviews on Saturday morning. Before we began the interviews, we had a companionship prayer. Then, we interviewed the stake presidency, the bishops and branch presidents, high councilors, and a few other men. These are very brief interviews, usually shorter than ten minutes. Each of the brethren we interviewed provided a brief biographical sheet with information that would help us be mindful of their individual circumstances.

In these interviews, we asked each priesthood leader to share a little information about himself and then asked him for the names of three brethren he would recommend for consideration as the new stake president. We often asked the brethren to explain why they recommended those individuals. We asked follow-up questions. We took notes on what they said, but more importantly on the impressions we received. The interviews lasted approximately three hours and could best be described as spiritual work.

When we completed the last interview and the door was shut, Elder Christofferson turned to me and said, “Well, Elder Meredith, what do you think?” As an Area Seventy, I always felt like that question was somewhat of a spiritual test. I asked Elder Christofferson, “How much of what I think do you want to know? Would you like five names, three names, or one name?” In his kind and gentle manner, Elder Christofferson said, “Let’s start with five names.”

I pulled out the biographical sheets of the five men that I thought should be given the greatest consideration and laid them on the table. He asked me thought-provoking questions about my impressions. He eventually said, “I also think the stake president is one of those five men. Now, if you were to narrow it down to three, who would be the three?”

I looked at the biographical sheets on the table, referred to some notes I had taken, gave it some thought, and pulled two of the sheets off the table. We talked about the three remaining men, each worthy and capable. He eventually asked, “If you were to put those three in order of your recommendation, what order would you have?”

I looked at the table and said, “Actually, the order that they are already in.” He looked at the sheets on the table and then asked with a smile, “Is that left to right or right to left?” I said, “Left to right.” He agreed . . . and I felt I passed the spiritual test. However, the real spiritual test was to determine if our thoughts and feelings were aligned with the Lord’s will. Elder Christofferson invited us to kneel to seek confirmation through prayer. The words are always different in these prayers, but the intent is always the same: to ask the Lord “if it be right.”

When we said “amen,” we both stayed on our knees and waited for a feeling of confirmation. In that case, as it usually does, it came as a peaceful feeling. Nothing grand or great, just small and simple . . . but clear. We knew who the Lord would have serve as the new stake president.

One hot summer day, some workers were doing repairs to the street outside President Smith’s home. As the work intensified and the sun grew hotter, the workers started using obscene and profane words. Soon one of the neighbors approached and scolded the workers for their offensive language, pointing out that George Albert Smith lived nearby. Unimpressed, the workers began to swear even more.
Meanwhile, President Smith was in his kitchen preparing a pitcher of lemonade. He brought it out on a tray with some glasses and said to the workers, “My friends, you look so hot and tired. Why don’t you come and sit under my trees here and have a cool drink?”
Humbled and grateful, the workers accepted his offer, and after their welcome break they finished their work respectfully and quietly.3

Some years ago our family encountered a major challenge. I went to the temple and there prayed earnestly for help. I was given a moment of truth. I received a clear impression of my weaknesses, and I was shocked. In that spiritually instructive moment, I saw a prideful woman doing things her own way, not necessarily the Lord’s way, and privately taking credit for any so-called accomplishment. I knew I was looking at myself. I cried out in my heart to Heavenly Father and said, “I don’t want to be that woman, but how do I change?”

Through the pure spirit of revelation in the temple, I was taught of my utter need for a Redeemer. I turned immediately to the Savior Jesus Christ in my thoughts and felt my anguish melt away and a great hope spring up in my heart. He was my only hope, and I longed to cling only to Him. It was clear to me that a self-absorbed natural woman “is an enemy to God” and to people in her sphere of influence. In the temple that day I learned it was only through the Atonement of Jesus Christ that my prideful nature could change and that I would be enabled to do good. I felt His love keenly, and I knew He would teach me by the Spirit and change me if I gave my heart to Him, holding back nothing.

I still fight my weaknesses, but I trust in the divine help of the Atonement. This pure instruction came because I entered the holy temple, seeking relief and answers. I entered the temple burdened, and I left knowing I had an all-powerful and all-loving Savior. I was lighter and joyful because I had received His light and accepted His plan for me.

When I was young, we moved to the city of Cartagena. Many boys there were smoking marijuana. I feel that I was blessed because I was never invited to do it. When I was ten or eleven, I became a Boy Scout. I was the only one in my public school, so I was chosen to be the leader for many things, and I wore my uniform in parades. I remember collecting things for the poor people in the city. I remember the joy of giving.

The way for you to be happy is to love others and to be obedient. You can set a good example at school and in your family. You can also set an example as a good citizen of your country. If we want to have strong nations, they must start with you children.

It was one of the first warm days of early spring. The windows of our church were open for the first time that year, and bright, warm sunlight spilled in long rays into the chapel. A small, spring wind came through the windows carrying the fragrances of unseen blossoms. My grandparents and several aunts and uncles were sitting proudly with my parents. I was sitting on the front row of the chapel with the deacons. It was my first time passing the sacrament.
The sacrament song ended.
The bishop nodded to us, and in a single motion we stood and walked to the table. The white cloth was removed and carefully folded, and then the prayer was spoken. I felt the importance of the words and the ordinance as I never had before. With my relatives and what seemed like the entire congregation watching me, I tried to move with as much reverence and dignity as I could. I felt a strong feeling of pride to be able to pass the sacrament. It was a great honor. When the meeting was over, nearly everyone in my ward congratulated me.
Several months passed, and in that time, along with the other members of my quorum, I began to forget, a little, the honor of holding the priesthood and of passing the sacrament. We began not to remember what the ordinance stood for. It became a chore. Something we had to do. A job we were given because no one else wanted to do it.
This attitude began to affect the way we performed the ordinance. They were small differences. We were sometimes late for sacrament meeting. Occasionally we didn’t dress as appropriately as we should have. And we talked during the meeting, not loudly and not during the sacrament service, but enough that it was noticed. They were small things, but they took away from the sacredness of the ordinance we were charged with.
The bishop asked our adviser to talk to us about it. Every Sunday morning for weeks he tried to explain to us the importance of what we were doing, of the priesthood of God, and of the ordinance of the sacrament. He told us of the sons of Aaron, of Gethsemane, and Calvary. He was an older man, and we could tell he felt strongly about the things he was telling us. We would straighten up a little. Then a few Sundays would pass, and we would slip back again.
One Sunday after our priesthood class had ended, our adviser stopped us.
“You don’t have to worry about the sacrament today,” he said. “It’s been taken care of.”
We were surprised and curious, but we were also glad to get out of the job, even if it was just for one day. We came into the meeting late as usual, during the song, and sat on a middle row. Sitting on the deacons bench with our adviser were the high priests of our ward. They were the oldest and most respected men in our ward. Two of them had been bishops, one a stake president. All held or had held positions of honor and leadership. The song ended. They rose, and the prayer was said.
By their bearing and by their reverence it was easy to see they felt great respect and honor for what they were doing. It was no menial task for them. They were all dressed in dark suits, white shirts, and ties. But it was more than the way they were dressed or even the way they carried themselves in performing the ordinance. The congregation was silent. The sacrament became something deeply felt and sacred. There was something deeper, something much more significant. There was a spirit to it. A feeling deeper than words.
The windows in the chapel were open that Sunday. It was late fall, and the fragrance of fall came in through the windows. I could see patches of a blue sky. Leaves were falling from the trees. I was humbled. Passing the sacrament wasn’t a job no one else wanted. It was a job I had been given as a sacred trust. It was the greatest of honors.

While I was serving my mission in Mexico, my companion and I met a man from Obregón, a city in northwestern Mexico near the Gulf of California. He was interested in our message about the Restoration of the gospel, but he had only 10 minutes to talk because he had to catch a train. We taught him all we could in that short time and gave him a copy of the Book of Mormon and all of the tracts we had. At the time, our mission had no missionaries in Obregón.
Several months later I received a Christmas card from someone in Obregón. I looked at the card and wondered who could have sent it. Then I realized it had been sent by the man we had talked to for 10 minutes. I hung up the card in our apartment with the rest of the Christmas cards the other elders and I had received.
After Christmas I was about to throw the card away when I felt an impression to keep it. The impression was not an audible voice but a feeling in my heart. Instead of throwing the card away, I put it in my suitcase.
A few months later as I was reading the monthly letter from the mission home, I noticed an announcement that missionary work would be opened in Obregón. Once again I thought, “What does that city have to do with me?” Then I again remembered the man we had met from there. I dug through my suitcase and found the Christmas card. I wrote on the card, “These elders are friends of mine, and I am sending them to teach you more about the gospel.” Then I sent the card to the elders assigned to serve in Obregón and told them to take it with them and visit the man.
Soon I received a letter from the elders in Obregón. It read: “Dear Elder Ramos, the work here has been so difficult that the mission president was planning to pull us out until we received your card. We went to see this brother, and he was so excited about our message that he took us to meet all of his family and friends. Because of this brother, we have started a branch.”
Years have passed, and now three stakes have been organized in Obregón. I am humbled to know that because I had listened to the promptings of the Spirit, I was blessed to play a small part in helping my brothers and sisters in Obregón receive the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Wong Yun Tai remembers the warm September evening in 1984 when her life changed. The Wong family live on the 21st floor of the Wu Yuet House, a government housing project in the Tuen Mun area of Hong Kong’s New Territories. That evening, 15-year-old Wong Yun Tai, who goes by the English name Belle, was eating dinner when a knock came at her door. Two strangers wearing white shirts, ties, and curious black name tags were at the door. They talked to her through the metal gate that remained locked even though the door was open.
Belle was busy eating, so she told her two visitors to come back in an hour. “I was interested in religion, and I really wanted to know what was true. I was just like Joseph Smith. I really wanted to know which church was God’s true church,” recalls Belle.
When the missionaries returned, she listened politely to their message. Afterward, they gave her a Book of Mormon to read, said a prayer, and then left. It was a simple meeting, but it had a powerful effect on Belle. “When I prayed, I had a very unique, good feeling in my heart,” she says.
A month later, Belle was baptized. Then the real work began. Belle, the second oldest child of Wong Hong Tsuen and Wong Leung Nan Ho, wanted her parents and brothers and sisters to experience the same gospel joy that had become such an important part of her life. She began sharing what she had learned.
Now, more than a decade later, she’s still sharing. Since those humble beginnings, seven of the eight Wong children have joined the Church, as have Mom and Dad. Belle served a mission in Hong Kong. So did two younger sisters, Angela and May.

One morning Elder L. Tom Perry’s talk “Let Him Do It with Simplicity” felt especially pertinent to my circumstances.2 Elder Perry applied the principles taught by Henry David Thoreau in Walden to simplifying our lives by fueling spirituality and obtaining relief from the stress of the world. Because of the demands of my schooling, family outings for us are precious and rare. One summer prior to Elder Perry’s address, however, we visited Walden Pond, spending a reflective moment inside a re-creation of Thoreau’s cabin. We made the most of that afternoon by wading in Walden Pond and building sand castles on the beach. After returning home, our family thanked Heavenly Father for His creations that we had enjoyed together.
Months later as I trudged down snow-covered sidewalks, I recalled that sweet summer day. As a result of that experience and Elder Perry’s message, I more clearly understood how spending time with my family is crucial to living a deliberate gospel-centered life.

In the fall of 1994, Lamont and Janice McDowell Gingerich bid good-bye to their children, left their home in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and headed for the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah. There they spent two weeks involved in “the most delightful, spiritually uplifting, and yet physically tiring training and activities sessions,” Sister Gingerich reports.
On 15 September, the Gingeriches headed for Guam. After a brief orientation, they continued on to Ebeye, a small island in the Kwajalein atoll. The island is about one kilometer long and about 110 meters wide. It is home to approximately 13,000 people.
“As a missionary couple, we helped with as many of the administrative and other duties as possible, thereby allowing the younger missionaries maximum time for proselyting activities,” Elder Gingerich says.
But the Gingeriches did more than that. Twice a week, they volunteered at the island hospital. Their work did not go unnoticed. In fact, after the members had waited almost a year, the mayor of the community finally granted permission for a meetinghouse to be built—primarily because of the Gingeriches’ community service work. Initially the community leader had been concerned about the perception that the only thing Church members wanted was to baptize people, but when he saw the missionaries volunteer their time, he realized that they truly cared about the community and local people.
“Couple missionaries also enjoy great success in helping less-active members come back to church,” Elder Gingerich observes. “The only problem this mission has with missionary couples is that there aren’t nearly enough of them to go around!”

Let us turn to a news release I once read from Los Angeles: “A blind father rescued his tiny daughter from drowning in the new swimming pool that had been installed in the neighborhood.” Then the story went on to describe just how this had been accomplished. The blind father had heard a splash when his little girl, who could not swim, fell into the pool. He was frantic and wondered how he might help her. It was evening, and she was the only one in the pool. He got upon his hands and knees and crawled around the outside edge of the pool and listened for the air bubbles that came from that little girl, as she was actually in the process of drowning. Then, with a heightened sense of hearing, he followed carefully the sound of those air bubbles and, in one desperate attempt, with love in his heart and a prayer within his soul, he jumped into the pool and grasped his precious daughter and brought her to the side and to safety. Love prompts such miracles.

A hailstorm had flattened Richard Ballantyne’s first wheat crop in the Salt Lake Valley, leaving just a few precious stalks to be gathered in the fall. He and his wife Huldah and their baby had come too late in the season the year before to plant any crops, so they were counting on this year’s wheat harvest to help them through the winter.
In the midst of his discouragement, Richard had an unusual impression. His mind drifted back to his homeland in Scotland where he was converted to the Church. He thought of the sooty ragamuffins who played on Sunday in the streets of the little village of Fawns. Richard had organized a small Sunday School there for these boys and girls and had taught them about Jesus.
Now, in this new land and in this desert country that had been so hard to tame, Richard thought of the pioneer children. He loved the gospel and he loved to teach boys and girls. In his own words Richard Ballantyne expressed his feelings this way:
“I felt that the gospel was too precious to myself to be withheld from the children; they ought to have the privileges of gospel teaching, and that was the main purpose: to teach them the gospel.”
Richard told his bishop that he would like to start a Sunday School. The bishop and the General Authorities of the Church all encouraged him in his plans. Loading everything they owned into two wagons, Richard and his family moved out of the Old Fort to a building lot one block west and three blocks south of the proposed Salt Lake Temple site. They built a single room to be used as a “summer kitchen” and lived in one covered wagon. Their other wagon was used for storage.
Any time that wasn’t needed to provide food and clothing for his family, Richard spent working on the addition to his little one-room home that was to be used for a meetinghouse. He went to Millcreek Canyon, cut down trees, and hauled the logs to a mill to be sawed into lumber. From a quarry in Red Butte Canyon, he brought sandstone for the foundation and sills. Adobe bricks for the walls were obtained from a brickyard west of the city.
The Sunday School room was twenty feet long and eighteen feet wide and had plastered walls inside and adobe walls outside, plank flooring, and a roof of logs and boards covered with several inches of dirt. The room was lighted by two windows in front and a window and half-glass door on the south side. Heat came from a large fireplace, and the benches were made of slabbed timber.
Sister Ballantyne chose the music for the Sunday School, made suggestions on the lessons, and helped give the room a cozy and welcome atmosphere.
Outside, Richard planted cottonwood trees for shade and attractive shrubs and vines. He also built a pole fence around the house. By the time winter came, the building was completed and the bearded Scotsman invited the children in the neighborhood to his new home for Sunday School.
At eight o’clock Sunday morning, December 9, 1849, about thirty children between the ages of eight and thirteen stamped the snow off their shoes and trooped into Sunday School where a warm fire and Richard Ballantyne greeted them. With shining eyes he called the class to order. After a song, he gave a sincere prayer and dedicated the room to teaching children the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Raymond was discharged in June 1961, and I was discharged later that year. I often wondered what had happened to my old friend.
One day many years later, in 1990, while looking out the window of my home in the state of Washington in the United States, I spotted two nicely dressed young men. They were missionaries for the Church, and I invited them in. After talking with them a little while, I found out that Raymond’s hopes had come true: President Spencer W. Kimball had received a revelation in 1978 directing that all worthy males could receive the priesthood. I was elated. After receiving the missionary lessons, I agreed to be baptized.
About this time I told a neighbor, also a member of the Church, about my friendship with Raymond. I had no idea the neighbor would go to Utah and actually find Raymond. Two weeks later my old friend “Milkshake” drove more than 1,000 miles (1,600 kilometers) to speak at my baptism. He said he always knew I would join the Church.
In December 1997, I got a call from Raymond’s daughter, telling me he had passed away. I was saddened by the news, but I smile when I think of the reunion Rocky and his friend Milkshake will someday have on the other side of the veil.

Most of our family’s struggles were because of my father. He was angry and bitter, and our world at home was a dark place. I was very scared of him. Everything was uncertain and unpredictable when my father was around. I could feel darkness surrounding me, even at a young age. I felt so afraid and alone. It was hard to be home. I wanted a father who loved me, who took care of me and protected me. But I felt none of those things from my earthly father.
I sought refuge by going to church whenever he would let me. I loved to be in the chapel because it seemed like such a safe place. I was nervous, hesitant, and unsure about being close to my Heavenly Father because I wasn’t sure what He was really like. I learned in church that I had another heavenly friend who loved me. So I focused on Jesus Christ and His love for me. I loved Him because my Young Women leaders loved Him. I saw how happy they were when they talked about Him. I tried hard to keep the commandments and do all that He wanted me to do.
When our youth group was planning to do baptisms for the dead, I wondered what it would be like in my Heavenly Father’s house. With great anticipation, I stepped inside the Los Angeles California Temple. I was overwhelmed at the feeling of peace there. Nothing could have been more opposite from my earthly home. I almost didn’t dare breathe for fear the feeling would go away. But it was constant and calm.
I loved being in the temple. In His house, I did not need to be afraid. It was safe, calm, peaceful, and comforting. I wanted to live there. Heavenly Father’s house was full of love. I was so happy. I wanted to hold on to that feeling and promised myself that I would be worthy to come back to His house again.
Through my Church and temple experiences, I learned that Heavenly Father is a loving father. He cares about me and is aware of my needs—both physical and spiritual.

During the first semester of my law school training, I learned a legal principle that helped me better understand how our actions affect our ability to receive the blessings Heavenly Father desires for us.

My contracts class was taught by a distinguished professor who was very kind and gracious—when he was not in the classroom. In class, he was a master at teaching using the Socratic method—a method of teaching that involves asking probing questions in a way intended to develop critical thinking. My professor was so skilled that he seemed like the lawyers described by Amulek, who “by their cunning devices . . . might catch them in their words.” [11]

For most class periods we were assigned to read three legal decisions or cases. During class, a student was called upon to summarize the facts of the case and then describe the legal principles of contract law that the cases established. The unfortunate student was then subject to the professor’s probing, twisting questions that followed. It was almost always a very humbling experience. The first time I was called upon, the cases dealt with a principle of contract law known as unilateral acceptance. As a result, I have never forgotten that principle.

In 1995 I saw this joy personified as I accompanied the missionaries in Santiago, Chile, to visit some of their converts. At the Basuare home, eight-year-old twin boys, Nicolas and Ignacio, met us at the door, dressed in white shirts and ties, just like missionaries. Their father had been baptized three weeks earlier, and the following week he baptized his wife and sons. We talked of their conversion. They shared their feelings of love for the missionaries and the joy they were experiencing in living the gospel and keeping the commandments.
I asked Nicolas if he would like to be a missionary when he grew up. He answered yes, and we shook hands on the promise that he would prepare for the day. Then I asked Ignacio the same question. He hesitated and replied, “I’m not sure I can make that promise. I’m only eight years old.”
I persisted, “Nicolas made the promise. Wouldn’t you like to do the same?”
He still hesitated and said, “I don’t know if I could be ready.” I could see I had taken on more than I could manage, so I said, “Perhaps you had better talk this over with your father.”
He went to his father, who took him in his arms and said, “Ignacio, Jesus was a missionary. He walked the streets like Elder Sheets and his companion and made the people happy by teaching them to keep the commandments. Wouldn’t you like to be like Jesus?”
“Yes, Papi, I would.”
“Do you think if we work together, you can be ready to be a missionary when you are 19 years old?”
“I think so.”
“Wouldn’t you like to make the promise to Elder Mickelsen that you will do that?” He came to me, and we shook hands to confirm the promise. I marveled that this young father, a convert of just three weeks, could be so sensitive in helping his family follow the Savior and how he emulated the missionaries in teaching his son.

1. Truman was racing around the dining room table when he saw Mom place an empty box on the kitchen counter and start to fill it with food.
What are you doing, Mom?
Thanksgiving is coming. I thought we could do service for another family by giving them food for a Thanksgiving dinner. Do you want to help?
Sure.
2. Truman ran to the pantry and found a box of stuffing mix.
Do you think they would want this?
Yes, I think they would be thankful for it. Go ahead and put it in.
3. Truman raced to the box and put the stuffing mix inside. Then he ran back to the pantry.
I’m going to be your super-fast helper, Mom.
That sounds great. Can you find some corn?
4. Truman quickly looked through the pantry and grabbed two cans of corn. He rushed back to the box and placed them inside. He was having fun helping as fast as he could. He put a lot of food in the box. Later, he even helped put a frozen turkey inside.
5. Now what are we going to do?
When it gets dark, Dad will take you to deliver the box.
Can we do it super fast?
Yes. Super fast.
6. When it got dark, Dad, Truman, and his older brother, Ethan, carried the box to the car. They drove for a couple of minutes until Dad parked down the street from the family’s house.
OK, guys. We’re going to put the box on the doorstep, knock on the door, and run.
Truman was excited about the running part.
7. Dad carried the box as Truman and Ethan walked quietly behind him. When Dad put the box down on the doorstep and knocked on the door, all three of them ran back to the car as fast as they could. Truman ran faster than ever.
8. As they drove away, Truman looked out the back window. He saw someone open the door, look around, and smile. He felt good about helping a family have a Thanksgiving dinner.
Do you think anybody saw us?
No way, Dad! We were super fast!

In November 1999, my brother David and I were practicing our volleyball serves on a hill in our front yard. My six-year-old brother, Luc (Luke), was leaning on the screen in the window above the garage. He fell through it 13? (4 m) to the driveway. I ran in and told my mom and dad, and they came out and picked him up. No one knew he had landed on his head.
My mom took him to the hospital and called my dad half an hour later, saying that Luc’s skull was practically shattered. He was life-flighted to Primary Children’s Hospital in Salt Lake City, Utah. He was in a coma for three days. The doctors said that he had a huge blood clot behind his right eye. He couldn’t see for a couple of days. The doctors also said that he’d be in the hospital for two months.
While Luc was in the coma, our ward fasted and prayed for him. We fasted after sacrament meeting on Sunday until Monday night. People we knew in India and France did, too, even though most of them weren’t members of the Church. Luc woke up from his coma and got better and so did some other kids in the hospital. Luc was known as the “Miracle Boy.” He was in the hospital for only a week!
He’s OK now but has to go for a couple of checkups. I’m so glad that he survived his accident, and I know that fasting and prayer really work.

Georgie began his life as a little black egg in a crystal-clear ball of jelly and grew very, very slowly.
He was slow to grow his tail and slow to nibble at the jelly for his meals.
He was slow to grow his front legs and even slower to grow his back legs.
Everyone called him So-Slow, but he didn’t mind—at least not while he was a tadpole.
But he was sad the day he lost his tail and became a real frog, because real frogs can jump and So-Slow didn’t know how to jump. Everyone in Green Pond laughed at him.
So-Slow went to his mother. “Mother, I can’t jump,” he cried.
“Just try,” his mother croaked.
So-Slow went to his father. “Father, I can’t jump,” he sobbed.
“Well, try,” his father croaked.
“I have tried,” groaned So-Slow.
“Try harder,” advised his father.
So-Slow swam across the weedy pond. He was quite a good swimmer. “If only I could jump,” he said to himself.
After scrambling onto a shiny green lily pad, So-Slow decided he was going to jump. So he perched himself right on the edge of the leaf and pushed and pushed, but he only fell head first into the cold still water.
Shrieks of laughter came from the frogs all around. “Did you see that mighty jump!” they roared.
So-Slow climbed back onto the swaying lily pad. He smiled at the other frogs, although he felt like crying. A moment later he tried again. This time So-Slow managed to go in feet first. Again and again he kept trying to jump—climbing out and then trying again.
The other frogs soon grew tired of watching and laughing. Since So-Slow did not seem to notice them anyway, it was not much fun laughing at him.
By sundown that evening, So-Slow could make a tiny jump instead of a slither. He could tell by the noise in the water that he was doing better. His jump was more splashy.
The next morning So-Slow was up before anyone else. He had practiced jumping a long time when the first frog appeared. Now So-Slow could spring from one green lily pad right over a little water and onto another lily pad.
“Pooh!” said the other frogs. “All that practice and you still can’t jump as far as we can!”
So-Slow said nothing. I won’t stop practicing, he thought, until I can jump right over the pond. No one else can do that.
His mother and father watched So-Slow every day. They were very proud of him because he was trying so hard.
One wet day when raindrops were spattering spotted patterns onto the pond, a loud voice was heard above the rain. It was Jamie the Jumper. “The cat,” Jamie shouted. “The cat’s after us. Help!”
So-Slow trembled. He was afraid of the cat, but he knew someone should do something. Should I? he wondered.
“I will,” he decided.
Climbing quickly onto the bank, he put his feet down firmly in the grass and took a deep breath. Then jump! So-Slow soared right over the pond and landed almost on the cat’s nose. The cat was so frightened that it took off over the field.
The cheering of the frogs was so loud that the noise was heard at Farmer Miller’s duck pond miles away.
After that Georgie was never called So-Slow again.
And as for the cat—it stayed on the farm with the mice!

In college I was given the privilege of joining a very elect honorary engineering society. As I attended the initiatory activities, everyone was drinking. I asked for a soft drink and was handed a glass. As I raised it to my lips, I could smell alcohol. I looked around the room. All the eyes were on me. These were professionals who had just given me a great honor. Should I pretend to drink so as not to offend? No. I sat the glass down and then noticed that three other inductees also sat their glasses aside. Do what is right and others will follow your example. Every time you make the right choice in the face of potential criticism, you build strength that makes it easier the next time. The reverse is also true. Satan counts on that.