Gospel Story Finder

Keeping the journal has changed Robbie in profound ways, like helping him recognize personal revelation in his life, but also in smaller, everyday ways, like helping him reach out to others at school. Another entry in his journal is a good example of how reading a specific passage in the Book of Mormon prompted Robbie to change his behavior. The entry reads:
“Beware of pride. I just started 4 Nephi today, and I need to be careful of pride. And I need to try to befriend more people and talk to more people in school.”
So Robbie decided to sit by people at lunch who didn’t have anyone to sit with. He also made it a point to meet new people at school each week. From this experience, Robbie learned that “when you forget yourself, you can make a big difference in people’s lives.”

Another way to receive spiritual insights about our own eternal natures is from a parent or a leader who can reassure us because of his or her inspired glimpses into who we really are. The Spirit has whispered very specifically to me on occasion about the true identity of my children. I remember the night before one of our babies was born I had the distinct impression that this baby would be a great friend and helper with each of its siblings. This has proved to be absolutely true. Another time when one of our teenagers was very downcast because of involvement in an automobile accident, I distinctly heard these words in my mind: “I love this child and will guide his life.” And He has. Such glimpses have come again and again to me. When they have needed encouragement, I have been blessed with insights into the great and noble eternal spirits of my children.

Hilary Ashford knows how hard it is for a teenager in Wales to find a job. It took her a long while.

“I was walking in Cardiff one day thinking, ‘I need some money.’” She even said a little prayer. “Then I saw this craft shop, and I just went in and asked them if they had a Saturday job where I could help out.” They took her name and phone number, but never called. “Six weeks later I went back and asked again.” Again, no call. So Hilary went back a third time. “And they said, ‘We’ve been thinking about you. Come Saturday and you can start.’”

Patience and perseverance paid off. That’s part of belonging—creating a place for yourself, helping others get used to having you around. It’s a lesson that would continue.

“They had hot drinks—every few minutes, it seems. There’s a good stock of coffee and tea downstairs,” Hilary explains. “It was only natural that they noticed I was drinking chocolate instead. I got to explain why I couldn’t drink tea and coffee because it’s against my religion. And they were fine about it. I found I can have my standards and fit in just fine.”

Our lives were forever touched and changed by the generosity of others when we bought our home on Moana Street in 1984. It was a momentous time for us. I had just had a very spiritual confirmation that we should stay in Hawaii in connection with my calling as bishop of the Laie 5 th Ward. We had, with fear and trembling, mortgaged ourselves up to our eyeballs. In the final days of the transaction, the mortgage company inspected the house and made the condition that the home had to have a new roof within 30 days of closing. We were quite depressed when we got estimates of $5-7,000 for the job. We were basically penniless at that point.

In the midst of this, a generous brother-in-law said he would pay for the cost of the materials and the ward leaders came forward and organized a roofing party. On a Saturday morning at 6:00 a.m. a crowd descended on the house (or ascended, I should say) and began to remove the 20-year old, rotten cedar shakes. Leading the way were John Feinga, David Almodova, Sione Langi and Likitoni Kauvaka along with dozens of others from both high priests and elders quorums. Two or three Polynesian brethren from other wards drove by and spontaneously stopped and joined in the work. They said, "This looks like fun. Can I help?" The whole YM-YW program was there. Easter Logan (Bishop Vonn Logan's father) brought his flat-bed truck and supervised the young men loading up the old roof parts being thrown down on the sides of the house.

When the old roof was gone from the top, the ground was clean, as the trash was shuttled continuously to the dump. The relief society and young women had a delicious meal for all participants at noon. By the end of the day, new plywood sheets and tarpaper covered the roof. The whole scene was repeated on Monday, which was the Memorial Day holiday, with the new shingles being laid in orderly fashion. We felt like we were at a barn-raising in the old West. We were also filled with love and gratitude for our brother-in-law, neighbors and ward friends. They had done something for us we could not do for ourselves.

Last December, I had an accident. I fell on the street and broke my hip on both sides and my right arm. This has been one of my greatest trials because it kept me in bed, and I couldn’t walk for more than seven months. They put a hip prosthetic on one side, and the doctor decided to wait until I could walk before they put the other one in. I am still struggling with this challenge today, but I’m not facing it alone. I know my Savior has been by my side every day and always will be. This time, I prayed to help me regain my health so I could continue to enjoy the blessings of going to the temple and serving others. Many people have come to support and assist me. I’ve learned to be humble, recognize my weaknesses, and accept the service they have given me.

For example, when we were leaving Zimbabwe, the plan was for my dad to go to Afghanistan for a year. The rest of my family would live with my mom’s parents. However, right before my dad left, we found out they weren’t sending anyone into Afghanistan for a while. That meant we wouldn’t be moving to live with family. As happy as I was to have my dad, this abrupt change was really hard for all of us.
I was mad, and unfortunately I took my anger out on Heavenly Father for a while. I remember praying one night and basically just yelling about why I was mad. But despite my anger, He helped me eventually humble myself and feel peace. It was like He was saying, “Whatever happens, good can come of it. Just trust me. I know it’s hard right now, but it’s all going to work out in the end.” I was able to calm down and think about things. I needed to learn to trust Heavenly Father and be OK with things not going according to my plan, because His plan is always better.

After a few years of conducting meetings in and around Kotpad, I moved to northern India, where I began to sell books from the Evangelical Christian literature society. I came across a book called Is Mormonism Christian? Something about the book intrigued me, and I decided to read it.
The book had a lot of criticism toward the Mormons and their beliefs. Even so, many parts of the book intrigued me, especially their concept of the Godhead, the components of their worship, and the history of polygamy. However, what interested me the most was that their church was named after Jesus Christ. I was curious to know more.
One day while praying, I felt inspired to investigate the Mormon Church. I learned that Salt Lake City, Utah, was the Church’s headquarters. I decided to write a letter and addressed it to “Men in charge of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Salt Lake City, Utah, USA.”
In 1959, in response to my letter, Brother Lamar Williams from the Church Missionary Department sent me Joseph Smith’s testimony, the Articles of Faith, and the Book of Mormon. I studied them all and was convinced of their truthfulness. However, there were no missionaries or members to teach me in India.
Then in January 1961, Elder Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles visited Delhi. I spent three days traveling with him to the Taj Mahal at Agra and to Dharamsala. I was like a sponge soaking up all the gospel lessons he taught. On the final day of his visit, I was ready for baptism. On January 7, 1961, I was baptized by Elder Kimball in the Yamuna River; Sister Kimball was the official witness, though there were many curious onlookers. I was confirmed that evening.
Those three days when the Lord’s Apostle taught me without any interruptions have been some of the best days of my life. Parting was sad because he had become my special Mormon friend.

She first heard the gospel preached in 1836 in Portage County, Ohio, about 40 miles (64 km) south of Kirtland. Cyrena took several months to decide to join the Church and was baptized in March 1837. In her autobiography, she noted that her siblings were “greatly mortified” at her choice and that as long as she lived at home, she “had to endure their persecutions.”2 Although she was the only member of her immediate family to join the Church, there was a small group of Latter-day Saints living nearby. She visited Kirtland that summer and received a patriarchal blessing from Joseph Smith Sr. in April 1838.3

When our second son, Dave, was 12 years old, he was home alone one afternoon when the telephone rang. It was one of the Laurels in our ward who was calling. Her car had a flat tire and she had been unable to find anyone to help her fix it, so she called to see if my wife, who was president of the Young Women of the ward, could help her. Dave said, “I’m home alone, but I can ride my bike and help you change the tire.” When he hung up the phone, he remembered he hadn’t asked her where she was. He went into his bedroom, knelt down, and asked the Lord to take him to this girl. Then he went out, climbed on his bicycle, and rode directly to where she was.

Some time ago a couple came to my office with very heavy hearts. They had a priest-age son who was an Eagle Scout, a Duty to God Award winner, a good student who had been conscientious in school and on his part-time job. Then one night he just walked away from home and didn’t return. He had been gone for several weeks, and they were heartsick.
I asked them if they had pleaded with the Lord to know where their son was. They assured me they had. “Have you pleaded with all your strength?” “Yes, we have.” “Have you pleaded with every particle of your being?” “Well,” they said, “maybe not every particle.” I said, “You go home and pray again—this time with every particle of energy and strength of your being.” They said they would.
That afternoon the couple knelt down and pleaded with the Lord. At six o’clock the phone rang. It was their son, calling from Banff, Alberta, Canada. After talking to him for a few minutes and finding that he was safe and in no danger, they asked why he had called at that particular time. He replied, “The bishop this evening had the strongest impression to have me call home. He came over to my apartment and said he would not leave until I called home.”
We need to understand that some things demand pleading with the Lord. When we come to know that without his help we cannot possibly accomplish our desires, then we must learn to plead to whatever extent necessary.
Great blessings are wrought through prayer. The God of heaven would not expect us to pray to him if he had no intention of answering our prayers.
One of the choicest experiences of my life was to kneel in prayer in the office of President Spencer W. Kimball. I felt President Kimball’s overpowering love for our Father in Heaven as we knelt together. He taught us much about prayer through his example. We need to learn that we should pray as though everything depended upon God, and then work as though everything depended upon us. When we follow through on our part of the agreement with our Heavenly Father, answers always come. May we have gratitude to God, who is always available to answer a simple prayer of a believer.

One day, my mom needed to take me to urgent care because the blisters had an infection. I was so scared. I didn’t want to get in the car. My mom knew I was scared. She told me about when Joseph Smith was my age. When Joseph Smith was seven years old, he had an illness that required the doctor to do surgery on his leg. He was scared too, but he knew that Heavenly Father was with him and would help him. The doctor took nine pieces of bone out of his leg! I was so surprised. He was brave. If he could do that, I knew that I could get in the car and go to the doctor. I would be brave, and Heavenly Father would help me with the pain I was feeling.

In 1837, when the Church was struggling in Kirtland, Ohio, the Prophet Joseph Smith called Heber C. Kimball to go to England to open the work there. Brother Kimball exclaimed in self-humiliation: “O, Lord, I am a man of stammering tongue, and altogether unfit for such a work; how can I go to preach in that land, which is so famed throughout Christendom for learning, knowledge and piety; … and to a people whose intelligence is proverbial!”
But then on reflection he added: “However, all these considerations did not deter me from the path of duty; the moment I understood the will of my Heavenly Father, I felt a determination to go at all hazards, believing that He would support me by His almighty power, and endow me with every qualification that I needed; and although my family was dear to me, and I should have to leave them almost destitute, I felt that the cause of truth, the Gospel of Christ, outweighed every other consideration” (quoted in Orson F. Whitney, The Life of Heber C. Kimball, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1967, page 104).
He traveled over the sea and commenced the work in Preston, Lancashire, with the very devils of hell opposing him and his companions. And thus began a work in that part of the world that has blessed for good countless lives.

After high school I joined the army reserve. My commanding officer gave me the opportunity of becoming a commissioned officer in the U.S. Army. He was very gracious but also very large and imposing. People didn’t turn him down. I asked if I could go home and think it over.
I prayed that night, and into my mind came the baptism prayer found in Doctrine and Covenants 20:73: “Having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”
I went back the next morning and told my commanding officer that I had decided to accept a commission—but that I would be commissioned by Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. I explained that I was going to serve a mission for my church.
The feeling of having that prayer answered was wonderful, and I have felt it again and again as I have prayed about important decisions. I seem to have always known that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ know me and love me. My conversion must have begun when I first attended Primary and felt the Spirit there. It continued in my Aaronic Priesthood quorums and in the mission field. It still continues today.
We are all sons and daughters of Heavenly Father. He never forgets this, but we sometimes do. So He has given us the principle of faith to help us remember. To help us develop faith in Him, Heavenly Father gives us the gift of experience. As I look back over my life, I’m grateful for the experiences that have helped increase my faith.
Enjoy the experiences that Heavenly Father will give you. Learn from them the things that He wants you to learn. Heavenly Father gives each of us experiences that will help increase our faith in Him and in His Son.
If some of your experiences are sad, please remember that you are a son or daughter of your Father in Heaven and that He loves you. This is a sure anchor that will never be removed. Ever! It is eternal and rooted in the plan of salvation. You must hold fast to it no matter what.

Mary and I were traveling through Germany, Poland, Czechoslovakia, and Austria with the BYU A Cappella Choir, and we had one of the sweetest experiences we’ve ever had. As we went through Poland, everywhere they sang in the cathedrals—90 percent of the people are in the chapels and in the cathedrals on Sunday—and everywhere the choir sang, the Poles would place their hands or their fists over their hearts to say “We bear our testimony of what you sing.” We were in Gdansk, Warsaw, Poznan, Czestochowa, where the Black Madonna was, and they sang in all the cathedrals there. The special occasion of which I speak happened in Spittal, Austria. Our choir had been singing in competition with a cappella choirs from many countries throughout Europe, the German Democratic Republic, which is East Germany, West Germany, Czechoslovakia, Austria, and many others. When the competition was over and the judges were out the choirs had dispersed into the crowd. Our choir went to a fourth tier way above the platform where they had been performing in the castle. They really looked like angels. They sang from the words of Robert Cundick’s The Redeemer, a very special song, “Behold, This Is the Way.”

These are the words at the end of Nephi’s great teachings about the first four principles of the gospel: How faith in the Lord Jesus Christ gives us the strength to repent and turn around; how, after turning around in repentance, we go through the waters of baptism and are cleansed to receive the Holy Ghost and start on a straight and narrow path that leads to eternal life, as defined in the thirty-first chapter of 2 Nephi. And I want to tell you the moving experience that Mary and I had as we stood among those of the choir of Czechoslovakia. As the word Behold rang out, all of a sudden that palace and courtyard became a tabernacle.

I want to share a story that sums up all the points I've addressed today. My great-grandmother Wetekia Rukuku Elkington was born and raised on a small island called Rangitoto Ki te tonga or more commonly known in English as D'Urville Island. When Wetekia was about 14 years old she had a dream and in the dream she saw two Caucasian men in top hats and black coats and when they prayed they raised their right hand to the square. She said, "I was standing on a very wide and beautiful plain. Around me were many people standing in many small groups. They appeared to me to be very sad. I wanted to know the cause of their sadness but could find no answer to my question because none would speak to me. While doing this I heard a voice far away but I couldn't understand the words until the voice was almost over me. Wetekia heard a voice in Maori say "O house of Israel, how oft have I gathered you as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings and ye would not—I will gather you as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, if ye will repent and return unto me. [3 Nephi 10:5]. When I heard these words I looked up and saw a white dove flying over me saying these words. I clapped my hands and looked up and said, "Yes Lord, I will repent and turn unto thee." The white dove then turned into a book, a book with the pages opened out towards me. I woke up then shouting those words, I was so happy. My father rushed over to me and asked what was the matter. I told him of the dream and he said to me "It is a good dream, you are blessed of God."

Some time later a cousin returned from visiting the main island and shared with his relatives that a new religion was being taught and the missionaries of that religion traveled in pairs and taught from a new book of scripture. Upon hearing this, Wetekia immediately recognized the new religion being described as the one from her dream. Her father sent for the LDS missionaries to come to the island and teach the people about the new religion. In 1892 Wetekia, her father and several relatives were baptized members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. For Wetekia her dream had such a profound impact on her it was a defining experience in her life. Because of it, she was convinced that the Lord wanted her and her people to hear the message of the gospel and to follow the savior by joining His church. This decision has had eternal ramifications for not only her and her own posterity but many others. Today the Ngati Koata tribe is known as predominantly LDS, five and six generations of her posterity are members of the church. Hundreds of her descendents have served missions, been married in the Temple and served in various leadership positions in the church. Truly the results of her being open to the Lord's will and following the promptings of the Spirit are hard quantify over 100 years later. The impact of her decision still continues. I'm happy to say that two of Wetekia's great-great grandchildren are current students at BYUH.

Sister Berry said, “I arrived home February 6, 2020, and had to self-isolate for two weeks, but with the same mindset as before, with my suitcase remaining packed! Then I joyfully headed out to serve in the England Leeds Mission. When I arrived, I was greeted with such a warm welcome by the England Leeds Mission president and his wife, President and Sister Green, that I knew the work would continue.”
However, after one month of service came an instruction from her inspired mission president! He gave the direction that the missionaries should stock up on food and remain inside if feeling unwell.
Then just a couple of days later, they were instructed to remain inside until further notice. Later that month, the UK went into lockdown because of COVID-19.
Sister Berry concludes, “For the remainder of my mission, which was just over 100 days, we worked inside our apartments only leaving for necessities and exercise. But I was happy that missionary work continued, and the joy of the gospel prevailed! The strength and dedication shown by my fellow companions and other missionaries were what truly inspired me, along with the unconditional love and encouragement from our mission president and his wife.
“We saw the gospel go worldwide, allowing missionaries to take over social media and reach people from our humble apartments. When completing my mission, I was overwhelmingly filled with joy by the miracles and experiences my mission offered me. I will always cherish the friendships, examples, and memories that I gained by serving.
“On my last day, I travelled from my apartment to the nearby train station and journeyed two hours to the home of my family in London. This was to be my third and last arrival home. I had told them I would be home on a date three weeks later and was thrilled to be able to surprise them!”

Allen E. Litster was president of the Andes Mission at the time. From his notes we learn some of the things that took place on the peaceful Sunday afternoon when that great quake shook Peru.
There were sad and tragic experiences for many of the people in Peru, but there were great blessings to some people too. President Litster wrote:
“Late Sunday night sketchy reports of damage along the Peruvian coast began to filter in from the north. Telephone and cable lines were down, and so communication was limited to ham operators and private company radios.
“Monday afternoon urgent pleas began to come in through small private radios located in the beautiful Callejón de Huaylas, a deep narrow valley located in central Peru at the foot of Peru’s highest peak, Mount Huascarán. The communications reported extensive damage in other areas. Ninety percent of the city of Huaraz had been destroyed. Caraz, a city of some twelve thousand, had reportedly disappeared from the map.
“Our concern increased as we considered the missionaries and members.
“By Tuesday morning there was still no communication from either Caraz or Huaraz, nor was there any by Wednesday morning.
“Then lists of survivors and dead began to be relayed to the public through Lima radio stations. Missionaries and members were assigned to listen for news of missionaries and members in those areas.
“Wednesday evening, seventy-eight hours after the earthquake struck, the telephone rang.
“‘This is Colonel Beckett, U.S. Air Force. Would you like some word about some of your long lost friends? Today I flew a chopper into Caraz. Your elders did some translating for me. They are well and happy and wonder if they could help more where they are or somewhere else.’
“Now maybe there was some hope for the missionaries in Huaraz. Suddenly a cheer broke out in one of the upstairs offices where missionaries were huddled around a radio listening to reports from Huaraz.
“‘Attention, Lima. Mormon missionaries in Huaraz are well.’ Grateful prayers welled up in the heart of each one of us. This accounted for all of our missionaries, and most of our members were safe. The Lord had indeed been good!”

John Taylor stayed with the Prophet Joseph Smith, his brother Hyrum Smith, and Elder Willard Richards at Carthage Jail. John sang to help comfort the prisoners.
John: “A poor wayfaring Man of griefHath often crossed me on my way …”*
After John had sung it once, the Prophet Joseph asked him to sing it again.
Joseph: Sing that song again, will you, John?
John: I do not feel like singing.
Hyrum: Yes, please sing that song again.
Joseph: You’ll feel better once you begin, and so will I.
John: “A poor wayfaring Man of griefHath often crossed me on my way …”
Then a mob of men with painted faces and guns stormed up the stairs to the room where the Prophet and the other prisoners were staying.
Mobster: The Mormon Prophet is up here!!
Elder Richards tried to keep the mob out of the room with a hickory cane, but could not. The mob killed Hyrum. Then Joseph ran to the window and was shot by more members of the mob from below.
Elder Taylor was shot five times. One of the bullets was stopped by the watch in his vest pocket. That saved his life.
Later, he wrote this about Joseph Smith.
John: “Joseph Smith, the Prophet and Seer of the Lord, has done more, save Jesus only, for the salvation of men in this world, than any other man that ever lived in it.”**

At first he couldn’t think of anything, but then things started to change. On Monday after family home evening, he swallowed his pride and went to Emily. “Do you ever see any backbiting or evil speaking in our ward?”
“Sometimes.”
“What causes it?”
“Not every girl comes from a family with enough money for expensive clothes. That can cause people to talk.”
“I don’t see how I can stop that,” said Kevin.
“I try to stop it,” Emily said. “Whenever anyone starts saying bad things about a girl, I try to say good things. You could do that too.”
“That’s not going to stop it.”
“It will if more people look for the positive instead of the negative.”
Kevin felt a twinge of conscience. One of the boys in the deacons quorum was Justin Evanston. Everyone else in the quorum liked sports and camping, except Justin. The boys sometimes made fun of Justin, especially when he tried to play basketball. He was uncoordinated and awkward. Kevin himself had made fun of Justin. He felt bad about it now.
At school on Monday, Kevin saw Jon Dunford in the halls. Jon lived in their ward but didn’t come anymore. He’d gotten into drugs in the seventh grade and a few months later was arrested. He spent six months in a juvenile correction facility and then came back to live at home. Kevin had seen him the first day after he got back. “I’m going to start back to church,” Jon had said.
“Right,” Kevin had replied sarcastically.
Jon came to church once but never returned. Eventually he went back to his old friends. Kevin figured it was only a matter of time before Jon would be put away again.
Kevin decided to talk to Jon.
“Jon, that time you came to church after you first got back, what was it like for you?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I just want to know.”
“Okay. I’ll tell you,” said Jon, an edge in his voice. “A lot of cold stares, a lot of whispering behind my back, and nobody my age talking to me. A lot of the adults said they were glad I was back, but nobody my age did. Not even you.”
Kevin swallowed hard. “Sorry.”
“When I first came back, I really wanted to change my life,” he sighed. “But it’s too late for that now.”
“Give us another chance,” said Kevin. “Come to church with me next time. I’ll do better.”
Jon looked at Kevin for a long time. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“Maybe sometime,” Jon said, starting to walk away.
“What about tomorrow night? We’re going to a TV studio to see how they do the news.”
Jon pursed his lips. “That doesn’t sound too bad. Maybe I’ll go.”
The next day before school Kevin found Jon in the parking lot behind the school with the guys he partied with. “Is tonight still okay?”
Jon smiled. “I’ve never seen you out here before.”
“What about tonight? We could pick you up a little before seven.”
“That’d be okay.”
When they stopped by later that night, Jon wasn’t home, but Kevin wasn’t discouraged. He’d just have to keep asking until Jon gave in and went with him.
The next Sunday after church, Kevin waited to see the bishop. He no longer felt bad that the bishop had asked him to come back; in fact he was glad. This time, when the bishop asked him what a teacher could do to see that there was no backbiting or evil speaking, Kevin had some things to say.
He could hardly wait to see the bishop.

“I started coming to church when I was 16,” he explained. “I met the missionaries on the street. I thought they were lawyers or executives by the way they were dressed. Then I realized they were foreigners. I was curious about them, so I started hanging around them, asking questions.
“In my first discussion, they told me about the Book of Mormon and about Joseph Smith, and I thought, What a great experience to have. I believed it all.”
“Mom didn’t like that and didn’t want me to come to church at first, but she finally said it was all right. Still, when I asked her if I could get baptized, she said no way. So I continued going to church for about seven months, not being a member.”
“What finally changed her mind?” I asked.
“Well, I fasted and prayed, of course, and my birthday was coming up, so I told her that the best gift she could give me would be permission to be baptized. I guess I bugged her so much about it, she finally said to go ahead. You know the rest of the story.”

Bertha came into my life when I was 13 and just beginning junior high school. How well I remember that first day of school. The building was large and sprawling with endless halls and rows and rows of lockers. It seemed like a huge transit mall compared to the security of grade school. Most of the students had come on school buses from small farms and neighborhoods. This was certainly not a big city group, but we were still anxious to be popular and accepted. There were so many of us that we were going to be using the old grade school across the street for additional classrooms. I alternated between excitement and panic at the thought of finding my way around.
I had worked hard all summer babysitting and getting up at 5:00 A.M. to pick strawberries and cherries so I could earn enough money to buy nice school clothes. But even in all my fine new clothes, I felt awkward and uneasy.
My friends and I huddled together, trying to act nonchalant to hide the fear we felt but didn’t dare admit. We stood in awe as the eighth and ninth graders moved confidently through the halls laughing and teasing each other. It was a relief when the bell finally rang and we all headed to the big gym where it was announced that each seventh grader was to be assigned to an eighth grade “big brother or sister” to show them around. Each seventh grader was called, along with the name of his buddy for the day.
When my name was called along with Bertha Brown, I heard several of my friends gasp. I had no idea who Bertha Brown was, but it was obvious that some of them did. As soon as we were excused to go meet our big sisters, I was surrounded by girls telling me to hide quickly before Bertha could find me. It was clear that to be assigned to Bertha was the worst possible fate. I was so confused. Part of me said not to hide—that would be mean. But another part of me wanted to be popular, and that’s the side that won.
So the game began—the hiding, the giggling, and the running from imagined danger. We managed to escape from Bertha for the moment, but not before I caught a glimpse of her. It was true that she was not pretty. She was even a little scary to look at with her wild, dry hair. Her clothes looked like something a grandmother would wear, and her shoes were brown and ugly.
All day the big story was how poor little Sheron had to hide from Bertha. The one time that I really saw Bertha’s face she looked so sad. How could we be so mean to her? I thought. She hadn’t done anything to deserve it. There we were, a whole group of girls, running away from one lonely person. I knew that what we were doing was wrong. I didn’t want to play that awful game. What I really wanted was to talk to Bertha and tell her I was sorry. I knew that she must be embarrassed. But I wasn’t brave enough, so I let everyone else lead me. But oh, I was miserable!
Later that day I forgot about Bertha when I was called to Mrs. Jensen’s office. She had been my very favorite teacher in grade school, and now she was a counselor at the junior high. I could hardly wait to see her. All the way to her office I imagined all kinds of wonderful things. Maybe she wanted me to be her special assistant. Maybe she had something important that she wanted me to do. I almost ran through the halls in my eagerness to see Mrs. Jensen. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for her.
When I walked into her office, I could see tears in her eyes, and my heart nearly broke when she looked straight at me and said, “Of all the girls coming into seventh grade, I assigned Bertha to you because I thought that you were the one girl who would be kind to her!”
All the misery of the day came crashing down on me, and I sobbed as I realized that Mrs. Jensen did have an important assignment for me and I had failed her. I had failed Bertha. But, most of all, I had betrayed myself. The next day everyone else forgot about the game—and Bertha. I never did. I rarely saw her after that day. When I did catch a glimpse of her all alone, I wanted desperately to tell her how sorry I was. But I was too ashamed and too young in my understanding of compassion to know how much it would mean to her.
I never saw Bertha again after junior high, and yet she has been a very important part of my life. Even today I wish that I had found the courage to be her friend. How do you say you are sorry to someone that you have never spoken to and yet hurt so deeply that more than 30 years later you cannot forget?