Gospel Story Finder

One day my friend got angry with me. She yelled and shouted at me. For two weeks I was angry with her. After the first week, she asked me if I wanted to walk with her. I said no. Then one day I prayed and asked Heavenly Father if He would help me not be angry. The next week my friend asked me if I would walk with her, but I still said no. The next time she asked me, I wasn’t angry, and we walked together from then on. Heavenly Father helped me forgive my friend. And that’s how I learned that self-control works, just like Elder Gibbons said in the Friend.

That was the year my father transplanted our family of nine from our home in Hawaii to the foreign land of Michigan. While he was enjoying a sabbatical leave at the University of Michigan, I was wearing transparent rubber galoshes, cat glasses, and a second-hand grandma coat to school, and enduring the snubs of my classmates.
I was naive and ignorant about midwest fashion. How was I to know it wasn’t kosher to wear white socks in the winter? In Hawaii we didn’t wear socks. In fact, most of the time we didn’t even wear shoes. Even if I had deciphered the fashion code, I couldn’t have done anything to remedy the problem because my father was earning half salary that year. Without money, fashion was out.
I admit I enjoyed many happy times with my family in Michigan, but nonetheless was greatly relieved when the sabbatical ended and we returned to Hawaii where fashion was largely ignored and I had many friends.

Friends come in a variety of sizes, shapes, and ages. I learned that as a young boy. I knew that after my daily chores were done, I had a friend next door ready to play—not to run in the fields, ride horses, or swim in the pond, but to sit and have a good game of checkers. For many of the boys my age in our community, Elmer Sessions didn’t seem like a very good prospect as a friend. He was old, especially in the eyes of a 10-year-old boy. He was crippled and could be a little disagreeable at times. But Elmer liked me and I liked him.
Elmer was a good checkers player, and I would patiently watch him plan and execute his moves. He taught me by example how to play checkers. I don’t know who was more excited, Elmer or me, the first time I beat him at his own game.
There was a determination about Elmer that I came to admire. He had an appreciation for nature and beauty and loved to see things grow. Every morning you could see him heading out to work in his garden. With the aid of an old walking stick, Elmer would drag his crippled leg behind him. The walk itself was difficult, and keeping the weeds out of his large garden seemed to me to be a monumental task. It wasn’t easy, but he took pride in the beautiful produce that grew there. I would help him when I could. I enjoyed our conversations. He was full of interesting facts that he was willing to share with a listening boy.
He liked to grow unusual things in his garden, and one spring day I remember asking him what he was planting. He replied, “Goober peas.” When I told him I had never heard of goober peas, he gave me some and told me to go home and plant them in our garden. I did, and I watched them carefully as they grew. When I expressed my concern that I couldn’t see any fruit on the vine, he told me to be patient. The day came when it was time to harvest the goober peas. Elmer showed me how to dig around the plants, and was I surprised and delighted to find that under the ground were mounds of peanuts just waiting to be roasted—Elmer’s goober peas.
Over the years I learned many things from Elmer Sessions—lessons about patience, determination, endurance, and long-suffering. I learned that friends can come in a variety of sizes, shapes, and ages. That an old man and a young boy can be friends. Friendships can easily span years when two people are willing to listen and care and reach out to each other.

The children sang songs, danced, and even put on a skit of “Cinderella” for the girls. Although they couldn’t understand the children, that didn’t slow things down. Seventeen-year-old Elisabeth Farnsworth says, “The language barrier didn’t matter because we were able to communicate through our spirits.”
When the children finished their program, they asked the young women to sing for them. “As we stood to sing ‘I Am a Child of God’ to these children, who didn’t understand English, tears came to my eyes,” says Elisabeth. “I received the feeling that what we sang was true and that, even though we speak a different language and come from different countries, we all are children of the same Heavenly Father who knows what each of us needs. He does love each of his children. These children were away from their families, and they needed to know that they were loved.” The Lord had provided that love through the young women.

It sometimes gets really cold and snowy where we live. Sometimes we even get to stay home from school and ride our sleds down a big hill next to our home. One day, when we were getting ready to put on our snowsuits, hats, and gloves, my mother said it was too cold and windy to go outside. I felt grumpy because we had to stay inside. I started complaining, and my mother said, “You need to go up to your room and find something good to do with your time.”
When I got to my room, I thought about what the Savior would want me to do. I decided to memorize the Articles of Faith. When I came downstairs after a few hours, I told my mother, brother, and sisters that I was sorry for being grumpy and that I had memorized each of the Articles of Faith. They were so surprised! I recited each one for them and felt very good that I had put my time to good use.
I think the Savior was happy that I decided to learn more about Him with the extra time I had that morning. I am grateful that He has given me a family and the scriptures to help us learn more about our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ.

His first months in the Scottish conference, where his father had served years earlier, were not easy, as is the case for many missionaries. He describes this discouraging time and its resultant renewal of his commitment to the Lord in these words:
“I was homesick and a little discouraged on this day. …
“I had just left school. I loved school and I loved young people. I loved youth. And then to go over there and feel … [people’s] prejudice [against the Church] gave me the blues.
“As [my companion and I] were coming back into town, I saw on my right an unfinished dwelling, over the front door of which was a stone on which there was a carving. That was most unusual, so I said to Elder Johnston, ‘I’m going to see what that is.’ I was half way up the graveled walk when there came to my eyesight a striking motto as follows, carved in stone: ‘Whate’er Thou Art, Act Well Thy Part.’
“I repeated it to Elder Johnston as we walked in to town to find a place for our lodgings before we began our work. We walked quietly, but I said to myself, or the Spirit within me, ‘You are a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. More than that, you are here as a representative of the Lord Jesus Christ. You accepted the responsibility as a representative of the Church.’ …
“That afternoon, by the time we found our lodgings, I accepted the message given to me on that stone, and from that moment we tried to do our part as missionaries in Scotland.”

Just the year before, the family had been living in Colorado, and Ryan had injured his shoulder in an accident at school. When the local doctor checked the shoulder, he found evidence of cancer in Ryan’s arm. Ryan and his mom drove for five and a half hours to the hospital in Denver, taking with them only enough for a stay of one or two days. They were in Denver for three and a half weeks.
During the following year, as Ryan went through chemotherapy, surgery to replace the diseased bone in his left arm with a donor bone, and chemotherapy again, the family, Church members, and community friends drew close together. The family came to understand what things are most important. “We almost lost him a couple of times,” said Mom. “He’s here because of priesthood blessings and prayer.”
“I got comfort from the whole ward,” Ryan remembered. “The Young Women in our ward put on a carnival. Afterwards they had a bake auction, and they raised nine hundred dollars for us.” His Primary teacher sent him messages each week, a special fast was held for him, and ward members tended the other Foster children when Ryan and his mom had to be away. His home teacher gave him a special blessing before every trip to Denver. Friends at school raised six hundred dollars, and the principal brought the money to Denver. So Ryan learned to take serious things seriously, and the next year, after the family had moved to South Carolina and Hugo came, all that Ryan and his family had learned during his experience in Colorado was reinforced. Prayers were offered. Priesthood blessings were given to many. Members in areas not hit by the hurricane sent items from their emergency supplies to those in areas that were hurt. Church distribution centers sent stoves and lanterns and food. And teams of members, from Scouts to grandmas, came to help with the cleanup. The goodness and unselfishness of the community at large was also seen.

On Friday afternoon registration took place, and a cry went up from the registrar’s office: “We’re out of beds, and we have 23 more kids to house!”

“There already seems to be more of them to find!” chuckled one chaperon.

But the problem was quickly solved. The young people gladly doubled up where possible and rolled out their bedrolls on the floor where not, and once gear was stowed and friendly introductions made, companies of ten were formed and captains elected.

When Sister Anderson was a Scout leader, Jared’s class went to the planetarium at Idaho State University. They loved watching the constellations, and he still enjoys identifying many of them. Last summer Jared and his mother often put blankets on the grass and watched the stars from their front lawn.
“That is where we have had some of our best talks,” Sister Anderson says. “They are more than astronomy talks. We talk about the premortal existence and the hereafter, all under the stars. We talk about problems and how we can best face the life we have ahead of us.”

When we got married, my wife and I made a decision to keep the Sabbath day holy even though we were farmers. I remember a 1978 First Presidency Message by President Spencer W. Kimball. He talked of how he rejoiced when he saw machinery sitting idle in the fields on Sunday. He spoke of how keeping the Sabbath day holy was an expression of Latter-day Saints’ faith. (See “The Sabbath—a Delight,” Tambuli, July 1978, 1; Ensign, Jan. 1978, 2.)
At the time, we shared machinery with other farmers. When you are working with others, it’s difficult to say you won’t work on the Sabbath. So we got out of combined farming and stopped raising potatoes.
On Callings
I was also the branch president. If I didn’t go to church on Sunday, I couldn’t fulfill my responsibilities. There were times I’d get up at 3:00 in the morning, milk the cows, feed the animals, and then go to church, do interviews, and get home at 5:00 in the evening. Then I would milk the cows again. By the time I finished everything it would be 10:00. I still remember those days when I’d sigh, “Finished at last.”
On Sacrifices to Keep the Sabbath
Sometimes we worked until midnight on Saturday to keep from breaking the Sabbath. We went to church the next day, often without much sleep. Once we came home from church, and a cow had gotten caught in the pasture fence and died. There were times when we had millions of yen worth of damage to our cut hay because it had lain in the rain on the Sabbath. We knew accidents didn’t happen because it was Sunday. If you worry about that kind of thing, you would never be able to keep the Sabbath. Accidents can happen anytime.
On Faith and Endurance
When the barn burned and we lost our cattle, some said, “I can’t believe you were able to get through it.” We said we couldn’t do it any other way than how we did. We just worried about keeping the Sabbath and getting over the pain. We believed that God was watching over us and blessing us.
On Growing Carrots
We planted carrots with great success. Finally we were getting some kind of order in our lives. With carrots, it didn’t matter if it rained or we took every Sunday off. We could make our own decisions. We could serve more easily in any calling we were called to.
In our business, we use a lot of part-time help. When we are really busy, our employees suggest that we work Sundays. I tell them that we just don’t work on Sundays. When our workers know that, they work hard and rarely take days off. On Sundays the younger workers spend the day with their children, and the older workers visit with their grandchildren.
On Gratitude to the Lord
Obeying God’s commandments has been important to us. We stood firmly by our decision to keep the Sabbath day holy and wouldn’t bend. As we did all that we could do, our children learned that there is a God and He blesses us. Our children really do hear and remember.
When our oldest son was serving in the Japan Fukuoka Mission, the mission president often introduced him by saying, “Elder Kawada’s father stopped growing potatoes so he could keep the Sabbath day holy. Elder Kawada was raised in a family like that.”
We feel happy when we see our children. They come to church. They have served missions and married in the temple. We are grateful to our Heavenly Father, who knows us and has blessed us.

Barbara Matovu remembers the first time the missionaries brought her to the center for an activity to meet other young single adults. She thought she knew what to expect.
“Throughout my life I’ve always had a group that I belonged to,” explains Barbara. “And the groups were always stamped with something—you were the sporty group or the international group or some other group. So when people started coming into the center, it was so strange because no one seemed to have the attitude of ‘I’m in the popular group, so I can’t talk to you.’
“At first, I thought, ‘Are they acting? Is this a show?’ But after a while I realized it actually doesn’t matter who we are or where we come from or which language we speak. The love of our Heavenly Father is for everyone. Usually it takes me a bit of time to find my group, but this time I felt like I didn’t need a group. I was just Barbara, and I could be Barbara for everybody.”

In the last area of my mission, my companion and I served in two villages located in the interior of the state of São Paulo, Brazil. Between the two villages was a shortcut through the forest we had never taken because we felt it was dangerous and that we weren’t likely to meet anyone there.
One afternoon as we approached the shortcut, the Holy Ghost touched my heart, telling me that we should enter the forest. I looked at Elder Andrade and told him about the impression I had just received. He told me he had felt the same thing.
Shortly after we had started down the unfamiliar trail, we saw a woman walking toward us. The trail was narrow, and as we passed her, we couldn’t help but notice that she was crying.
When she looked up, she invited us to follow her to her home, where we met her husband. Immediately we began teaching the receptive couple the gospel. After a few weeks we invited them to be baptized. We were excited when they readily accepted because it had been a year since the ward’s last baptism. We were grateful we had acted on the prompting to enter the trail that day.
A short time before their baptism, however, the wife said she needed to talk to us. She said that for years she had had a recurring dream. In her dream she found herself waiting in the center of São Paulo. An older man approached her and said two young men were coming to change her life. She would then see two young men approaching, but her dream always ended at that point.
One day a few weeks earlier, she was sweeping the floor in her house when a voice told her that two young men were approaching and that she needed to go at that moment to the shortcut trail, where we had first seen her. Not understanding the prompting but wanting to know the answer to her dream, she dropped her broom and walked to the trail.
As she walked, the images of her dream came to her mind as if in a movie that ended with her finally seeing the faces of the two young men. She also saw that each wore a black name badge. Moments later, she said, Elder Andrade and I appeared before her on the trail. Emotion overtook her, and she could not help but weep.
Today, remembering that sacred experience, I feel the Spirit and again see in my mind the tear-streaked face of that sister who embraced the gospel. Gratefully, my companion and I had the sensitivity and the courage to follow the path the Lord wanted us to take that day.

When I became too sick to continue my mission, I knew that God wanted me to go home, but that was the exact opposite of what I wanted. I was also distressed by the sudden loss of my health, which later proved to be the beginning of a chronic, disabling condition.
While adapting to my illness, I felt I had lost my purpose. I needed so much help and felt I had nothing to offer. But I knew I needed to continue exercising my faith, so I kept studying, praying, and trying to follow the Spirit. While studying the New Testament one day, I came upon a painting by James Tissot entitled Jesus Commands the Apostles to Rest. This depiction of Mark 6:30–31 immediately soothed me. As I saw Christ watching over His resting servants, I felt how much He loved them. And me.
Eventually, I learned that the expectations I had for myself were not the same expectations that God had for me. In some ways, His were more personally challenging, but they were much more attuned to my needs. I’m so grateful for the way He teaches me to more fully accept His help and His perfect love. His faith in me gives me the hope I need to keep going.
Sabrina Maxwell, Utah, USA

On my mission I learned how to really study and feast upon the scriptures. Not only did I feel the Holy Ghost as I read, but I also started to feel joy as I searched the scriptures to find answers to my problems and those of my investigators.
After my mission, I continued to feast upon the scriptures daily. Because this practice invited the Holy Ghost into my life, I received His direction to help me use my time more efficiently. As a result, I did better in school and, later, at work. It became easier to make good decisions. I prayed more and was more diligent in fulfilling my callings. Feasting upon the scriptures daily didn’t solve all my problems, but life was easier.

Elder Taylor received a call to the Eastern States Mission. But during the summer before he was to leave, he and a brother had drunk some contaminated water while on a trip to southern Utah. As a result, Henry contracted typhoid fever and was not able to leave until later. He recalls that “when I first reached my mission, our room wasn’t well heated. We had our study class at 6:00 A.M., and I would don my bathrobe and sit there with my teeth chattering. I found that putting a hot toaster under my chair helped a little.”
At that time missionaries often traveled without purse or scrip. Elder Taylor said that during his mission “the Lord was good to us, and the people were kind and provided us with food and lodging. My mission experiences were humbling and inspirational.
“I salute you noble young people. You will be the leaders in your communities and the Church in the very near future. Live clean and useful lives. Happiness comes from keeping the Lord’s commandments. I leave my blessing with you, and pray that our Heavenly Father will guide, guard, and protect you.”

It was February 12 and much too cold to play outside. It was so cold that Tommy had gone past wishing for snow to wondering if it would ever come.
Tommy’s teacher, Miss Peters, had declared Friday afternoon craft time. Soon the students’ desks were covered with red, pink, and white construction paper and white paste. Most were working on valentines for their moms, dads, grandparents, and friends. Some were even making cards for their brothers and sisters.
Tommy wasn’t making a valentine for his mother. And he didn’t have any brothers or sisters. His best friend, Mike, probably wouldn’t get too choked up about receiving a valentine from him. But Tommy’s valentine was very, very special, and he was taking great care in making it.
First, he painstakingly cut out a large red heart. He frowned because it was a little uneven, then decided that was OK since it was so big. He chewed on his bottom lip as he struggled to get some crinkly paper on just right. It went all around the edges of the big valentine. When he was finished, he was proud to see that his valentine looked just right.
Just then, Jimmy walked past Tommy’s desk, looked at the valentine, and shouted, “Hey! It’s a mushy valentine! Tommy’s making a mushy valentine!”
Most of the class turned and craned their necks to get a peek at Tommy’s valentine. He wished a hole would open up and swallow him and his card. Then he wished one would open up and swallow Jimmy.
Jimmy leaned over the valentine, as if trying to see it better. “Is it for a girl friend?” He asked in a syrupy-sweet voice. There were giggles from the girls and outright laughs from the guys.
“No,” Tommy almost shouted, “it isn’t. Leave me alone, Jimmy.”
But Jimmy was having fun. “Ah, come on—who is it for?”
“Jimmy, stop that teasing right now and return to your desk.” Miss Peters scolded. A hush fell over the room as she came down the aisle. “I believe you should be working at your own desk.”
Unabashed, Jimmy sat down at his desk with a smirk on his face.
Miss Peters turned to Tommy, and said, “That really is a lovely valentine, Tommy. Is it for your mother?”
Tommy almost lied and said yes, but he knew that that would be wrong. “No, ma’am.”
“Oh. Well, I bet it’s for someone very special,”
Tommy nodded, then quickly looked down when someone made kissing noises.
“Class!” Miss Peters said sharply. There was silence. “Well, Tommy, I’m sure whoever it’s for will love it.”
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
She looked sharply at the rest of the class. “Do we want to work on valentines or math?” Twenty-six heads quickly bent back over pink and red construction paper.
Tommy didn’t feel like working on his special valentine anymore. He cleaned up the scraps of construction paper that had fallen from his desk, put his glue and scissors on the tray inside his desk, and stared for a moment at his valentine. Then he quickly hid it in his backpack. It was a silly old lopsided heart, anyway.
When the bell rang, he went miserably and silently to get his coat, trying to ignore the kissing sounds and giggles that came his way.
His feet felt like lead as he started toward the care center. What does Jimmy know, anyway? he asked himself. All the kids are just mean. Tommy kicked a rock. He paused at the intersection of Brook and Eastside. He wanted to go home, but his mother and Mrs. Elderberry were expecting him.
He paused when he got to the care center and thought again of the valentine he had made. Oh well, Mrs. Elderberry won’t be expecting a valentine, anyway. Racing up the steps, he dashed through the front door.
After he checked in with his mother, who was working the late shift, he waved hello to Mrs. Smith and shadowboxed with Mr. Barnes. Tommy had a lot of friends there. When his mother had to work late, he came and ate supper with her, then spent the rest of the evening listening to stories told by Mrs. Thompson and old Frank, or playing checkers with Mr. Barnes. He usually got a lot of help with his homework, too.
Yes, he had a lot of friends here, but Mrs. Elderberry was very, very special. Tommy knocked on her door.
The gray-haired lady’s face lit up when she saw him. “Come in, Thomas, come in.” She motioned toward a blue chair near the curtained window. “Please sit down.”
He waited until she had sat down—Mrs. Elderberry was big on politeness—then, after dropping his backpack on the floor, happily snuggled into the comfortable velvet chair that had come from her home. “It’s going to snow tonight,” he announced.
She looked out the window and up at the heavy, grayish-white clouds that hung overhead. “Why, I believe you are right.” She smiled. “How was school today, Thomas?”
“Fine,” he answered with a shrug. Immediately he felt all tied up inside. Mrs. Elderberry was the one he told everything to. She was the one who knew all his secrets, even the one about when he had accidently let his pet snake loose in the apartment and managed to find it only seconds before his mother had walked in the door.
Mrs. Elderberry was also the one he could talk to about his father dying and how sad it still made him feel. He couldn’t talk to his mother about it because she always started crying, and that just made him feel worse. So he talked to Mrs. Elderberry, who listened and never ever told him that he was too big to cry. But he couldn’t tell Mrs. Elderberry about the teasing that had led to a crumpled valentine.
They drank cocoa, played checkers, and talked about the possibility of snow. The room was warm and the cocoa was hot and Tommy was happy. He told Mrs. Elderberry about the football game his uncle had taken him to, and she told him a funny story about old Mrs. Lipton losing her teeth again. He was glad that she had heard from her daughter, but upset along with her because it had been three weeks since she had heard from her son. Before Tommy knew it, two hours had passed and the dinner gong was sounding.
“After you finish your homework, come back, and we’ll watch TV,” she told him as he picked up his backpack.
“Sure.” Tommy hurried out into the hallway. His stomach was suddenly telling him just how hungry he was.
Outside Mrs. Elderberry’s room, he paused. The valentine was giving him a guilty conscience. He pulled it out of his backpack and stared thoughtfully at it. Slowly he walked back to her door and slipped the valentine underneath it.
He was her friend and she was his friend, and that was all that mattered.

A businesswoman based in Salt Lake City called a company in Virginia. After completing the business transaction, the owner asked her where she was from. On learning that it was Utah, he said, “What part of Utah?” I quote her account of what happened next:
“‘Salt Lake City,’ I responded.
“‘Salt Lake City? Well, you must be a Mormon,’ he stated matter-of-factly.
“‘Yes, I am,’ I said.
“‘I have two girls who work for me who are Mormons,’ he continued. ‘They’re the best employees I’ve ever had. Those two girls are only seniors in high school, but they keep my store cleaner than any of my other employees, and they treat my customers great. They’re really polite and pretty… you know, the “all-American” type.’
“He said, ‘Those two girls are amazing. Would you believe that they get up at 5:00 a.m. every morning and…’
“‘Go to seminary!’ I inserted.
“‘Well, I don’t know what it’s called,’ he continued. ‘But it’s some type of religious training. Then they go to school all day, and come work for me until 8:00 p.m. I don’t know how they do all of the things they do, but I’m sure impressed.’
“‘Would you believe that Mormon youth all over the world are going to early-morning seminary, five days a week?’ I asked.
“‘Well, that’s one thing I have to say for your church,’ he said. ‘You’re sure raising your children right. They’re the best.’”4

Before I was five years old, I had discovered that the walkway of vinyl between our dining room and our kitchen was a good place to sulk, especially when I wanted my dissatisfaction to be noticed. I would sit there for a long time and feel that no one understood or loved me.
Fortunately, that wasn’t the case. My teenage sister, Rebecca, found me there one evening before dinner. She knelt down and quietly said to me, “Manda, let’s go count your freckles.”
It was a simple suggestion but so kindly put forth that I forgot my frowns and followed her to the bathroom mirror. She set up a stool for me so I’d be tall enough to see my nose up close in the mirror. With her chin resting on my head, she started with number one, and I helped her as high as I could count. I remember proudly entering the kitchen with the announcement that I had more than a thousand freckles, and we hadn’t even finished counting.
With just a small investment of her time and energy, my sister had changed my black mood. And, although my sulkiness that night probably wouldn’t have lasted very long, by giving me some positive attention, Rebecca insured me against the next time I felt unhappy.

“Let me tell you of one of the goals that I made when I was still but a lad. When I heard a Church leader from Salt Lake City tell us at conference that we should read the scriptures, and I recognized that I had never read the Bible, that very night at the conclusion of that very sermon I walked to my home a block away and climbed up in my little attic room in the top of the house and lighted a little coal-oil lamp that was on the little table, and I read the first chapters of Genesis. A year later I closed the Bible, having read every chapter in that big and glorious book.
“I found that this Bible that I was reading had in it 66 books, and then I was nearly dissuaded when I found that it had in it 1,189 chapters, and then I also found that it had 1,519 pages. It was formidable, but I knew if others did it that I could do it.
“I found that there were certain parts that were hard for a 14-year-old boy to understand. There were some pages that were not especially interesting to me, but when I had read the 66 books and 1,189 chapters and 1,519 pages, I had a glowing satisfaction that I had made a goal and that I had achieved it.
“Now I am not telling you this story to boast; I am merely using this as an example to say that if I could do it by coal-oil light, you can do it by electric light. I have always been glad I read the Bible from cover to cover. …
“And I remember that without being pressured by anyone, I made up my mind while still a little boy that I would never break the Word of Wisdom. I knew where it was written and I knew in a general way what the Lord had said, and I knew that when the Lord said it, it was pleasing unto him for men to abstain from all these destructive elements and that the thing I wanted to do was to please my Heavenly Father. And so I made up my mind firmly and solidly that I would never touch those harmful things. Having made up my mind fully and unequivocably, I found it not too difficult to keep the promise to myself and to my Heavenly Father.” (In Conference Report, Apr. 1974, p. 126–27; or Ensign, May 1974, p. 88.)

Daniel loved to visit Grandma. He liked to help Grandma. She asked Daniel if he would set the table. Daniel put the plates on the table. Then Daniel put forks and spoons and knives on the table. “You forgot something,” Grandma said. “I forgot the glasses,” Daniel said. Daniel put the glasses on the table. “You forgot something,” Grandma said again. “I forgot the napkins,” Daniel said. He put the napkins on the table. “You forgot something else,” Grandma said. Daniel looked at the table. He had remembered plates, forks, spoons, knives, glasses, and napkins. “What did I forget?” Daniel asked. Grandma smiled. “You forgot to turn the chairs around for family prayer.” Daniel smiled too. He turned the chairs around so his family could kneel around the table for prayer. “How could I forget?” Daniel asked. “I love family prayer at Grandma’s house.”