Gospel Story Finder

Scott Balloch of Bristol, England, was 18 years old when his parents ended their marriage. As a result, he feared the possibility of a divorce of his own someday—but he also learned important lessons from his parents’ experience.
“I was much less blasé about dating because of my parents’ divorce,” Brother Balloch says. “I took the commitment of marriage very seriously.”
Before he and his wife married, they talked about his concerns and they consistently prayed and read the scriptures.
“That had a massive impact,” Brother Balloch says. “It lessened contention, and a lot of our fears were taken away.
“Nephi taught us a good principle: ‘I will go and do’” (1 Ne. 3:7), he continues. “When we’re fearful, it can make us more reliant on Heavenly Father. He’s provided a way.” The Ballochs explain that they have been blessed for seeking to follow Heavenly Father’s commandments in their marriage.

“He always says ‘I love you’ at least ten times during the evening whenever the family gets together—his family always comes first,” said a granddaughter of this great man. “He helps us set a goal and then buys us a book about it. When the goal is reached, he buys us another book. Grandpa promised my brother John that if he attended all his priesthood, MIA, and Sunday School meetings for seven years, he would pay for his mission. John worked hard to reach that goal. He sacrificed vacations when there would not be an opportunity to attend all of his meetings. John reached his goal, was called to serve a mission in France, and Grandpa happily paid for his mission.”

On my mission, rejection and failure were as much a part of our everyday lives as eating and breathing. It was easy to expect rejection and anticipate that our investigators would lose interest in our message. But five weeks in one particular city taught me a valuable lesson. It was a city where no one had ever had much success. But someone forgot to tell my companion or me. We got along famously. We worked hard. And we had fun. We met lots of people interested in our message. We had a thriving investigator class each Sunday in this tiny branch. Miracles were happening in people’s lives. And we felt we were just scratching the surface of this golden city.
Why did we have so much success there? I believe the Lord blessed us with success because of our attitude. My companion and I loved working together. We were united. We worked hard. We honestly believed the city was a gold mine just waiting to yield up its treasures. Attitude has a lot to do with faith. Faith has everything to do with success. And faith is contagious.
Unfortunately, I was late in understanding this lesson. I failed to make the connection between the fruits of our labors and the way we labored. Consequently, I was not able to apply this principle as successfully in my next two assignments.
There are probably many other things I would do differently if I had the chance to serve my mission over again, but these four stand out in my mind. If you look at these ideas carefully, you’ll see that they fall within the qualifications the Lord Himself outlined for His servants: “And faith, hope, charity and love, with an eye single to the glory of God, qualify him for the work. Remember faith, virtue, knowledge, temperance, patience, brotherly kindness, godliness, charity, humility, diligence” (D&C 4:5–6).

As a boy, President Joseph F. Smith, son of Hyrum, came west in 1848 with his widowed mother. He was called as a missionary to Hawaii when he was 15 years of age. He spent much of the next four years alone. He was released in 1857 at the age of 19 (just the age we call missionaries now). Penniless, he stopped in California to earn money for warm clothes.

With another man, . . . [Joseph] took passage in a mail wagon. They traveled all night, and at daylight stopped near a ranch for breakfast. The passenger and the mail carrier began to prepare breakfast, while Joseph went a short distance from camp to [gather wood and] look after the horses. . . . A wagon load of drunken men from Monte came in view, on their road to San Bernardino to kill the “Mormons,” as they boasted.

The oaths and foul language which they uttered, between their shooting, and the swinging of their pistols, were almost indescribable. . . . They were all cursing the “Mormons,” and uttering boasts of what they would do when they met them. They . . . caught sight of the mail wagon. . . . [His companion] and the mail carrier, fearing for their safety, had retired behind the chaparral, leaving all the baggage and supplies . . . exposed and unprotected.

Just as [one] drunken man approached, [young Joseph F.] came in view . . . , too late to hide. . . . The ruffian was swinging his weapon, and uttering the most blood-curdling oaths and threats ever heard against the “Mormons.” “I dared not run,” says [Joseph F.] Smith, “though I trembled for fear which I dared not show. I therefore walked right up to the camp fire, and arrived there just a minute or two before the drunken desperado, who came directly toward me, and, swinging his revolver in my face, with an oath cried out: ‘Are you a —— —— —— “Mormon?”’”

[Young Joseph] looked him straight in the eyes, and answered with emphasis: “Yes, sir’ee; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through.”

The desperado’s arms both dropped by his sides, as if paralyzed, his pistol in one hand, and he said in a subdued . . . voice, offering his hand: “Well, you are the —— —— pleasantest man I ever met! Shake. I am glad to see a fellow stand for his convictions.” Then he turned and [left].

I played baseball, which I liked very much, and I played every day. Because I was very small, the mitts were too large. At that time in Mexico, we didn’t have small gloves, only big ones, so I used a big one. My middle finger is short now because I broke it many times playing baseball. I would just put a bandage around it and keep playing. My coach said, “When Horacio catches that ball, it never falls. It may be that the ball will knock Horacio down, but Horacio never drops the ball.” I played shortstop, catcher, and pitcher. I think that I was a good pitcher, because I had one game with no runs and no hits. I also played American football, but I had problems because I was so thin. I was hit very hard many times.
Even so, I realized then that nothing was impossible to do, if I wanted to do it. I think that I learned that lesson from my mother. She was a very special person. She worked in advertising in Mexico when only a few women worked for companies.
My grandfather was a military general during the Mexican Revolution. He was a very, very hard man, but he loved me. He taught me love for my country and for my flag. Every September we celebrated Mexican Independence Day at my grandparents’ home. We had a big dinner on September 15, then went to the parade on September 16.
I remember staying at my grandparents’ big house. They ate five meals a day. For breakfast, they had only hot chocolate and bread. Lunch was about eleven o’clock, and it included bread, meat, and beans. Dinner was at two or three o’clock in the afternoon. Supper was not until eleven at night. Children did not stay up for it.
Children in Mexico were taught to be respectful toward adults. I remember that at a reunion, children could attend only if they were invited. If a child wanted to talk, he had to ask permission.
The Lord preserved me in my years on the earth. When I was two, I had amoebas in my stomach. These microscopic animals in my stomach made holes in my intestines. The doctors said that I didn’t have a chance to live, but I got well and was all right.
Another time, my uncle, who was only three years older than I was, put me in a baby carriage and took me for a walk around the house. In front of the house was a road, and on the other side of the road was an irrigation canal. When he took me across the road, the carriage slid into the canal. It was empty at that time, but my uncle couldn’t get us out. My mother felt concern for me and began to call me. Then she looked for me in the house but couldn’t find me. She felt prompted to look on the road and in the canal. She found us and got us out of the canal just before the water started to come through the canal. Had she not listened to the Spirit, my uncle and I would have drowned.
We must realize that God lives and, as our Father, loves us. He doesn’t want us to suffer any harm. I testify that our Teacher, our Shepherd, is Christ, our best Friend, who clears up all our doubts. He heals our wounds and turns our pain into sweet experiences.

One thing that happens in Anne of Green Gables is that the main character has to cut off her hair after trying to dye it. I recently cut my hair short too, but for a different reason. My mom and I read in the newspaper that you can donate hair for wigs for people who are sick or don’t have hair. A couple of women in our branch had cancer and lost their hair, and I have an uncle and a cousin with a medical condition that makes their hair fall out. Thinking of them made me want to help. So I grew my hair out for more than a year and cut off nine inches to donate. Now some of my friends are donating their hair too!

Consider the experience of Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve. Some years ago, Elder Oaks was living in Chicago when one night he was confronted by a young robber with a gun. Elder Oaks had no money to give him, no watch, nothing of value except his car—and his wife was in the car. Both Elder Oaks and his wife were at great risk. During the encounter, Elder Oaks had an opportunity to grab the gun without the likelihood of being shot. “I was taller and heavier than this young man,” Elder Oaks explains, “and at that time of my life was somewhat athletic. I had no doubt that I could prevail in a quick wrestling match if I could get his gun out of the contest.
“Just as I was about to make my move, I had a unique experience. I did not see anything or hear anything, but I knew something. I knew what would happen if I grabbed that gun. We would struggle, and I would turn the gun into that young man’s chest. It would fire, and he would die. I also knew that I must not have the blood of that young man on my conscience for the rest of my life.” (See New Era, Mar. 1994, 4.)
How should you react in a similar situation? Who knows? It would be a different time, a different robber, a different place. The point is that Elder Oaks had not conditioned himself to automatically react violently. But he had conditioned himself to listening to the still, small voice. So when the idea of grabbing the gun came to him, he was willing and able to be guided by the Spirit.
It’s also important to note that Elder Oaks had ended up in a dangerous area because he and his wife were taking another sister home from a Church activity. He certainly wasn’t looking for trouble. He had taken reasonable precautions, such as leaving Sister Oaks in a locked car and later making sure the street was clear before going back out to the car.

When President Nelson invited the women of the Church in October 2018 general conference to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year, Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac, along with their father and younger brothers, decided to offer Mom their support. “We’ll read it with you!” they said. Every morning before seminary, they woke up to read together.
Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac are amazed that their family finished the Book of Mormon in just two months. “It usually takes us a year,” Isaac says. Together, they discovered the blessings of following the prophet’s invitation.
“If you do what you’re supposed to do,” Andrew says, “like building a relationship with Heavenly Father through prayer, scripture study, and staying fully active in the Church, life is so much better.”

I came from a family in Moroni that wasn’t active. I can’t remember sitting in a ­sacrament meeting with my mom and dad. My dad would always pound on the furnace register to make sure I got up for church, but there were long stretches when I can’t remember going to church. My dad was a schoolteacher, so in the summers we’d go fishing or hiking or camping or anything else—just not church. One time, after being gone all summer, I went to church, and Veldon Blackburn, a friend of mine, asked why I had gone inactive. I told him I wasn’t inactive; I just didn’t come to church.

During the summer a few years later I worked hard to be the best and get the best job in Moroni, which was working on the vaccination crew for the Moroni Feed Company. I worked really hard and made the crew. We could go through a flock of ten thousand turkeys in an hour and not lose one. One time we were vaccinating some turkeys up by Fountain Green, and they were just a little bigger than usual. We were taking them out of the brooder coop, vaccinating them, putting them into a truck, and taking them out to the growing pens. We had finished vaccinating about half the flock when I grabbed a turkey, gave it a shot, and threw it up into the truck. As I grabbed another turkey, the last turkey decided it didn’t want to be in the truck, so it came out and hit me in the back of my arm, and I gave myself the next shot in my hand between my thumb and index finger. I will now never get fowl cholera, erysipelas, or Newcastle disease.

I grew a big abscess about the size of a ­tennis ball in the palm of my hand, so I went to the family doctor, Dr. Speakman, in Mount Pleasant. After a few months of lancing the abscess and getting the gunk out of it, the doctor said he would have to take three of my fingers off to save my hand. I’m kind of attached to those fingers—and they make it much easier to play the guitar! I told Dr. Speakman that I wanted to speak to my dad. He worked just up the street in the school district office, so Dr. Speakman left the room to contact him. As soon as he left I started to really pray—­probably the first sincere prayer of my life. Before the doctor came back in with my dad, I knew what my dad was going to say and what he was going to do. I knew that I would not lose my fingers or my hand. A calm and a peace had settled over me, and I just knew I would be okay.

That day I made some promises to the Lord: (1) I would live the Word of Wisdom to the best of my knowledge and ability, and (2) I would serve Him all of my life (I didn’t realize people lived so long). Back then that meant I would serve a mission. Both of these promises I have worked hard to keep.

My dad took me out of the office and put me in the car, and we went straight to Provo to a specialist—Dr. Aaron. The hand took over a year to heal. In fact, the next summer, when I was in basic training, I remember leaving blood on the rocks in the field where we did push-ups.

I had had a simple prayer answered, and I knew it, and the important thing is that I knew the Lord knew me. I can’t explain the peace and comfort that came over me in the doctor’s office that day. It took a few years to even understand what had really happened that day in that office, but it has made all the difference in my life—and for a seventeen-year-old kid in a small town hanging around the friends I had, keeping the Word of Wisdom was a big challenge.

No one in my family had ever gone on a mission. It was not expected of us. So when I announced I wanted to serve a mission, it surprised many. It may have even shaken a few testimonies. I had another hurdle to overcome though, because in those days the government would only let two missionaries out from a ward at any one time, and I had a lot of friends whose parents were active who would fill up that quota. So I joined the Army National Guard so that I would not have to take one of those spots for missionaries.

My miraculous conversion was nothing more than the answer to a simple but very sincere prayer.

I was in another country not long ago holding a fireside for young adults. During the question-and-answer portion of the meeting, a young brother raised his hand and asked when the Church would provide more financial assistance for young adults to help them become self-reliant. I thought about this for a moment and then felt impressed to ask him if he had served a mission. He replied that he had. I asked him if he had learned to set goals while on his mission, to plan, to exercise faith, and to work diligently. He was good-natured about it and smiled as he replied that he had in fact learned those life skills. I then said to him, “You are an agent, not an object. You have the ability to act and to do whatever it is that you choose to do. You have been taught everything that you need to be successful in life. Now it is up to you to go forward in faith and to act, rather than to sit back and wait to be acted upon.” I hoped that he felt my love for him and that somehow this exchange helped him to reorient his vision for himself.

5. For younger children, tell of good examples you have seen in your ward/branch among the children. Or use the story of George and how he was a good example, even at age five: The happy, sunshine child of the neighborhood, George wanted more than anything to be a missionary. He took flowers to shut-ins, ran errands, visited the lonely, raked leaves, and always said hello to everyone on his street as he passed their homes. One day his parents learned what a powerful missionary he was. A neighbor came to see them and said that he and his family wanted to know more about the things that made George such a happy, helpful boy. Talk to the children about ways they can be good examples and share the gospel with others. As you sing “Shine On” (CS, p. 144), pass a cut-out paper sun. When the music stops, the child holding the sun tells how he/she can be a good example (by going to church, being kind, helping Mother, telling the truth, inviting friends to Primary, etc.) or tells something he/she knows about the gospel (I love my family, my family love me, I like to hear President Hinckley, I love the stories in the Book of Mormon, etc.). You might make a large picture-frame sun that you could put around a child’s face as he tells what he could do or what he knows. If a child has trouble thinking of something, you can say, “I especially appreciate (child’s name)’s example when he (smiles, sings in Primary, helps put away chairs, is reverent, etc.).” Tell the children that missionaries let their light shine by being good examples and by sharing the light of the gospel. Sing “Seek the Lord Early” (CS, p. 108) or “I Hope They Call Me on a Mission” (CS, p. 169).

One day I sat on the school bus near two brothers. They started singing a song I hadn’t heard before. A few of the words were about the Holy Ghost, but they weren’t very nice. I started to feel sick. Later, just thinking about the song made my stomach hurt. After school, I told my mom about it. She thought it was possible that I had misunderstood what the boys were singing about. She told my dad, and we decided to talk to the bus driver about it.
The next morning, the three of us talked to the bus driver. We explained that the boys were singing a song that made me feel bad. My mom said that maybe I had not heard exactly right. The driver seemed concerned and said that he would ask the boys about it.
That afternoon, when I came home, my parents were waiting at the bus stop. The driver got out after me. He told my parents that he had talked to the boys. They said that they had heard the song on a CD but they hadn’t been using the words that were bad. Then they admitted that they really had been singing the bad words. The bus driver said that he felt that the song’s words really were bad and that the boys could not sing it on the bus anymore. They haven’t, and I’m very glad. Now I don’t feel awful inside every time I ride the bus.Aubrey Fitzgerald, age 6West Linn, Oregon

The General Authority who married Brother and Sister Hunter gave them some advice they took very seriously: Stay out of debt; never buy anything until you have the money to pay for it. They followed that counsel, sticking with it throughout their married life and teaching it to their children.
That counsel proved to be extremely valuable when the bank where Howard was employed failed during the Great Depression of the early 1930s. Out of work, but also out of debt, Brother Hunter quickly found other employment.

There is a much repeated story by an American clergyman Russell Conwell (1843–1925) about hectares of diamonds.
Ali Hafid, an ancient Persian, owned much land, many productive fields, with orchards, gardens, and money loaned out with interest charged. He had a lovely family and was content because he was wealthy, and wealthy because he was content.
An old priest came to Ali Hafid and told him that if he had a diamond the size of his thumb, he could purchase a dozen farms like his, and Ali Hafid said, “Will you tell me where I can find diamonds?”
The priest told him, “If you will find a river that runs over white sands, between high mountains, in those white sands, you will always find diamonds.”
“Well,” said Ali Hafid, “I will go.”
So he sold his farm, collected his money that had been loaned with interest charged, left his family in the care of a neighbor, and away he went in search of diamonds. He traveled through many lands.
The man who purchased Ali Hafid’s farm led his camel out into the garden to drink, and as the animal put his nose into the shallow waters, Ali Hafid’s successor noticed a curious flash of light in the white sands of the stream. Reaching in, he pulled out a black stone, containing a strange circle of light. Not long after, the same old priest came to visit Ali Hafid’s successor and found that in the black stone, containing a strange circle of light, was a diamond. As they rushed out into the garden and stirred up the white sands with their fingers, they came up with many more beautiful, valuable gems. Thus were discovered the diamond mines of Golconda, which were the most valuable diamond mines in the history of the ancient world. So, had Ali Hafid remained at home and dug in his own cellar or anywhere in his own fields rather than traveling to strange lands, he would have had hectares of diamonds.

Trials and tests apply to rich and poor alike. Years ago I was asked to perform an operation upon a very wealthy man. A surgical biopsy confirmed that he had an advanced cancer that had spread throughout his body. As I reported this news, his immediate response was to rely upon his wealth. He would go anywhere or do anything to treat his condition. He thought he could buy his way back to health. But he soon passed away. Someone asked, “How much wealth did he leave?” The answer, of course, was, “All of it!”
His priorities were set upon things of the world. His ladder of success had been leaning against the wrong wall. I think of him when I read this scripture: “Behold, your days of probation are past; ye have procrastinated the day of your salvation until it is … too late.”

I hope I don't embarrass myself too much by telling you how I tried to apply this counsel. My approach was to organize what I called my "date a million program." I would try to meet and get to know as many young women as I could. I asked people to line me up with their friends and relatives somewhat like the member referral approach I took as a missionary in Peru and Ecuador. I then created a progressing friends list containing at least six promising "friends" whom I would see more frequently but whom I couldn't see twice in a row so that I didn't prematurely focus on one person and become too romantically involved before I had formed a good friendship. I had around two to four dates a week during this time but most of the dates were to things I already was doing: going to a devotional and then stopping by the Cougareat for a treat, going to a church fireside, attending a lecture or film on campus, etc. I met some wonderful young women and tried to be their friend rather than to court them. I also developed a good list of six progressing friends that I began to spend more time with.

However, my program almost kept me from following my feelings about Margaret Allred. She was so easy to talk to and such a good friend that I found myself wanting to spend more time with her. But I would then lecture myself that I was supposed to let friendship develop and consider many possibilities rather than narrow my search prematurely. Fortunately, as I got up to recapture my testimony one morning and prayed about my progressing friends list, the Lord helped me to see that Margaret was a wonderful person with whom I could build an eternal relationship. He helped me overlook some of the little flaws I saw when I was comparing my progressing friends. I think I was doing what I see some young men and women I know doing now. They approach selecting a companion as though they were a consumer looking for the best product. The Lord helped me see that Margaret would also have to overlook or work with my flaws, perhaps chief among them that I was a perfectionistic romantic. His love for her and for me and his reassurance that this relationship was worth pursuing was a revelation to me at the time.

By the way, at this same time Margaret was following a process very similar to grandfather's counsel. She had been going on dates with a number of different young men but she was clear sooner than I was about feeling that our relationship could be eternal. However, then as now it was harder for young women to initiate dating. Somehow she found out my schedule and I began to be surprised that we just happened to "bump into each other" at many class breaks. She learned that I was majoring in Spanish and decided to take beginning Spanish. She also joined a student government committee that I was also working on. No wonder I came to feel Margaret was such a good friend with whom I could talk so easily!

Years later, when my daughter Hannah was about four, she picked up some crayons from the store. We did not notice that she had them until we were home. Hoping for the same kind of help in teaching the principal of honesty, my wife took her to see the manager of that store. The manager was a nice lady. She could see that Hannah was quite upset, so she said something like, “It is okay, sweetheart. I know you did not mean to do it.” It did not have the same effect as my meeting with Mr. Hayward, so we needed to be Mr. Hayward ourselves, so she could learn the lesson. She did, and she in turn had to teach it to her son Carson years later when he pilfered the fruit snacks. This shows to me how important it is for parents and others to teach correct principles. Four generations here were involved in teaching the lessons of honesty. You wonder what would have happened if my mother had done nothing?

During this worldwide pandemic, many of us have felt anxious and despairing. We have had an increased desire to feel assured of God’s love. Recently in my need I had one of those strong spiritual confirmations mentioned by Elder Andersen. I needed both physical and spiritual healing, which both came through the power of God’s love.

In March, five days after I had traveled back here to Hawaii from the mainland, I got sick. I had tightness in my chest, achiness, coughing, and a low fever. (My sons-in-law who are both doctors urged me to get tested, which I did. The test results took 8 days to be returned, so I quarantined myself very impatiently.) Nighttime was the worst, because when I lay down, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. The physical symptoms were real, but at night after John had fallen asleep, another dimension set in. I started to panic. Then I really couldn’t breathe. I needed help. I prayed for guidance in what to do, and also to feel reassurance and comfort. I testify that my prayers were answered with thoughts that came to my mind and peace that came to my heart to help me relax. I knew I also needed a priesthood blessing.

In the blessing John pronounced upon me, he briefly reassured me that I would heal. But the rest of the rather detailed blessing was about Heavenly Father’s and Jesus Christ’s love for me. I was overwhelmed with the surge of strength I felt in their love. I have always known that I am a daughter of Heavenly parents who love me, but I needed this profound reminder at this time. The power of that love strengthened me. I immediately and rapidly began to feel better. There is a supreme force and might in love that heals all ills, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. My physical sickness started to dissipate as my spirit started to soar. God’s love brought unspeakable joy to my soul. God’s love healed me.

The results were truly remarkable. A young returned missionary unable to find work for eight months, was skeptical when his bishop suggested a certain amount for his contribution. He told the Lord, however, that if he had an income he would willingly pay the assessment—and more if it were required of him. The first employer he approached that day offered him a permanent job and he started work the next day. Two days later he was given a significant increase in pay.

After the operation to fix my tongue so I’d be able to talk, Mama and I went across the street to buy some candy. The doctor had given me a nickel for being so brave. Imagine a whole nickel’s worth of candy! I could get the biggest stick of peppermint in the store. I wouldn’t even have to suck it to make it last a long time. There would be enough for me to chew.
I should have sucked it. That newly loosened tongue got between my teeth like it never had been free to do before, and I chewed it along with the peppermint until it was bleeding and sore. Oh, how it hurt! I learned to close my mouth very carefully after that.
Gradually the soreness healed enough so I could start eating again. But it was many months before I learned how to make my tongue behave. As for talking, that was going to require a great deal of practice. The words still did not come out crisp and clear. My mumbled efforts were laughed at and I decided I would rather practice in private. But there is no place for privacy in a covered wagon, especially our wagon, for it was the social center for all the children of the camp.
Our twelve-wagon train set out from Salt Lake City for Harmony, New Mexico, the day after I had my tongue cut. All the families gathered together in a big circle for prayer before we left. Then we sang as we loaded up: “Come, come ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear; But with joy wend your way …”
With joy we wended our way, south and east to a land that held the promise of a good new life for us. The Indian summer days were beautiful and crisp enough in the morning to make us anxious to start moving—golden and warm during the day, but not too hot.
Most of all, I remember the singing in the daytime and the dancing at night. From the place where we slept under the wagon, we could watch the grown-ups whirl in a fast polka or line up for the Virginia reel while Brother Lenstrom played his fiddle.
At the last minute before we left Salt Lake City I had grabbed my jump rope from the nail behind the door. Caroline forgot hers so I shared mine with her, and before long most of the other children wanted a turn too. As soon as the wagon stopped for evening, the girls came running to our place shouting, “My turn with the jump rope, Dora!” If the girl jumped past 21 without missing, we began to call out: “Mabel, Mabel set the table, And don’t forget the red-hot-pepper.”
At this signal the rope started whirring at double time. No one could last forever on red hot pepper. Should the lineup for the jump rope seem too long, those at the end would scratch a hopscotch in the dirt, number the squares, select their markers, and begin to play.
By this time the boys would be starting their third or fourth game of marbles. Each one carried his favorite taw for shooting in one pocket and in the other a handful of aggies that he didn’t mind losing in a game of keeps.
I played with the boys more than the girls because I didn’t need to talk with Ed around.
“Let’s break the record,” he’d shout, and they’d race off to the tailgate of our wagon to begin jumping. A line was marked where the jumper’s feet landed, and each succeeding boy tried to go past the farthest mark.
They couldn’t play break the record if Mama were baking though. She threatened to skin them alive if they caused her cake to fall or disturbed the light bread she made every few days. She had to be careful to keep the yeast going by saving enough of the start in a jar each time she baked and adding potato water and a little sugar. She covered the bottle with a cloth and wedged it in a tight spot by her seat so she could watch it as we rode along.
Mama mixed and kneaded the dough early in the morning before we started our day’s travel, punched it down two or three times along the way, and at night baked a big dripper pan full of biscuits and six loaves of bread. The smell of light bread cooking beats any smell in the world, and a thick slice or a biscuit became both plate and meal when served with a fried egg, a slice of meat, or a chunk of cheese. Our two cows walked along behind the wagon and provided us with milk.
When we could find one, we set up camp next to a stream. One time when we did, Ed and I took off with the fishing pole to look for a deep hole in the nearly dry creek. We found a beautiful spot out of sight of camp but close enough that we could still hear the cries of Annie-I-over. There was a strict rule that no one got so far away that he couldn’t see or hear the camp.
When we got off alone together like this Ed tried to show me how to talk, and I learned to say a few new words. “Look at that frog,” he shouted and bounded across the mossy stones to grab it.
“Frog,” I said. “Frog.”
“What a beauty! Look how big he is. I wonder how far he can jump.”
We stayed until nearly dark testing his ability. By the time we heard Papa coming to get us, the frog’s record was six feet, measured with Ed’s feet.
“Papa, look at my pet,” Ed called as he came closer. “Can I keep him? Can I?”
“That’s a fine frog all right,” Papa said. “But you’d better leave him here. He’d only die if we took him with us.”
“I can take him in a bucket of water. He won’t die.”
“A bucket of water is not the same as a stream. This is his home.”
“Please, Papa.”
“No, Ed. Now put him down, and I’ll tell you a story on the way back.”
“What about?” Ed asked.
“About a frog.”
“A true story?”
“Absolutely.”
Papa’s stories were always worth whatever we had to give up to hear them. Ed put his pet down carefully in a sheltered spot by the stream and took hold of Papa’s other hand. Then the three of us began to walk toward camp.
“What’s the story?” Ed asked.
“How butter was discovered.”
“You said it was about a frog.”
“So it is. You see, a long time ago, a frog jumped into a bowl of cream that was left by a dairymaid to keep cool at the edge of a stream. All night long he paddled around trying to get out, and when the girl came the next morning to get the cream, it had turned to butter.”
“Was the frog still alive?”
“I don’t remember that, but since there was no cream to spread on the bread, the dairymaid used the butter. She was afraid she’d be scolded for being careless enough to leave the lid off the cream, but everyone said the new spread was better. ‘Betty’s better spread’ they called it and wanted her to make more.”
When we got back to the wagon Mama had a good hot supper ready. Afterward we had a campfire program and evening prayer. Then the children were put to bed, and soon the fiddle began its tune and the grown-ups were moving their feet in time to the music. We happily watched them from the place where we slept beneath the wagon.
The next morning was washday, which meant the clothes were put into a half-full water barrel with a bar of homemade lye soap and jostled clean as we rode along. When we stopped, they’d be rinsed, wrung out, and hung on ropes stretched between trees. It wouldn’t take long to dry them if there were a little breeze.
Washdays were always planned between two stops where there was plenty of water so we wouldn’t run short. And since it was an extra busy day for Mama we had to help more than usual. Before camp broke up she assigned the chores.
“Caroline, you take care of the chickens,” she said. “Make sure they get fed and watered and don’t let any of them get lost when you turn them out to run.
“Dora, I’ll need you to watch Frank and Georgie while I do the washing. And Ed, you can churn the butter.”
Just then I saw the look come into Ed’s eyes that meant he had an idea, and I knew what it was because I had it too. Although he didn’t need to, he jerked his head at me in a way that said come on. Grabbing a bar of soap and a towel, we ran off in the direction of the stream.
“Where are you two going?” Mama called, and Ed shouted, “To wash our hands.”
“You told a lie,” I accused.
“No, I didn’t. We’ll wash our hands.”
The frog hadn’t got warmed up enough to move around yet so he was still where we had left him.
Ed started to lather him with the soap, and he slipped away. He picked up the slick frog again and said, “Have to get him clean enough.”
After he’d washed and dried the frog, he put him inside his shirt. We stayed by the stream cutting willows until the camp was ready to leave and then ran and jumped in the back of the wagon.
Mama was riding up front with Papa, holding Frank on her lap, and Georgie was asleep in his wash-basket bed. Caroline was walking with her friends.
Ed plopped the frog into the butter churn, and we settled into the back of the wagon for a leisurely ride. We reached over the tailgate, dragging our willows in the dust to make patterned trails behind us.
Several times we peeked into the churn where the frog was still swimming around, but there was no sign of butter. Ed started to work on teaching me some new words, and we forgot about everything else.
At lunchtime Mama asked, “Did the butter come yet?”
“Not yet,” Ed said.
“Well, it will pretty soon,” she encouraged. “Even the bouncing wagon helps it along.”
Then Papa told her the frog story. “Now don’t go giving these children any crazy ideas. It would be just like Ed and Dora to try that out.” She looked at us. “AND DON’T YOU DARE!” she warned.
We were glad she didn’t check out the butter churn before the wagons started up again. We decided that as soon as it was safe, we’d get the frog out of the cream and churn the way we were supposed to. When we lifted the lid, there sat the frog on an island of butter it had made. We laughed and laughed, and Ed put the frog inside his shirt to keep him safe until later. He wasn’t going to turn him loose here where there was no water.
As soon as we stopped, we took off for the stream to release the frog, and no one but us ever did know how the butter was churned that day.