Gospel Story Finder

I was a little child when I lost my father. It was hard to be fatherless. My mother tried to support her family, but she didn’t have enough money to educate me. I was discouraged because I had to cease learning and I never learned to read. My mother and I tried to do many things in our village, like farm work, to support ourselves. For years, we struggled together.

Eventually, I got married and had children. Several years later, my husband died, and I struggled as a single parent to take care of my children.

My friends came to me and said, “You have lost your husband. You are now suffering. We want to invite you to our church to see what Jesus can do for you.” I followed my friends to their church. I also went to other churches.

One day, a woman from a few houses away came to me and said, “I have a church. Will you come?”

“No,” I said, “I have tried church after church.”

“Please,” the woman said, “I want to invite you to my church.”

“What do you call your church?” I asked.

“My church is The Church of Jesus Christ Latter-day Saints.”

She convinced me to learn more. She invited the missionaries to pay me a visit. The first day the missionaries came, I called my family together. The missionaries sat down and started to teach us.

The first time I went to church, I sat next to a woman singing from a hymnbook. I tried to pay attention, but I didn’t know how to read. I couldn’t even understand what she was singing. I felt discouraged. “I’m not going to this church again,” I said to myself.

I told the missionaries I wasn’t going to church again. One missionary said, “I’m not going to force you to be a member of this Church, but I’m going to tell you the truth. If you want to believe that this Church is true, read this book.” He gave me the Book of Mormon.

“You can’t give me this book,” I said. “I am not educated. I don’t even know how to read. I don’t need your book.”

The missionaries told me, “Your children are learning to read. They will read this for you, and you will understand.”

“I will try,” I said.

My daughter started reading the Book of Mormon to me, and I went to church again. A sister at church came to me and told me about a class for those who are not able to read and write. She said it was the gospel literacy class.

“We need a student,” she said.

“I really want to know how to read and write,” I said. “So I will go attend that class!”

As I attended the class, I learned reading, writing, and more and more about the gospel. My daughter read more from the Book of Mormon to me. One day I said, “This is the word of God. I can’t deny it.” I decided to be baptized.

Backstage in the Philippine International Convention Center, Elder Gordon B. Hinckley was talking to a man whose face glowed with spiritual excitement and joy beyond description.
The date: Sunday morning, the 29th of May, 1977. The time: 5 minutes before the opening ceremony of the Combined Special Conference that was to culminate in the writing of Church history in the Philippines. The topic between them: an Apostle of the Lord making a divine call—the man accepting the call with happiness overflowing in his heart.
This was the man Elder Hinckley introduced the day before to Elder Jacob de Jager as the man called Moses.
The only other person who learned a few minutes after about this divine calling was his wife and later, when he was sustained by the multitude as one of two Filipino Stake Patriarchs, the spiritual events in their lives flashed back in their minds.
During this moment of unbridled job, Moises Marzan Mabunga, Sr., who first saw the light of day in Naguilian, La Union February 13, 1917, and Vicenta Mercado of Manila, silently shared with each other their testimony of finding the gospel of truth and live after many years of searching, radiantly recalling the day, 13 years before, when two missionary sisters (Sisters Garrison and Smithen) knocked on the door of their home at Molave Street, Project 3 in Quezon City, to bring the message of the restoration.
The events that followed after this meeting with the missionary sisters were as varied as they were interesting. At first, Bro. Mabunga was obstinate and unmoved by the assuring words of the missionary sisters. He had to rationalize for more than four months, and later to ask and pray in the presence of no one but God for divine guidance. On July 11, 1964, at Brother Grimm’s residence at Sta. Mesa, he was baptized with his wife and children.
Blessed with a family of six boys and six girls, Bro. Mabunga (who recently retired as Project Superintendent of Manila Electric Company) has other blessings. Two of his sons served full-time missions. Moises, Jr., is now Bishop of the Rego Park Ward, Plainview Stake, New York. Son Danilo completed his mission only last month.
In October this year, Brother and Sister Mabunga will leave for the United States to fulfill the dream of being sealed for eternity in a temple of the Lord.
His record of Church assignments can be compared to that of a tiny acorn growing into an oak tree: 1st counselor, Sunday School presidency; Superintendent, Mutual Improvement Association (M.I.A.); 2nd Counselor and 1st Counselor, Branch presidency; Branch President; 1st Counselor, District presidency; and Stake High Councilman upon organization of the Manila Philippines Stake in May, 1973.
And now, the Filipino called Moses has a new calling worthy of his name.

Another man said that he would not go to church but that his family could go. The missionaries told him that they would always save him a seat right by the door in case he changed his mind. One Sunday he was prompted to go to church even though his family had left without him. From the foyer he could see his family seated with the missionaries and a space at the end of the pew vacant and easily accessible. He entered the little chapel, and his footsteps were heard. The missionaries turned their heads, and when they saw him, tears came to their eyes. After baptism the husband would say, “Never in my life had anyone ever cried out of happiness just to see me enter a room.”

A few years ago, at a family gathering, my then-eight-year-old nephew William asked our oldest son, Briton, if he would like to play ball with him. Briton enthusiastically responded, “Yes! I would love to!” After they had been playing for quite some time, a ball got away from Briton, and he accidentally broke one of his grandparents’ antique pots.
Briton felt awful. As he began picking up the broken pieces, William walked over to his cousin and lovingly patted him on the back. He then comforted, “Don’t worry, Briton. I broke something at Grandma and Grandpa’s house once, and Grandma put her arm around me and said, ‘It’s OK, William. You are only five.’”
To which Briton responded, “But, William, I’m 23!”

A Johannesburg family shared their thoughts:
Dad: “The prophet’s words have made me more aware of the responsibility I have to teach my family. The onus is on us—not on the Church—to take our families back to Heaven Father. It is the same as with ministering, we need to look for opportunities, it is not about statistics. With this new awareness, I’m finding more ‘Sabbath’ to teach my children than the extra one hour could ever make.”
Mom: “Maybe it’s psychological—but spending less time at church in the morning makes it easier to have a purposeful family home evening on a Sunday. With all the children’s sporting commitments just having supper together on a Monday was a nightmare! At first, I missed the extra classes and the opportunity to chat with people in between. But now I am aware of the need to fellowship more and to connect better with other members.”
Teenage daughter: “I love that we now have ‘church’ every day at home instead of just once a week! It is also quite nice to have Young Women every two weeks—makes it more special to be together. I am definitely studying the scriptures a lot more than I did last year.”

I ran the soup kitchen at the Food and Care Coalition in Provo, Utah, for 11 years. We encouraged our patrons to help us when they could. One man, Mike (name has been changed), had been living in his car for about four years. He always volunteered to help, and I appreciated everything he did for me.
It was the Christmas season, and I wanted to show my appreciation, so I gave him a Christmas card with a short message expressing my thanks and a book of tickets to the dollar-movie theater that was close by. Mike was overwhelmed. He thanked me several times and said he couldn’t remember the last time he had received a present from anyone.
This happened at about noon on Christmas Eve. After dinner that evening, Mike came to me and apologized for having given away two of the movie tickets. I told him they were his, and he could do whatever he wanted with them. He said, “Well, this lady was sitting across from me at dinner. I’d never seen her before, but she told me it was her birthday and she hadn’t received any presents. So I gave her one of the tickets.”
“Then, there was a man sitting by me,” Mike continued. “We got to talking. I found out he was leaving on the bus tonight, but it didn’t leave until 11:00 p.m., and he had nowhere to wait until it came. I gave him one of the tickets so he could go in where it was warm and watch a movie.”
I was so teary eyed and choked up that I could hardly tell him what a generous and Christlike thing he had done.

During the Korean War missionary service was restricted, so President Eyring served in the U.S. Air Force instead of serving a full-time mission. While in the Air Force, he was called to be a district missionary. He spent his nights and weekends for the next two years serving the Lord and preaching the gospel. After he was released from the Air Force, he went back to school and met his wife, Kathleen. They have six children and twenty-five grandchildren. His family is a most important part of his life.

Will Hagen, a 17-year-old from Salt Lake City, Utah, was a baseball player through his childhood and most of high school, but he’s known for almost his entire life what he really wants to be—a violinist. And being a violinist isn’t just something Will wants to do, it’s something he feels he’s meant to do.
Will started playing the violin when he was almost four years old, and since then the instrument has been a major part of Will’s life, sometimes making it hard for him to balance his other responsibilities. Though he had been playing on his high school’s varsity baseball team for several years, Will decided to give up the sport his last year of high school to concentrate on his music. His music career has become more serious, and he spends a lot of time traveling for lessons and concerts, which can make it challenging to keep up in the classroom.
After playing the violin for 13 years, however, Will has a better idea of how to manage his time and priorities. “I do what’s important first. I try not to get too bogged down in one thing.” With his regular teenage life and his music life often pulling him in different directions, he finds that his membership in the Church is what keeps him on track. “Being a member of the Church is one thing that keeps me steady. The Church is a wonderful constant in my life.”
Playing the violin as seriously as Will does takes a tremendous amount of discipline, which he says is the hardest part about playing the violin. “It’s hard to practice slowly,” he explains. “It’s hard to practice every day.” It also takes discipline to balance his social and school life and his music life “because they’re so completely different.”
Will was first attracted to the violin after hearing people play the instrument in a Church meeting. “I’ve always felt that I’m meant to play, because I’ve always had a very personal connection to the music.” He says that the techniques associated with string playing distinguish the violin from other instruments, like the piano. “With the piano, you don’t have vibrato, you don’t have slides, and those slides and vibrato can make it sound more human. The violin is a great instrument. It’s really expressive, and you can really sound like you are saying something.”
He sees music as more than just notes on a page. While few classical composers have been LDS, Will believes “that many were inspired by God in some way, and there’s a good connection there.” He continues, “I treat the music like it really is more than a song.”
With such clear talent for the instrument, Will could easily let his ability get to his head, but he keeps his motivation on track: “I just love the music. That’s what I’m in it for.” He recognizes the power music has to influence people and tries to stay in tune with the Spirit when he performs. “Music is very, very powerful. I pray every single time before I go on stage. It’s really strengthened my testimony of prayer, because prayer really does work. Many times I’ve had prayers directly answered, and it’s strengthened my testimony.”
Will has a bright future ahead of him as he continues to develop his talent on the violin. He’s learned that through dedicated effort and continual prayer, the Lord will help him magnify his abilities. We, like Will, need to follow Paul’s counsel and “neglect not the gift that is in [us]” (1 Timothy 4:14).

After spending most of the winter and spring on missionary journeys to Canada, “Elder Young,” as he was now often called, along with Heber C. Kimball, responded to the revelation the Prophet had received calling the Saints to gather at Kirtland. Apparently some of the others who gathered there had difficulty finding the right kind of employment or in getting paid on time, so, contrary to counsel, they went off to surrounding towns for the winter. But as Brigham later remembered, “I told them I had gathered to Kirtland because I was so directed by the Prophet of God, and I … was going to stay here and seek the things that pertained to the kingdom of God by listening to the teachings of his servants, and I should work for my brethren and trust in God and them that I would be paid.”9

But then my mind took me back to my first day of work nearly 40 years earlier. My father owned a bakery and baked bread that was distributed to many small markets in our city in southern Brazil. When I was a young child, I kept insisting that my father take me to work with him. One day he finally said yes!
My mother sewed a little white apron and a baker’s hat for me, and my dad and I went to the bakery. Together, we mixed and prepared dough, manually shaped the dough into loaves, and placed the loaves into the brick oven. When the bread finished baking, we used a long wooden paddle to carefully retrieve the bread. We waited for a few seconds, then we shared a loaf of the still-warm bread. It tasted wonderful!
Upon reflection, I decided that receiving an award at Cambridge was my second-best day of work. The best and happiest day at work was in a much more humble setting: a little bakery with no audience or standing ovation. It was just me and my dad. That day, he taught me to love and value work and helped me feel the joy of making something from scratch with my own hands. I learned that hard work is satisfying to both the body and the soul.
I can still hear the applause and the words of encouragement coming from that audience at the University of Cambridge, but more dear to me is the memory of my day at the bakery with my father and the smell of those loaves of bread as they came out of the oven.

(President of the Church since 2008)
When President Thomas S. Monson was 10 years old, his parents gave him an electric train set for Christmas. Tommy was happy until his mother showed him a less-expensive train she had bought for a neighbor boy. Tommy noticed a car that his train didn’t have. He was jealous, and he convinced his mother to let him keep the train car. When they went to surprise the neighbor boy with the gift, Tommy realized how selfish he had been. He ran back home and got the car, plus another car from his own set, to give to the boy. He felt joy when he focused on giving instead of getting.

During construction of the Rio de Janeiro Brazil Temple, I walked by it nearly every day. I would tell my friends, “One day, I’m going to get married in this building.”
“Man, you say the same thing every day!” they said.
I said it every day because I knew that the temple was getting closer to being completed, and I wanted to remind myself to keep doing the right things so that our family could be sealed together. This is the desire of my heart.

Whitney Rich says, “I have to admit that when I was growing up, I was afraid of marriage because I saw so many unhappy and failed ones. I wondered what I could do to make sure that my marriage to Justin would succeed.” Whitney and Justin spent a lot of time discussing this. They prayed, studied scriptures, and read Church-oriented books on the subject. They finally concluded that staying close to the Spirit was the best possible way of staying close to each other. Justin says, “The best marriage is not just a two-way partnership between a husband and wife. It’s a three-way partnership between a husband, a wife, and the Lord.”

A number of years ago I traveled by chartered bus to Palmyra, New York, with 150 wonderful young women from BYU and other Utah schools. These young ladies served as special missionaries to help put on the Hill Cumorah Pageant. On our return trip we visited several Church history sites along the pioneer trail. One of these sites was the Mormon cemetery at Winter Quarters near Omaha, Nebraska. As we walked quietly up the hill containing many graves of the Saints who died there, our spirits were subdued. Located at the top of the hill is that impressive Avard Fairbanks monument with which you are no doubt familiar. It is a statue of a pioneer mother and father, a shovel in his hand, standing before the open grave of their baby. At the base of the monument in bronze are listed in alphabetical order most of the names of the 600 pioneers buried there. Those 600 are just a tithing of the 6,000 whose graves lie along the rest of the trail. Without a cue or suggestion from anyone, the girls began to sing “Come, Come, Ye Saints.” At first they sang very strongly, but as the words and spirit of that great hymn sank deeper in their hearts, their singing turned more into sobbing. By the last verse I think I was the only one still singing. As I voiced the words “And should we die before our journey’s through,” I was scanning the list of names on the bronze plaque. In the F’s two names caught my attention—Samuel Flake, age five months, and Frederick Flake, age one day. Then I stopped singing, too.

A. Background
In regard to our relationship with God, which is the second fundamental principle that we will consider here today, I refer to one false doctrine, the doctrine of predestination, that should be sufficient for our purposes. This doctrine was expanded upon by the fifth-century Christian theologian Augustine of Hippo and has governed mainstream Christianity for many centuries. According to predestination, the destiny of any soul is predetermined by God,before any act, good or evil, has been committed by any man or woman.8

I will only say here that there is a terrible logic to a belief in a God who prejudges us, even when His judgment is always perfect. There is also the depressing arithmetic of a teaching that holds that nothing we do, or ever will do in the future, will influence God’s grace or deflect His justice: we are thereby left with our final fate fixed, because of God’s prejudgment of us. Any thoughtful believer will readily discern the self-defeating potential of this incorrect doctrine of predestination, as well as the hopelessness it could produce in individuals. It is therefore not surprising that much of mankind over the ages have approached God with great fear and trepidation.

In this regard I refer to the well-known example of Martin Luther, the great reformer. When he was a young man, before he had embarked on the ministry as a monk and some years before his work as a reformer, he had two experiences that greatly affected him. The first of these events occurred in 1503, when a dagger pierced his leg, rupturing an artery, which could have caused him an untimely death. The second event occurred two years later, in 1505. He was caught in a heavy thunderstorm that was so violent that he felt sure he was not going to survive. It was this latter event, in fact, which caused Luther to promise that he would become a monk if his life were spared. However, the most telling part in both of these life-threatening events was that Luther, when in fear of his life, did not once call upon the Lord for help. Instead, and from the Latter-day Saint point of view, quite surprisingly, he called upon two venerated saints for help. In the first instance, when his leg was injured, he implored Mary, the mortal mother of the Savior, to help him. In the second event, during the terrifying thunderstorm, he turned his calls for help to Saint Anne, who is believed to have been the mother of this same Mary. In later years Luther regretted his behavior for not calling upon the Lord during these situations.9

One possible reason for a good man like Martin Luther not to have turned to His Heavenly Father is found in what he said at one time: “If I could believe that God was not angry at me, I would stand on my head for joy.”10 We should also remember that Martin Luther was not unique in these views; in fact, they were typical in a society in which man feared God and stood in terror of Christ as our judge.11

Crunch, crunch, crunch. Andrew swallowed his popcorn and grabbed another handful.
His older brother, Caleb, plopped down on the couch beside him. “Hey, can I have some?”
Andrew didn’t look away from the TV. “No.”
“Aw, come on. You can share.”
Caleb reached for the bowl, but Andrew snatched it away.
“No! I already told you before. Don’t ask again!”
“Fine.” Caleb got up and left the room.
The next day, Andrew went into the kitchen. Caleb was making some sushi with rice, seaweed, and canned pork.
Andrew’s mouth watered. “Can I have some?”
“No,” Caleb said.
That made Andrew really mad. He ran downstairs to tell Dad.
“Why is Caleb being so selfish?” he asked.
Dad frowned. “I saw yesterday that you wouldn’t share your popcorn. Why should Caleb share with you after you didn’t share with him?”
“Because he’s my brother!” Andrew said.
“Then why didn’t you share with him?”
“He never shares with me either! Besides, I made it for myself, not him,” Andrew said. But he felt a little bad. Maybe it was mean of him not to share.
“Did you know that in Korea, sharing is really important?” Dad asked. Andrew’s family was from Korea. “Sharing is a way to show someone you care about them. So if you don’t share, it’s kind of like saying that you don’t care about them.”
“But I do care about Caleb.”
Andrew thought about what Jesus might do. He remembered how Jesus loved everyone—even those who were unkind to Him.
“I think I’m going to share with Caleb tomorrow and see how it turns out,” he told Dad.
Dad smiled. “I think that’s a good idea.”
When Andrew went to bed that night, he thought about other nice things he could do for Caleb. He was excited to start sharing!
The next morning, Andrew woke up to a surprise. Caleb had made breakfast just for him!
“Dad talked to me about sharing,” Caleb said. “I want to do better. So I made this for you.”
“Thanks!” Andrew said. “I want to do better too.”
Later that day, Andrew and Caleb watched a movie. Andrew let Caleb pick which one. Then he made some popcorn just for Caleb! He looked inside the bowl. It was like the popcorn was saying, “EAT ME!” But Andrew didn’t take any. He gave Caleb the bowl and said, “This is all yours. I’m sorry I didn’t share before.”
Andrew shared with Caleb all week. He let Caleb read his books. He let Caleb use his markers. He let Caleb play with his favorite toy. He even gave Caleb an extra turn when they were playing a game.
The more Andrew shared with Caleb, the more Caleb shared with him! Soon they were doing nice things for each other all the time. Andrew knew that Heavenly Father was helping him share with his brother. Andrew wasn’t perfect like Jesus, but he was trying to be more like Him every day.
This story took place in the USA.
Illustration by Adam Howling

When our son Grant was four-and-a-half years old, he came home from church with a “choose the right” ring—one of the adjustable little rings with a CTR crest. Grant was ecstatic. He showed it to his brothers and sisters. His dad and I chuckled at how much he loved this little ring. Well, shortly after church Grant lost the ring at home. He was despondent. A couple of days later, as I was cleaning the family room, I found Grant’s CTR ring under a couch cushion. Grant was so happy to have his ring back! Not much later, as Grant and his little brother Noah were playing upstairs, I heard a thud and then Noah crying. My practiced mother’s ears knew that those sounds meant Grant, normally a very kind child, had shoved Noah into a wall.

As I got upstairs, I found Noah whimpering a little but not hurt and moving on to play. But Grant was sobbing and pulling off the ring on his finger. He threw the CTR ring down the hall with all his little boy might and through tears yelled, “That thing does not work!”

I sat on the floor and gathered Grant into my arms and asked, “Did you think that if you wore that ring that you would only choose the right?”

He nodded, “Yes.”

I then said, “Oh, sweet boy, it doesn’t work that way. Heavenly Father gave us the greatest gift in that we can choose how we act and what we do. The CTR ring is a reminder, but you choose.”

When I was nine years old, we had a family home evening lesson on safety. My mom taught us about stranger danger and what to do if we were ever in harm’s way. I didn’t think much about the lesson until about six months later. I was jogging home when a man driving a dark car stopped and yelled at me to get in his car. I was scared and worried that he would hurt me if I didn’t get in his car, but then I remembered the family home evening lesson. I ran in the other direction away from the car and the man drove off. I told my mom what had happened and she called the police. Mom told me that she had prayed that day for my protection, and she had felt inspired to plan the lesson on stranger danger. My mom and dad are Jesus’s helpers. They are two of the shepherds who are here to protect and watch over me. I am grateful for them.

Several years ago Sister Child and I were invited to speak at a BYU stake young adult fireside in Provo. We were asked to speak about the temple. A few weeks before the fireside we realized that it was scheduled on Super Bowl Sunday. We assumed that there would be very few in attendance. As we drove on to the campus there wasn't a car on the road, not a person on the street. The campus looked totally deserted. We were greeted by the stake president and taken into a large hall that to our surprise was filled to capacity with faithful young people. Our hearts were touched because of their stalwartness. Sister Child in her remarks expressed gratitude for their attendance when they could be home watching the Super Bowl. Afterwards many of them expressed to us that they loved the temple much more than they loved football. We are grateful for your faithfulness and love of the temple.

“Get up, Kevin.”
I looked over to the other side of the room at my brother’s bed. He lay asleep, curled up tightly in the blankets against the cold. This morning ritual began a year ago when Dad had traded half the rabbits, complete with cages, for a milk goat named Colleen. It was my job to milk her while Kevin fed her and cleaned out her cage.
“What time is it?” Kevin asked as he got up and dressed, noticing the light filtering into the room.
“It’s six-thirty.” I was fully clothed and standing by my dresser, putting on my coat and knit cap. The coat smelled of alfalfa hay and dried milk.
“Hi, Mom,” we said in unison as we walked downstairs. I opened the back door, grabbing the clean steel milking pail on our way out. As we walked toward the barn, we noticed that water from the lake had vaporized into a thin fog that drifted across the nearby horse pastures. The ground, just beginning to thaw, felt like thick peanut butter on our boots.
“Kevin, what do you want for your birthday?” I asked. For the past two days I had been trying to think of what to get my seven-year-old brother. I didn’t have any money to buy a present, and there was no snow to shovel to earn a few dollars, either.
“I don’t know,” Kevin said as he scooped up some alfalfa pellets with a cut-out bleach bottle and poured them into a container by Colleen’s milking stand. “Why don’t you do my chores for me tomorrow morning?” He was referring to a tradition in our family—if it was your birthday, other members of the family did your chores for you.
“OK.” But I wanted to get him something else, something more than what was done traditionally.
“Tim and Kevin,” Dad called, “it’s time for breakfast.”
After leading Colleen back to her pen, we carried the milk into the house and placed it on the counter, then sat down to eat. The steaming cereal, cooled by yesterday’s milk, tasted sweet because of the addition of honey and raisins.
“Time for school,” Mom said when we had finished eating. After grabbing our schoolbooks, we returned to the living room for family prayer, then left for school.
Kevin’s elementary school was just under two miles away, while I only had to walk a half-mile to the middle school. Each day Kevin silently wished we lived a quarter mile to the south, making him eligible to ride the school bus that picked up many of his classmates. On most mornings, we witnessed them entering the bus at the beginning of its route. Kevin would stop, watch for a moment, then continue walking, most of the time arriving at his school long after the bus had dropped off its passengers. It was a cruel part of his day, especially on snowy or really cold winter mornings.
“See you later,” I said, watching him walk away when we reached my school.
All day I thought more about his birthday. I remembered last summer, when he had weeded all of the neighbor’s vegetable garden to earn money to buy me a present. It was a small, single-bladed pocketknife he had bought secondhand at a thrift store. He had removed the rust with steel wool, then shined the blade and the handle with silver polish.
That night when I said my prayers, I asked Heavenly Father to help me find Kevin a gift.
After a fitful sleep, I awoke before the morning light had entered our bedroom. I dressed quietly in the darkness and glanced over to see Kevin wrapped in his blankets. I tiptoed downstairs and outside.
The landscape had changed from the morning before. A snowstorm had arrived, and the snow blew around me. A little blew into the house before I could close the door. I hurried to the barn, wanting to complete the morning chores quickly.
Just as I finished, I noticed something tucked into a corner of the barn. I hadn’t seen it since the summer before, and it gave me an idea for Kevin’s birthday.
I quickly ran back to the house to drop off the milk, grabbed a bucket of warm, soapy water and some old rags and carried them out to the barn. The dust of a winter and the rust from the dampness made cleaning difficult, but I kept working. Finally the call for breakfast came.
The smell of bacon and pancakes, food reserved for Sundays before church and other special days, met me at the door. We sat and ate, Kevin happy because of his seventh birthday, and me nervous, hoping he would like my present for him.
“Time for school,” Mom said as Kevin finished the last pancake. After family prayer, we went out into the gray snowstorm.
“Kevin, I have a present for you. It’s in the barn.” He followed me around the house and into the barn.
There stood our old red wagon, washed clean, then polished with car wax I had found on a shelf above the alfalfa pellets. A small wool blanket covered the bottom, and on the side of the wagon I had carefully painted “School Bus” with some old house paint.
“Get in, Kevin. You don’t have to walk to school today. This is your bus.”
His face lit up, and he scrambled in. I put another blanket around him so he would keep warm.
I pulled the wagon out of the barn, past the house, and onto the snow-packed road. Mom and Dad stood on the porch, watching the delight on Kevin’s face.
“Everyone off!” I yelled as we pulled onto the sidewalk just in front of the entrance to Kevin’s school. I tried to sound like a bus driver, and he laughed with me at my attempt. I hurried back down the road with the wagon, and once I arrived at my own school, I hid it in some bushes.
When the final bell rang, I ran outside, rescued the wagon from the bushes, and hurried back to the elementary school.
I arrived just after the bell rang, and saw Kevin with two excited friends. “Tim, can they come with us?”
“Sure,” I said. “Everybody ‘booooard,” I yelled like a bus driver. Kevin climbed in first; the other two squeezed in behind him.
By the time I pulled the wagon to the second boy’s home, I was really tired.
“Tim, I’ll pull you the rest of the way home,” Kevin offered.
“No, it’s your birthday. I want to do this.” That night as I got into bed, I felt too tired to pray. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d been more tired. My legs and back ached, and my hands were sore and blistered from gripping the wagon handle. I lay in the darkness, thinking about the presents Kevin had received from Mom and Dad, Grandma and Grandpa, and me. Just before I drifted off to sleep, I heard “Tim?”
“Yeah.”
“Out of all the presents I got today, yours was the best.”
“Thanks,” I said. Then I remembered my prayer from the night before. I crawled out of bed, knelt on the cold wood floor, and thanked Heavenly Father for helping me find my brother a birthday gift.