Gospel Story Finder

I began to study the Atonement intensively. And I studied the doctrine of the change of heart and the meaning of being born again. As I studied, I developed a profound reverence for the Savior, for the power of his atonement, and for its efficacy in saving me from all of my failings and weaknesses.
One day I read Mosiah 5:7–8: “Ye shall be called the children of Christ … ; for ye say that your hearts are changed through faith on his name; therefore, ye are born of him and have become his sons and his daughters.
“And under this head ye are made free, and there is no other head whereby ye can be made free.”
Now I understood the words made free. I was being released from so many personal fears, inadequacies, and negative feelings that it seemed as if tangible shackles were falling from my hands and feet. My posture changed as I began to see myself as a person who had every reason to stand tall. My children asked why I was smiling so much. My husband asked why we didn’t quarrel anymore. My mother and brothers simply asked, “What happened?”

This great caring about how we behave toward everyone around us was one of the great lessons President McKay taught. On the trip to Europe to dedicate the temple sites in Switzerland and England, President McKay was surrounded by eager English youth seeking autographs from him. The first in line was a young girl about nine years old. She asked the President’s son, who was accompanying him, “May I have President McKay’s autograph?” The son, who thought his father was too tired, began to dissuade her. But President McKay, overhearing the conversation, turned to her and asked jokingly, “Do you think I can write plainly enough so you can read it?” The girl wasn’t sure whether he was in earnest, and she became flustered. At that moment, an aide interrupted with a pressing question, and several minutes of conversation ensued. When the President turned back to speak again to the girl, she had disappeared.
“I have never seen father more upset,” said his son. “Please find that girl in the blue dress,” President McKay directed. “I’m sure she has the impression that I didn’t want to sign her book. She misinterpreted my remarks. You must find her.” Before long, branch presidents and mission presidents were looking for a little girl in blue. But the search was in vain. Finally, a missionary thought he knew who the girl was. He telephoned the President later that night and then received these instructions: “Tell the girl that I am sorry I missed her, and that I have asked the branch president to send her book to me by mail to Salt Lake City; I will sign my autograph and mail it directly back to her.” And he did!

Her dad used to help run the family grocery store. “Karissa liked to come to the store with me,” he said, “and she always put on a green apron just like mine.” Once a man from the ward came into the store. Even though Karissa didn’t know him, she treated him like a friend. When he left, she stood in front of the door and teased, “You can’t leave until you say the magic word!” The magic word was “pretty please.” “Karissa isn’t scared of anyone,” her parents agree. “Age makes no difference. Everyone is her friend.” Right now she is learning to cook. She likes cracking eggs for a recipe best. She is also learning to play the piano. She can sing her favorite hymn, “I Stand All Amazed,” from memory, and she looks forward to being able to play it all the way through on the piano. “She is the first one to start singing ‘I Love to See the Temple’ whenever we drive past one,” her mom says. When Karissa visited her Grandma and Grandpa Burrup in Richland, Washington, she was able to see the Columbia River Washington Temple being built. The construction workers offered her a piece of granite from the temple walls to take home. Karissa doesn’t give up when problems arise. At a ward Christmas party, she was invited to sing a musical number. As she climbed onto the platform, she slipped and fell. Primary leaders rushed to help her, but before they could, she had already climbed back up. She sang her song the way she lives her life every day—with a smile.

Kerry Smith grew up on a sheep ranch in Idaho and helped her father care for their lambs. She remembers that sometimes they would get their heads caught in the wire fencing or fall on their backs in a ditch. “Sheep are absolutely helpless on their backs. They can’t roll over without some assistance. That’s what makes them easy to handle and to shear, but it can also kill them,” she says. “We watch for any that might be in trouble and run to their rescue.”

Shepherds and leaders watch for those in trouble and help them get back on their feet. Kerry puts it this way: “Because we each have weaknesses Heavenly Father can help us ‘get up off our backs’ and resume our lives. Though we must always do our part, He is our protector. He gave us the perfect example of His Only Begotten Son, who is always watching, always guiding, always our Shepherd.”

May I share with you an account of an opportunity of service which came to me unexpectedly and in an unusual manner. I received a telephone call from a granddaughter of an old friend. She asked, “Do you remember Francis Brems, who was your Sunday School teacher?” I told her that I did. She continued, “He is now 105 years of age. He lives in a small care center but meets with the entire family each Sunday, where he delivers a Sunday School lesson. Last Sunday, Grandpa announced to us, ‘My dears, I am going to die this week. Will you please call Tommy Monson and tell him this. He’ll know what to do.’”
I visited Brother Brems the very next evening. I could not speak to him, for he was deaf. I could not write a message for him to read, for he was blind. What was I to do? I was told that his family communicated with him by taking the finger of his right hand and then tracing on the palm of his left hand the name of the person visiting and then any message. I followed the procedure and took his finger and spelled on the palm of his hand T-O-M-M-Y M-O-N-S-O-N. Brother Brems became excited and, taking my hands, placed them on his head. I knew his desire was to receive a priesthood blessing. The driver who had taken me to the care center joined me as we placed our hands on the head of Brother Brems and provided the desired blessing. Afterward, tears streamed from his sightless eyes. He grasped our hands, and we read the movement of his lips. The message: “Thank you so much.”
Within that very week, just as Brother Brems had predicted, he passed away. I received the telephone call and then met with the family as funeral arrangements were made. How thankful I am that a response to render service was not delayed.

I still remember my first cross-country skiing trip with my family. My parents, siblings, and I piled the ski equipment into our station wagon and traveled to a local mountain where we would spend the day. When we arrived at the site, I realized that in the hustle of packing I had left one of my skis at home. Worse yet, I’d forgotten my ski poles altogether.
Going home to retrieve the forgotten equipment was simply not feasible. My father, ever pragmatic, told me I’d just have to do my best. Fortunately, my older sister took pity on me and lent me one of her poles.
Having never been skiing, I didn’t think that having only one ski would be a big deal. I was more excited than disappointed—after all, I was finally old enough to participate in my family’s favorite shared activity!
One by one, my siblings put on their gear and headed toward a meadow with a small hill that was fun to ski down. But I couldn’t move an inch! The foot without a ski sank deep into the snow. The foot with the ski was also stuck because the snow clung to the old-fashioned wooden ski, making it extra heavy.
Why wasn’t this coming more easily? The harder I tried, the more stuck I became and the more frustrated I grew. My struggle became more devastating as I saw my father and brothers in the distance. They had reached the meadow and appeared to be having a great time climbing up and skiing down the hill.
Dad came back a few times to check on me, always offering some encouraging words. “Keep going! You’re getting it.” But I wasn’t getting it. In fact, the end of that day came before I ever made it to the meadow. My first ski trip was a huge disappointment.

I have been a member of the Church now for one year, and I still have a lot of questions. Last Sunday I was called to be the teachers quorum president, and I wasn’t too sure of all the duties and responsibilities of a teacher. On Monday I received the May issue of the New Era. The article on the role of the teacher really answered a lot of my questions as did Brother Backman’s answer in Q and A. It came just in time!
Buzzy JohnsonSouth Pasadena, California

In early 1991 I was involved in a car accident that left most of my body paralyzed. Since then I have had a lot of time to compare my life before that incident with my life now. In some ways it is similar. Yet there are numerous differences.
Before my accident I had the attitude that I should try to perfect the four basic aspects of my life. Ranked in order of importance at that time, they were: (1) physical ability, (2) mental ability, (3) spirituality, and (4) emotional stability.
One year later, perhaps the only thing that has changed is the order of importance of these four vital cornerstones of my life.
Before the accident, my perspective was that of an 18-year-old athlete who thought he knew everything. Although I grew up in a religious family and felt good about my beliefs, spirituality was not my top priority. Instead, physical strength, speed, and quickness were more important to me than either religion or school. I felt that going to school was a necessity simply to remain eligible for sports.
Although I did fairly well academically, I often found myself practicing the sport of the season rather than studying for a test or completing an assignment. I had academic goals and important religious goals, but none of these took precedence over my athletic aspirations. The experiences I’ve had the last two years have helped me better understand what is really important.
Since February 16, 1991, the day I fell asleep driving my truck, I have had the opportunity to look at life from a completely different viewpoint. I have had a lot of time to think about and adjust my priorities. I still love athletics and believe they have the potential to build character. But they are not the most important thing in my life anymore. I recognize now that my religion, my family, and my friends are the foundation for my happiness, not a touchdown or a home run.
My mind is the most precious asset I have, and I realize that it must be exercised even as my legs or my lungs were exercised in athletics. I am grateful for the opportunity I have to attend college and gain knowledge. While the last two years have slowed me down physically, they have accelerated my spiritual and mental maturity.
Realizing that obtaining knowledge and spirituality is an on-going process, as well as increasing emotional stability and physical ability, I believe that the last two years of my life have been a step toward those elusive goals.
Not many people have the chance to actually live life from two very different positions. Because I can, I am grateful I have had this opportunity. It has helped me realize why my spirituality, mental capacity, emotional stability, and physical ability must be placed according to their importance.

Donovan Sorensen was born with muscular dystrophy, a condition where the body doesn’t produce enough protein to rebuild the muscles. He was diagnosed at age 7. “I was able to walk until I was 11,” says Donovan, “but then I became wheelchair-bound.”
It takes Donovan much longer to do normal things like getting out of bed, getting dressed, or preparing meals.
“I’ve de?nitely learned to not take things for granted,” says Donovan. “It also gives me an appreciation for others who maybe have a harder time with these things than I do.”
Donovan’s mom says, “Despite his physical limitations, he has never let his condition deter him from accomplishing anything he sets his mind to. He demonstrates amazing courage in the face of constant uncertainty. He possesses a quiet self-con?dence and is OK being di?erent.”
Donovan participated in the Scouting program.
Enjoying a Washington ferry ride!
“Well, originally a full-time proselyting mission was pretty much o? the table,” says Donovan. “And I was OK with that. I’d accepted it.”
But then Donovan and his family heard about service missions.
“We contacted our area service mission coordinator. We told him what I would be able to do,” said Donovan. “He helped me to ?nd the right opportunity. From there, he worked with my stake president and bishop to ?nish the process.”
It wasn’t long before Donovan was submitting his papers. Soon he received his call to serve a mission in the Seattle Washington Temple. He was set apart and worked in the temple ?ve days a week after that.
“At ?rst I was a little nervous. We met with the temple president and the recorder a week before I started. I was set apart as an ordinance worker, and the recorder showed me some of the things I would be doing. So that calmed my nerves a lot. And once I started, it was nothing to worry about. I’ve loved every minute of it.”
But his service doesn’t come without sacri?ce and challenges.
“Waking up is one challenge, but I just make sure I don’t go to bed too late. I’m usually able to get up pretty easily and get to the temple and do everything they need me to do.” But waking up early is just the beginning. Next it’s the bus stop, where Donovan navigates public transportation to and from the temple, traveling approximately three hours a day and sometimes more, depending on the weather.
“He doesn’t see any of it as a sacri?ce,” says his mom. “He goes, rain, snow, or shine. He doesn’t want to miss a day, because he knows people are counting on him and he knows how important his service is.”
“He knows people are counting on him and he knows how important his service is.”
“I like helping people feel welcomed,” says Donovan. “I’ve had a lot of people thank me for my service, and even though I’m doing something any other ordinance worker could do, it makes me feel good knowing that I could help make them happy.”

This widespread respect for Brother Vidal became apparent to missionaries laboring in Cajamarca, Peru, in late 1970. Hoping to overcome the opposition and religious superstition that greeted them, the missionaries arranged to use a municipal building to present a week-long exposition featuring displays and explanations of the Book of Mormon and its ties to ancient inhabitants of America.

The day before the much-publicized exposition was to open, city officials told the missionaries that a local religious leader had instructed them not to allow them to proceed. Frustrated and discouraged, the missionaries chanced to meet the head of the local bank, with whom they had earlier visited about the Church. Learning of their predicament, he telephoned Brother Vidal in Lima.

“Señor Vidal, I know you are a Mormon,” he said. “I have great respect for you. Some of your missionaries are in a difficult situation. I am willing to risk my influence in this community to help them if you tell me that theirs is a good cause.”

Brother Vidal urged the bank executive to help the missionaries. As a result, the exposition was a success.

In the meantime, however, Ed had set his sights on All-America status as a freshman in college. To be All-America, you have to finish in the top six among collegiate athletes at the National Collegiate Athletic Association (NCAA) finals. It was an ambitious goal, but Ed’s times weren’t too far off, and, if he worked hard enough, he saw no reason why he couldn’t reach it.
He came close to reaching that goal, too, but another roadblock popped up. The finals were held in Austin, Texas, right in the middle of one of the severest heat waves on record. Ed, however, was paying more attention to the race than to the heat. He was running the 10K, which is 25 laps around the track, and about halfway through, he was in the sixth position, which is exactly where he wanted to be. Suddenly, one of the runners in front of him started to wobble, then passed out on the side of the track from heat prostration.
Ed was now in the number five position. If he could hold it, he’d be an All-American in his freshman year for sure. Then, with about three laps to go, Ed felt the two runners behind him begin to gain on him. He knew he couldn’t let them pass, and he exerted all the effort he could to stay ahead. But suddenly, “everything went fuzzy around the edges, and instead of running straight, I was running to the left and to the right. I was doing what the guy in front of me had been doing before he dropped out. I guess I was feeling the effect of the heat. I don’t remember much after that, but a half a lap later I was dragged off the track by my coach and a few teammates, and I remember waking up in the training room in a tub of cold water with some ice in it. I went back to my hotel room just thinking that I blew it,” he said.
But this time there was a hand outstretched, waiting to help him over that particular barrier. “One of my coaches came by to talk,” Ed relates.
The coach was also a rancher and said, “Ed, I’ve worked a lot with runners, and I’ve worked a lot with animals, and I just want you to know that today you ran like a horse.”
“I didn’t exactly know how to take that,” Ed confided, “but then the coach explained, ‘You can take a good mule out and work with it, and it will do what you want it to until it gets tired. Then it will just sit down. And you can kick it and beat it and do whatever, but until it’s good and rested, it’s not going to budge. But you can take a good horse, and that horse will work for you until it drops over from exhaustion. Today, you ran like a horse, Ed.’
“I learned a great lesson that can be applied in jobs or studies or any aspect of life, really,” Ed relates. He realized that the endurance to follow a job through and give your all is more important than the final outcome. It’s the ultimate effort you put into anything that makes it worthwhile.

There is an urgency in this work that motivates us to extend the blessings of the temple to as many of our Heavenly Father’s children as possible. I was impressed with an experience of President Wilford Woodruff when he told of a visitation he received from the Prophet Joseph Smith some time after the Prophet was martyred. According to President Woodruff’s own account: “[Joseph Smith] came to me and spoke to me. He said he could not stop to talk with me because he was in a hurry. The next man I met was Father Smith; he could not talk with me because he was in a hurry. I met half a dozen brethren who had held high positions on earth, and none of them could stop to talk with me because they were in a hurry. I was much astonished. By and by I saw the Prophet again and I got the privilege of asking him a question.

“‘Now,’ said I, ‘I want to know why you are in a hurry. I have been in a hurry all my life; but I expected my hurry would be over when I got into the kingdom of heaven, if I ever did.’

“Joseph said: ‘I will tell you, Brother Woodruff. Every dispensation that has had the priesthood on the earth and has gone into the celestial kingdom has had a certain amount of work to do to prepare to go to the earth with the Savior when he goes to reign on the earth. Each dispensation has had ample time to do this work. We have not. We are the last dispensation, and so much work has to be done, and we need to be in a hurry … to accomplish it.’

“Of course, that was satisfactory,” President Woodruff concluded, “but it was new doctrine to me.”

Elder Hugh B. Brown of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles (1883–1975) once shared such a lesson he learned while pruning a currant bush on a farm in Canada.
As he went about cleaning up and repairing his property, he came across a currant bush that had grown over six feet high and was yielding no berries. Therefore, he pruned it back drastically, leaving only small, teardrop-shaped stumps. The sight made it appear as if the currant bush were crying, and Elder Brown thought he heard the bush say:
“‘How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. … And now you have cut me down. … I thought you were the gardener here.’”
Elder Brown replied, “‘Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. If I let you go the way you want to go, you will never amount to anything. But someday, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to think back and say, “Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.”’”7

After my mother passed away, life began to feel too much to bear. I finally turned to my bishop for advice. What he told me wasn’t exactly what I expected, but it changed my life. He invited me to rely on Heavenly Father by praying, reading the scriptures, and trusting that the Savior would be there for me—trusting Him so much that I would feel my burdens become lighter. Two and a half years later, I know that there is a constant peace available to all of us because of who our Savior is and what He did for us.
Whitney W., 19, Arizona, USA

“It’s dark in here,” whispered Tracy, reaching for her sister’s hand.
“Your eyes will adjust,” answered Alice in her most cheerful, grown-up voice. “Sister Knight’s room is down there. Come on.”
“This place smells funny. I wish Mom was with us.”
Alice had been wishing the same thing. Everything about the nursing home seemed to press against her skin. She wanted to run down the dark corridor, through the heavy glass doors, and into the bright sunlight.
“Think about Honeysuckle,” Alice suggested. “She’s the most adorable kitten in the world, and she was a gift from Sister Knight. Now she needs something from us.”
“What?” Tracy asked her big sister.
“I guess we’ll find out. Listen, Tracy, I’m nervous too. Eleven-year-olds don’t know everything.”
“Are you here to see Mrs. Knight?” a nurse asked as she came toward the girls. When Alice nodded solemnly, the nurse boomed, “Good—you’ll be better for her than anything the doctor could order!”
Before Alice realized what had happened, the nurse had ushered them into the room and they were standing beside Sister Knight’s bed.
“Alice and Tracy.” Sister Knight spoke very softly, but her smile was as radiant as ever.
Alice told Sister Knight about the Primary quarterly activity that they had attended the previous week. After telling about all the booths and contests, she gave a happy sigh and said, “It was a really fun carnival.” Then there was an awkward silence. Should we leave? she wondered.
Suddenly Tracy said, “Want to hear the song I learned at school?” She began singing, “‘I’ve been working on the railroad …’”
Uh-oh, thought Alice. Maybe we’re not allowed to make this much noise. But Sister Knight loved it! Her eyes sparkled, and she began nodding in time with the tune. So Alice and Tracy sang more school songs, then some from Primary. Sister Knight even tried to sing along with them. By the third Primary song, she was smiling with her eyes closed. She was sound asleep.
“We’ll come back Friday,” Alice said softly to Tracy as they tiptoed from the room. She didn’t think that the hall was so gloomy now, and she noticed that Tracy wasn’t holding her hand anymore. “I’m going to tell Mom what a terrific idea you had about singing,” said Alice.
“Tattletale!” Tracy said, laughing.
“Will you come back with me Friday?”
“Sure. Sister Knight is still fun, even if she is in bed.”
Alice set up a schedule. Every Tuesday and Friday she and Tracy biked to the nursing home.
Alice took snapshots of Honeysuckle. She showed them to Sister Knight and told her about the kitten’s silly antics.
Tracy made her a dandelion chain, and she planted a bean in a paper cup. When she placed it on Sister Knight’s window-sill, she said, “I thought that maybe you’d like to have a tree in your room.”
Then slowly the visits started to change. Sister Knight seemed to be shrinking. Her body seemed to disappear beneath her bedclothes. There were days when Alice wondered if she even recognized them. It spooked Alice when Sister Knight sometimes looked right at her without seeming to see her.
One thing didn’t change: They always sang. Singing had broken the ice during their first visit, and singing was a part of each visit thereafter.
When summer ended, things got harder. “I don’t know how I can keep going to the nursing home with all my schoolwork,” Alice said. Tracy nodded, and Alice knew that deep down they both were beginning to dread the visits. They weren’t fun anymore, and Sister Knight recognized them less and less, although she always relaxed and looked peaceful when they sang.
In mid-October, Alice had an important science project due. She wanted to skip the visit to Mrs. Knight so that she could go to the library and find reference books on fossils. She was picking up her things to leave for the library when Honeysuckle rubbed against her leg. Alice reached down and scratched the top of the kitten’s head. It jumped onto her lap and purred contentedly. “OK, Honeysuckle,” Alice said. “We’ll go to the nursing home one more time.”
When Alice and Tracy walked into Sister Knight’s room, Alice thought, Oh no! She’s not here. Then her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she saw the tiny woman huddled in the middle of the white hospital bed. Her thin hair stuck out in a strange, wild way. Her mouth was open, and she was moaning softly. The nurse entered the room, and put her arms around the girls. “Mrs. Knight is very weak and has been asleep for three days,” she explained, then left quietly.
Maybe she’s dying, Alice thought sadly. She tiptoed toward the bed, and, on an impulse, began to hum. Tracy joined in. Soon they were standing close by Sister Knight’s bed, singing:
“‘I am a child of God, And he has sent me here, Has given me an earthly home With parents kind and dear. Lead me, guide me, walk beside me, Help me find the way. Teach me all that I must do To live with him someday.’”
As they sang, Alice looked at their old friend, wanting, but afraid, to smooth her hair and kiss her cheek. Suddenly a flicker of a smile crossed Sister Knight’s lips.
“The hymn!” Tracy whispered. “I think that she heard our hymn!”
Alice’s heart filled with joy. We may not know for sure if Sister Knight hears us, thought Alice, but we can sing, anyway. It was the one gift that they could give her. “I’ll be back next Friday, Sister Knight,” she whispered.
“Me, too,” Tracy called back softly as they left the room.

One time I went on a first date with a girl in my ward. The next morning we were the only two who showed up for our ward’s temple trip. We offered to help with whatever ordinance needed the most patrons … which turned out to be sealings.
I was so nervous, but to my surprise, doing vicarious sealings with a girl less than 12 hours after our first date wasn’t nearly as awkward as I thought it would be. If anything, that experience gave me more perspective on how important each aspect of temple work is—including sealings (read more in my digital article).

Some years ago while on a family vacation, we acquired a rather unusual pet—a water snake from the beaches of Puget Sound. My children named him Sneaky, short for Sneaky Snake.
Early one morning while the family was out walking, Sneaky somehow got out of his cardboard box. When the room attendant entered to tidy the room, Sneaky headed for the open door. The attendant slammed the door in absolute terror, and since Sneaky got caught in it, we might say he came all apart.
It was the end of Sneaky, the beginning of a nervous breakdown for the attendant, and a time of weeping on the part of our children. Now, there is a lesson here. The attendant had erroneously perceived Sneaky as something less than the friend he was.

It was on one of my last trips when I had a really neat experience. I was just reading my scriptures before going to bed, and my host (the girl on the team assigned to me for the recruiting trip) asked me about what I was reading. That opened up an incredible conversation in which we ended up talking late into the night. After that, she thanked me and explained how much she had needed to hear what I had to say at that time. I know without a doubt that the conversations I had on my other trips had helped me prepare for this time, and since I was ready, I was able to say the things I needed to by inspiration.

I had another choice experience with impelling revelation a few months after I began my service at Brigham Young University. As a new and inexperienced president, I had many problems to analyze and many decisions to reach. I was very dependent on the Lord. One day in October I drove up Provo Canyon to ponder a particular problem. Although alone and without any interruption, I found myself unable to think of the problem at hand. Another pending issue I was not yet ready to consider kept thrusting itself into my mind: should we modify the University’s academic calendar to complete the fall semester before Christmas? After 10 or 15 minutes of unsuccessful efforts to exclude thoughts of this subject, I realized what was happening. The issue of the calendar did not seem timely to me, and I was certainly not seeking any guidance on it, but the Spirit was trying to communicate on that subject. I immediately turned my full attention to that question and began to record my thoughts on a piece of paper. Within a few minutes I had recorded the details of a three-semester calendar, with all of its powerful advantages.

Hurrying back to the campus, I reviewed this with my colleagues and found them enthusiastic. A few days later the Board of Trustees approved our proposed new calendar, and we published its dates, barely in time to make them effective in the fall of 1972. Since that time I have reread these words of the Prophet Joseph Smith and realized that I had had the experience he described:

“A person may profit by noticing the first intimation of the spirit of revelation; for instance, when you feel pure intelligence flowing into you, it may give you sudden strokes of ideas … and thus by learning the Spirit of God and understanding it, you may grow into the principle of revelation” (J. F. Smith, editor, Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, p. 151).

It was a cold, rainy day, and my friends and I were playing kickball. One of the players was a girl who gets teased a lot and does not have many friends. She didn’t have a coat although it was raining hard. She was soaked! It looked as if she had just jumped into a swimming pool! Her nose was red and she was shivering. I felt sorry for her, so I took off my coat and let her borrow it until recess was over. Even though I was cold on the outside, I felt warm and cozy inside.