Gospel Story Finder

But the arctic offers other more satisfying and rewarding experiences, not so full of sadness and uncertainty. Let me relate one. I could not tell what caused the rough-legged hawk, who shares the cliffs with peregrines, to make repeated swoops at the top of the brush-covered bluff above its nest. The nest was only about two feet below the bluff’s brink and contained four large fledglings nearly of age to leave the nest on their maiden flights. It was July 1968 and the stillness of the tundra was only interrupted by mosquitos humming in my ears. Suddenly, the reason for the hawk’s concern became evident as a wolverine emerged from the brush and tried to reach its paw down to one of the young hawks before being struck by the parent bird. It did not succeed, however. From a flashing dive the male parent hit the wolverine squarely in the middle of the back, nearly knocking it over the bluff. The battle was momentarily decided, and the wolverine retreated to search elsewhere for food. Few people see wild wolverines, let alone watch them in such a completely natural act; we were but 100 feet away.

John’s shoes needed repairing. He had worn them out running up and down on Steensbakken (Steens Hill), where he lived with his mother, Anna Widtsoe, and his two-year-old brother, Osborne. After the death of their father when Osborne was only two months old, the family had moved from Froya, the outermost island off the coast of Norway, to the mainland. They lived in a small apartment in Trondheim, the town known as the Cathedral City. The two little boys and their mother often looked out over the beautiful old capital city to the harbor and the fjord that zigzagged out toward the ocean.
When John showed Mother how his shoes had worn, she asked a neighbor to recommend someone who could repair them. He knew just the right person, he said, and soon a boy came to their door. He was a shoemaker’s son who picked up and delivered shoes for his father. A few days later the boy brought back John’s shoes neatly mended. A strange little pamphlet was tucked into the toe of each shoe.
John’s father had been a schoolmaster. Before he died he had taught his young son to read, but there were so many unfamiliar words in the pamphlet that the boy could not understand what was written.
The next day his mother wrapped another pair of shoes that needed repairing into a parcel, tucked them under her arm, and set out on the half-hour walk to the shoemaker’s shop. She seemed more quiet than usual when she returned, and during the next few days she was thoughtful and restless.
When the shoemaker’s son delivered the second pair of shoes, new pamphlets were tucked into the toe of each one. John knew that his mother spent many hours carefully studying them. The next Sunday she arranged for someone to be with the boys while she went to a meeting at the shoemaker’s sturdy log house.
It was not until some years later that she told John what the shoemaker had said when she went to his shop that first time to ask him why he had put a pamphlet into each of John’s shoes.
“You may be surprised,” he had answered, “to hear me say that I can give you something of far more value than soles for your child’s shoes.”
The pamphlets were Mormon missionary tracts. Because of them John, his mother, and his brother became members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. None of their relatives or friends approved; all became unfriendly toward Anna and the boys.

To assist scientists in their study of terrestrial (land) plants and animals, a number of excellent zoos and botanical gardens have been developed. And to study aquatic organisms that inhabit freshwater lakes and streams, many large aquariums have been built. However, attempts to create similar large facilities for the study of marine or saltwater creatures have always met with frustration; that is, until recently. For on October 15, 1980, the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History in Washington, D.C., opened its doors to a new 3,000-gallon piece of transplanted ocean that is home to over 200 species of marine plants and animals, including about twenty different types of living corals. And that was a real accomplishment, because living corals had never before survived for any length of time in an aquarium completely isolated from the sea.
When my family and I read of this feat, we decided that we would try it too. Our first step was to write to the Smithsonian scientists for advice. We waited anxiously for a reply; but after a couple of weeks without hearing from them, we decided that they probably thought we were not serious about it. So we tried another approach. I had to attend a meeting of scientists at the Scripps Institution of Oceanography, so I took two of my young sons with me. While there, we visited as many marine biologists as we could, getting tips on how to proceed. After some discussion with them, the best advice they could give us was, “Don’t try!” Well, their negative advice only heightened our desire to take up the challenge.
Since our home in Tempe, Arizona, has a very mild climate, we decided to construct an outside pond rather than an indoor tank. Our first step was to dig—and dig and dig. Every member of the family helped at one time or another, as did many of the neighborhood children. We not only had to excavate a basin for the water, but also a much deeper hole for an underwater viewing chamber.
We started near the end of November, and about a month later the excavation was complete, including the viewing chamber and a twenty-foot arching bridge that spanned the two-lobed basin at its midpoint. We waterproofed the sides of the pond by laying five layers of black polyethylene plastic over the soil. Then came several trips to the dry bed of a nearby river, where we collected thousands of pounds of smooth, round rocks to put on top of the black plastic. These rocks were then covered with fine sand—fourteen tons of it.
Last of all, a friend of ours helped us install a pump and sand filter to circulate and purify the water. Initially, all this system consisted of was an intake port at the bottom of the pond and a return port beneath the center of the bridge. Later, however, we expanded it to include a return port at the deep end of the pond and another at the shallow end. Then, since the shallow end had an island in the middle of it, we built up two ridges of river rocks between this island and the pond’s banks to create a tidal pool into which the shallow return port would empty its water.
Lining this pool with crushed seashells created another filtering system, as the water entering the tidal pool had to flow through these shells and rocks to reach the bottom of the pond where the pump withdrew it.
In addition to water impurities, another problem we had to worry about was temperature. It seemed likely that the pond would probably get too cold in winter and too warm in summer. About that time we read where the Steinhart Aquarium in San Francisco had just installed the first solar panels ever to moderate the temperature of a saltwater tank. So as in the case of the Smithsonian Museum, we again asked, “Why not us?” And two weeks later we had our own solar heating and cooling system ready to go.
The last bit of construction was a four-by-six-foot piece of plywood supported by four redwood supports in the deep end of the pond. It protruded about six inches above the water surface, and to it we strapped several long palm fronds to provide a place of shade and refuge for those sea creatures that shun the sight of humans. Then, a twelve-inch diameter plastic pipe was positioned at the bottom of this area and partially covered with rock and sand to create a cave for extremely reclusive creatures to hide in.
Finally, everything was ready. It was time to fill the pond and hope that there were no leaks. Since we wanted to know how much water it held, we checked the water meter to our house and then turned our hose into the basin. Several hours later when the water reached the top of the surrounding banks, we calculated a volume of 4,000 gallons—larger by a good margin than even the Smithsonian’s system.
In the midst of our initial success, however, we still had some reason for concern. Water began to seep into the observation room from around the viewing port. After a few hours, though, it subsided, probably due to the wood swelling when it became wet. Fortunately, it has not leaked since.
The first creature to inhabit our pond was a small dime-store turtle, secretly supplied one night by one of the neighborhood children. Then came fifty black mollies from a local aquarium shop. All of them did extremely well as algae began to grow in the pond, and several different types of aquatic insects appeared. Still, the pond was just a pond. We had yet to add the synthetic sea salts that would start it on its way to becoming a true marine ecosystem.
Join with us next month and read about this conversion process and the first of our several trips to Mexico and the Gulf of California, where we collected specimens for our “backyard ocean.”

His parents were not sure either. Lucy and Joseph Sr. both came from Christian families and believed in the Bible and Jesus Christ. Lucy attended church meetings and often brought her children with her. She had been seeking the true church of Jesus Christ since the death of her sister many years earlier.
Once, after falling gravely ill sometime before Joseph’s birth, she had feared that she would die before finding the truth. She sensed a dark and lonely chasm between her and the Savior, and she knew she was unprepared for the next life.
Lying awake all night, she prayed to God, promising Him that if He let her live, she would find the Church of Jesus Christ. As she prayed, the voice of the Lord spoke to her, assuring her that if she would seek, she would find. She had visited more churches since then, but she had still not found the right one. Yet even when it felt like the Savior’s Church was no longer on the earth, she kept searching, trusting that going to church was better than not.18

Concerned because Farmington’s boys were often getting into mischief, Aurelia asked Eliza R. Snow, the sister of Lorenzo Snow, if there should not be an organization to help little boys grow into good men. Sister Snow relayed the suggestion to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, the governing body of the Church following the death of Brigham Young. John Taylor, the President of the Quorum, gave his approval, and Sister Rogers was called upon to organize and serve as the president of the first Primary in the Church. She wisely decided that girls should also be part of the organization, and the first Primary was held in Farmington Ward on August 25, 1878.

1. Talya sat in the back of the Primary room and watched the other children prepare for their program next Sunday. Because she was only visiting her grandma for a week, she was not going to be in the Primary program.
2. Talya liked watching the other boys and girls practice their scriptures and talks.
3. One little girl, Rachel, stepped to the microphone. She stood there silently. She could not remember what to say.
4. Rachel burst into tears. She was scared to stand and speak in front of so many children.
5. Talya knew Rachel needed a friend. Even though she did not know Rachel very well, Talya went to the front of the room and gave her a big hug.
6. After Primary, Talya told her grandma about Rachel. “Is Rachel one of your friends?” Grandma asked.
7. “No, but she looked so sad,” Talya said. “I wanted to help her feel better.”
8. Grandma gave Talya a big hug and a smile. “I’m glad you could help Rachel,” she said.

“We are going to Arizona because the prophet called us to go,” Mother explained. “Remember my telling you about when I was your age and my family lived in Nauvoo? After the Prophet Joseph Smith was killed, there were contentions with our neighbors. The Brethren told us to leave our homes and move west. There our lives would be spared, and we could worship in peace.
“It was terrible to leave our home, but there was nothing else to do unless we turned away from God, the Brethren, and the Church. We made the long, hard journey to Salt Lake. We sacrificed again when we followed President Young’s direction to leave there and settle here.
“Now we have been asked to go to Arizona. We do not have to go. No one is forcing us. We are not fleeing for our lives. We could find reasons not to go. This time the struggle to obey comes from within.”
Mother hugged me as she continued. “The Lord said that when we receive a commandment ‘whether by [His] own voice or by the voice of [His] servants, it is the same’ (D&C 1:38). Our prophet has spoken to us. I know he speaks for God. Your father and I decided long ago to follow the prophet, no matter what the sacrifice.”
The Spirit warmed me as I listened to Mother’s testimony. I felt strengthened for the uncertainties ahead.
As I climbed into the loaded wagon, I took one last look at our old home, then turned to face the trail to Arizona. I realized that I, too, had a testimony of God’s representative on earth. Like my parents, I decided I would follow the prophet—even to the last frontier.

While serving as full-time missionaries in Chile, my companions and I had several opportunities to give priesthood blessings. On one occasion, after pronouncing a blessing on a single mother suffering from cancer, we expressed our appreciation for the opportunity of blessing her. Her response surprised us. She exclaimed, “Elders, you are the real blessing.” She continued, “Having worthy priesthood men in my home is the greatest blessing of all.”
As we thought about her comments, we recognized that God really does bless His children through righteous priesthood holders. If we hadn’t been there, ready to fulfill our priesthood duty, she could not have received the blessing we provided. We learned that fulfilling our duty to God meant living worthy to bless and serve others.

Illustration by J. Beth Jepson
I’d finally made it: I was a high-school senior. Now I had to prepare for the next step in my life: college. I knew that I wanted to major in music education with an emphasis in strings. While looking for colleges, I started to search local universities and found one that had a very good music education program.
My uncle was a professor at a public university, so I sought advice from him. I told him about the university and its excellent music program. His answer startled me: “Will that university support you spiritually? Will you graduate from that university with a stronger or weaker testimony than you have now?” He then shared a scripture with me that says that we are to “seek learning, even by study and also by faith” (D&C 88:118).
With these new ideas floating around in my head, I looked up the institute programs that the local universities had to offer. They were basically nonexistent. I would have been in a vast academic jungle of knowledge but in a spiritual desert. This was frustrating for me because deadlines were approaching and I needed to pick universities to apply to. I prayed and fasted as I searched for a school that would be right for me.
One Sunday in sacrament meeting, a sister talked about a music school out of state. Leaving the state had never crossed my mind before. I went home and excitedly looked up this new school. I also looked into their institute program, and they had a lot of students in their institute program at that university. They also had a strong music program. This felt right.
To my astonishment, I’d found the college for me! This experience showed me that prayers are answered—but on Heavenly Father’s time. Sometimes we have to wait for an answer.
I know that it’s important to seek learning by both study and faith. I’m grateful that my uncle reminded me of the importance of growing spiritually in college as well as academically. I’m excited about my college choice and can’t wait to see what the experience brings!

Julie (names have been changed) was smart. She set a financial plan in motion when she was in her 30s and stuck to it. “If you’re talking to your children or grandchildren about finances, remind them that they need to start setting money aside when they’re young,” she says. “That way they can build a reserve over time and earn interest too.”

But Julie’s number-one rule is “I always pay my tithing first.” Over the years, she says, “the Lord has opened the windows of heaven to me in more ways than I can number” (see Malachi 3:10). She quotes President Russell M. Nelson: “Your investments in tithing will continue to pay rich dividends—here and hereafter.”1

Julie, who lives in California, USA, had health insurance to help pay for her husband’s healthcare costs and money saved for funeral expenses. After he passed away, she continued to work until she felt she had sufficient for her needs. Now that she’s retiring, she owns her own home and has a little money set aside for a mission. She looks forward to visiting each of her children and taking grandchildren to the theater and museums. “I’m not wealthy,” she says, “but I have enough money to make great memories with my family.”

On June 20, 1856, the anchor of the Mormon charter ship Horizon had barely plopped into Boston Harbor when a small sailboat tied up next to her. Barnard, hoping to welcome his family to America, climbed aboard from the sailboat. Mother White spotted her son, started to rejoice, but gulped when she saw his clothes. Eighteen-year-old sister Elizabeth was shocked too and broke into tears: “My poor brother Barnard!” she sobbed. “What have they done to you?” No broadcloth suit. No silk hat. Common laborer’s pants and shirt. Ugly work boots. However, the reunion soon showed the Whites that their teenager had become a man during his 11 months in America, and they liked his maturity.

Clarissa’s eyes shone as she twirled in front of her reflection in the mirror and watched the green folds of her new dress rise above her ankles and spin around her knees. She felt like a princess.
“Is it finished?” she asked her mom.
“Almost,” Mom replied. “I just need to hem it. Now go stand by the door so I can see how much shorter it should be.”
Clarissa turned slowly as her mother directed. She loved the new dress she would be wearing when she and her younger sister Deseret served as flower girls at Aunt Olivia’s wedding.
Clarissa smiled when she thought of Aunt Olivia. She was Mom’s youngest sister, and she always made time to play games and dress-up with Deseret and Clarissa when all the other adults were talking at family gatherings. Clarissa loved Aunt Olivia!
Clarissa remembered the first time she met Edgar, the man Aunt Olivia was going to marry. Mom had invited Aunt Olivia and Edgar to dinner. He was tall and quiet. At first, Clarissa was scared of him because he didn’t talk much. But then he had smiled at Clarissa and talked to her quietly. They soon discovered that they shared the same birthday! That made Clarissa feel special. She really liked Edgar.
Clarissa was happy several months later when Mom told her that Edgar and Aunt Olivia were going to be married. She and Deseret were even happier when Aunt Olivia asked them to be flower girls. Mom explained that they would get new matching dresses and that they would carry flowers at the reception. They were going to have so much fun!
Clarissa stopped daydreaming as Deseret ran into the room. “Mom, are you ready to hem my dress?” she asked.
“I’m not quite finished with Clarissa’s dress, dear,” Mom said.
Deseret looked at Clarissa. “You look so pretty!” she said. The girls grasped hands and twirled around the room together. “We’re going to be beautiful at the wedding!” Clarissa exclaimed.
“Actually, girls,” Mom said, “you’re going to be beautiful at the reception. You’re not going to the wedding, you know.”
The dancing stopped abruptly. “What?” Clarissa asked. “Why can’t we go to the wedding?”
“We have to!” Deseret cried. “We’re the flower girls! Aunt Olivia asked us.”
“I know you’re the flower girls,” Mom said. “But do you girls remember where Aunt Olivia is getting married?”
“In the temple,” Deseret said.
“That’s right.” Mom smiled. “Aunt Olivia and Edgar are getting married in the same temple that Dad and I were married in. But only adults who have a temple recommend can go to weddings in the temple.”
“Why?” Clarissa asked.
“Well,” Mom said, “getting married in the temple is very sacred and holy. Only people who have made important covenants, or promises, to Heavenly Father in the temple can go. Adults are old enough to understand how important and special those covenants are.”
“Why does Aunt Olivia want to get married in a place where we can’t go?” Deseret frowned.
“I know why,” Clarissa said. “If you get married in the temple, you can be married forever, right?”
“Right, Clarissa.” Mom nodded. “Did you know that a temple wedding is called a sealing?” Mom laughed as Deseret looked up at the ceiling. “Not that kind of ceiling, Deseret. A temple sealing is a bit like sealing an envelope. When you lick an envelope and shut it tightly, it’s sealed, though not forever. When Olivia and Edgar are sealed in the temple, their marriage can last forever—even after they die. Temples are the only places on earth where that kind of marriage can take place.”
“Where will we be during the sealing?” Deseret asked.
“On the temple grounds with Uncle Ammon,” Mom replied. “He’s not old enough to go to Olivia’s sealing, either.”
“Hurray!” the girls cried. Uncle Ammon was a lot of fun, too.
“And then the next day, we’ll go to the reception at the church,” Mom continued. “You girls will wear your new dresses and carry flowers, and lots of people we know will be there. It will be fun. Now why don’t you take this dress off so I can finish it?”
As Clarissa walked to her room to change, she thought about what Mom had said. She knew Edgar and Aunt Olivia really loved each other. She was happy they could be married forever.
Weeks later, the girls walked around the temple grounds with Uncle Ammon. They admired the beautiful temple and the flowers and trees around it. They went into the visitors’ center and saw some pretty pictures and a movie about Jesus. Then they went outside to meet Mom and Dad after the sealing. Together they waited for Aunt Olivia and Edgar to come outside.
Clarissa spotted them as they came through the door. Aunt Olivia looked so beautiful! Edgar—now Uncle Edgar—looked handsome. They smiled as they held hands and hugged everyone.
As Clarissa wrapped her arms around Aunt Olivia, she whispered, “I’m glad I couldn’t go to your wedding.”
Aunt Olivia drew back and looked into Clarissa’s eyes. “What did you say?” she asked.
Clarissa looked down shyly. “I’m glad I couldn’t go to your wedding because I’m glad you got married forever,” she said.
“Me too!” Aunt Olivia smiled as she hugged Clarissa one more time.

In a day or two we all boarded a little steamer for Copenhagen, the capital of Denmark. As I wasn’t a member of the Mormon church, I didn’t sing and feel as happy as the rest of them, but I could both hear and see they were so happy. I remember well one of the hymns: “Oh Babylon, oh Babylon, we bid thee farewell; we’re going to the mountains to dwell.” Of course it was in Norwegian. We arrived in Copenhagen the next day after staying on the steamer all night. There was no place to lie down, so I crawled up on some sacks of grain and found me a place to sleep. While I was up there and had me a good sleep, my parents and some of the rest of them were nearly frantic. They had searched for me until they had given me up. They knew it was against my will to go, and they did not say so, but from the way they acted when I came down, they must have thought I had jumped overboard. It brought joy to their souls when someone told them they had seen me and that I was all right. They could not believe it until they saw me. If I had never brought joy to their souls, I did on that occasion.

Practices went on for months in the individual stakes, with leaders traveling from one group to the other to make sure that all of them were doing the dances the same way. Months and months of man-hours were involved. And it all came together on Tuesday morning, July 23.
The 2,000 young people met with Johnny Whitaker, the D’s, the Grandland Singers, and the leaders, and they took a million pieces of puzzle and created a beautiful, finished product. They rehearsed all day.
“And it worked,” said Bruce Nelson of the Spokane Stake. “One of the greatest experiences happened when we performed for the first time on Tuesday evening. Everything came off like it was planned. It was really fantastic! The theme of the whole thing was ‘Catch a Happy Feeling!’ And we caught it!” And so did those who came to observe. Favorable comments were heard on every side, and the young performers’ enthusiasm grew as the 24th and their second performance approached.

Desireé made a second important decision in high school—a decision to always dress modestly. Before a high school formal dance, she spent countless hours looking for a modest dress without success. So she decided to make her own formal dress from scratch. She designed the dress, made a pattern, picked out material, and started sewing. The result was a beautiful formal gown.

“I knew I couldn’t wear something that was immodest,” she says.

I would like to share a simple story that has strengthened my commitment to be honest in all things:
“A man … went one evening to steal corn from a neighbor’s field. He took his little boy with him to sit on the fence and keep a look-out, so as to give warning in case any one should come along. The man jumped over the fence with a large bag on his arm, and before commencing to take the corn he looked all around, first one way and then the other, and not seeing any person, he was just about to fill his bag. … [The boy then called out]:
“‘Father, there is one way you haven’t looked yet! … You forgot to look up.’”6
When we are tempted to be dishonest, and this temptation comes to all of us, we may suppose that no one will ever know. This story reminds us that our Heavenly Father always knows, and we are ultimately accountable to Him. This knowledge helps me continually strive to live up to this commitment: “[I] believe in being honest.”

When I was growing up, whenever we got any money, my mother would take the very best bills—the ones that were the least wrinkled or dirty—and give them to the minister of the church we went to. She did this her whole life. She said, “This belongs to God.” Those words have stayed with me ever since. When I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as an adult, it was not hard for me to pay tithing because my mother had taught me to obey that law.

In 2016—in the midst of nearly three decades of marriage, bearing and nurturing and loving our three sons, practicing law full-time, serving in Church callings, and attending to the needs of our extended family—my husband, Doug, and I were called to serve for three years as mission leaders in Arequipa, Peru. We left just after our first grandson was born.
We returned home in 2019 to two new granddaughters. Our two oldest sons were married, and the youngest was in love and soon to be married. I returned to practicing law, and my favorite calling was as Mom and Grammy.
And then the call came to serve as the Primary General President. The comfortable narrative I had written for myself was spending time with my family, another decade practicing law to ensure financial security, and serving in my ward or in the temple.
What if I had stuck with this comfortable narrative?
I would have enjoyed spending more time with my grandchildren and I could have been assured some financial security. And I would have missed a stretching, soul-searching, and faith-building experience. Uphill? Yes. Worth it? Oh, yes!

The dust chased the racing engine of the small import as it labored up the canyon road. It nearly succeeded in enveloping the car at the turn-around curve of each switchback only to be left behind as the gears changed and the complaining engine sped up. Near the top of the ridge the car turned sharply to the right, coasted up a slight incline to a small level opening overlooking the valley below, and stopped. The dust caught up with its now silent prey.
They sat in silence and watched the valley begin its transformation from day to early evening. After a few minutes, he opened the window, sniffed the last remains of the settling dust, and then opened his door to get out. “Well, here we are at Lover’s Leap. Ladies before gentlemen!” he said, as he opened the door for her.
They walked a short distance up the ridge to a large boulder. It was level enough near its base to serve as a chair for her as they attempted to find from this viewpoint the location of their homes among the orchards, fields, and tiny towns that made up their valley.
From that lookout the valley ran for fifteen miles to the north and twenty-five miles to the south. Its boundaries were fixed by the mountains that surrounded it on all sides.
“Brad, does it seem good to be home again?” she asked.
“You know, I think a large part of me is still back there giving discussions. It was, let me see, just twenty-six hours ago that I left my mission president and his wife at the airport. The plane flew home in about the time it took to figure out how to open the salad dressing lid on my supper. When the plane landed, I was in a different world. There was my mom and dad, brothers and sisters, my dog Smart, and you.”
“Listed in the order of their importance?” she teased.
“No, of course not. I’d rate Smart above my brothers and sisters. But what I want to know is, where on that ride did I change from Elder Roberts, missionary, to Brad Roberts, college dropout? Should I have asked the stewardess to help me drop my former identity out of the plane?”
“No. I think that if you ask for anything unusual on a plane now, they just fly you to Cuba.”
“This morning I woke up at six. I was racing for the shower to ace out my companion and just got to the door when I realized there was nobody to beat. I was home.”
“So you decided to get back to a civilized way of life and went back to sleep?” she asked.
“No, I went fishing.”
“And how did you do?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Brad Roberts, do you mean you were skunked?”
“Zero fish. It’s the full moon.”
She laughed. “That’s what my dad says when he doesn’t catch any fish—or else the river is too high or too low or under-stocked.”
“My old fishing hole, the one I kept secret from my brothers, the one you have to walk down the railroad tracks for a half mile and then into a bunch of trees to get to—I went there this morning.”
“By the way, how is it that you took me there once? Weren’t you afraid I’d tell everybody?”
“You are so bad at giving directions I knew that anybody you’d tell would wind up somewhere in the middle of a corn field in Nebraska.”
“Well!” she said, faking insult.
“So I tromp through the trees and what do I see across the river? A trailer camp with maybe a hundred campers and trailers. There’s no fish there now. All those guys from California or Montana or some place have taken my fish and gone. You know, I used to get my limit in an hour all the time there.”
“Has anything else changed, Brad?” The question, as she had intended it, should have evoked a discussion of the new motel, or the new stretch of interstate highway, or the addition to the ward chapel, or the way his brothers had grown in two years. But a certain edge in her voice betrayed her.
He caught the uncontrollable change in direction. “Whatever happened to Cathy Miller?”
“Isn’t she still waiting for Brad Roberts to get back from his mission?” she replied.
“All this time? Good grief, she waited all this time?”
“The happiest two years of his life,” she teased.
“What was it like for you?” he asked.
“The easiest thing in the world. I just called up all my old boyfriends and told them I was available.”
“Really? I knew you went and joined the Peach Fuzz Festival just for publicity; you know, for those guys who may not have been blessed to have been born in our fair town but could still read the paper.”
“It was the Strawberry Festival.”
“Cathy, what was it really like?”
She thought a while before answering. “After you left, I imagined I could wrap my life in Saran Wrap and let it sit for two years until you came back. But it’s a sterile existence to try to stop living and watch the clock tick. I couldn’t do it, Brad. I’ve had a busy life since you’ve been gone. But I always had a little comfortable room in my mind where memories of you hung like pictures from the walls. I often visited that room and remembered how good it was when we were together. That’s the way it was, Brad. You didn’t want me to tell you that I cried myself to sleep every night, did you?”
“No, Cathy. I never wanted that.”
They had walked back to the car. The sun had dropped down behind the mountain across the valley from them.
He reached through the window, opened the glove compartment, and pulled out a small package. “Cathy, I’ve got something that I want you to have.”
She opened it up. An engagement ring lay mounted on a velvet cushion.
“It’s beautiful, Brad.” She spoke quietly, her voice nearly cracking.
“I bought it two years ago before I left.” In case she might not realize, he added, “Cathy, it’s an engagement ring.”
“I know, Brad.”
“Will you marry me?”
She touched his hand lightly. “Brad, could we sit down for this?”
The cold silence beat its fury on them as he helped her into the car and walked around to the driver’s side and got in.
“Brad, why did you do this?”
“Because I want to marry you.”
“Why do you want to marry me?”
“We’ve talked about this before, Cathy. We agreed we would get married if you were still here when I got back.”
“And so now you feel obligated to me for waiting for you?”
His words leaped out. “Have you decided to go into law, for crying out loud! Why have we been writing all this time? Why did you go to summer school while I’ve been gone? So that you could work while I finished school. Why have you spent so much time with my parents while I’ve been gone?”
“You do feel obligated to me for the last two years, don’t you?”
“You’re twisting my words! You do remember that you said you would marry me, don’t you?”
“That was two years ago, Brad! Maybe you can say that it seems like you just left yesterday, but I can’t say that. It seems to me like you left ten years ago!”
He was confused and off balance. “I love you, Cathy,” he said softly.
“Why, Brad, you don’t even know me now; how could you love me?” Her words seemed to hit him. “Do you know who you love? You love a girl that doesn’t even exist anymore—a girl with my name but two years younger than me. You go ask her to marry you. But she won’t. Because she loves someone with your name but two years younger than you. You wouldn’t stand a chance with that girl.”
“What are you trying to tell me?”
“That I can’t accept your ring. At least not now.”
“Is there someone else?”
“Not really.”
She touched his arm. “You don’t owe me a thing, Brad. Most of all, you don’t owe me a proposal of marriage as a payment for waiting for you. I am not going to hold that club over your head. When I kneel across the altar in the temple, I’ve got to be certain that it’s the right guy for me and I want him to be convinced too.”
She handed him the jewelry box containing the ring.
“Am I still in the running?” he asked quietly.
“You are if I am, Brad. But with no pressure because of what we’ve talked about or written in the past. And not because our parents wish it. And not because of what it was like two years ago. You can’t save cotton candy.”
“You can’t what?”
“I was just remembering something that happened to me when I was a little girl. My father took me to a carnival and bought me some cotton candy. It was pink and looked like the clouds at sunset. I just thought it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. When we got home, it was time for bed. I decided to save it so that every day I could have it and look at its beauty. I put it in a little box and put the cover on. The next morning when I woke up, I rushed to look at my beautiful treasure. There was just a lump of sugar and a sticky cardboard funnel. I cried because I thought someone had destroyed it. When I told my mother that I had wanted it to last forever, she said, ‘You can’t save cotton candy. If you want cotton candy forever, you have to make a little every day.’”
They took a long silent look at their valley. The several small towns could be seen as small clusters of light around the darkness defining the lake.
“Cathy?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks. Is there anything else I should know?”
“Yes, Brad.”
“What is it?”
“I’m hungry.”
A hint of a smile swept across his face. “Well, at least that hasn’t changed.”
“Watch it, fella! That’s no way to talk to Miss Strawberry Festival.”
“Let’s go to the taco place we went to before I left.”
“We can’t. They tore it down last year.”
The car backed slowly down to the road, stopped, and then in low gear crept down the dusty road.

Yesterday my friend and I argued. So today I didn’t walk to school with her. I may never walk with her again!
I stepped over all the cracks as I walked down the sidewalk.
At the end of the block, I had to cross the street. Usually I look one way and my friend looks the other way. But today I had to look both ways before crossing. I saw a car coming. It swooshed as it passed, and I felt the air rush against my face. I looked both ways again and crossed the street.
I walked down the street where all the houses are shaded by maple trees. The yards don’t have much grass, but they do have a lot of stuff that I call moss. My friend and I like to stop and rub our fingers across the moss. It feels like velvet. But I didn’t stop today. Today I just kept walking.
I turned the corner and came to the house that has a wooden bridge that goes from the sidewalk to the front door. Below the bridge is a flat, smooth lawn with a birdbath in the middle. Sometimes my friend and I rest our elbows on the railing of the bridge and pretend that it leads to a castle. But not today. Today I just kept walking.
At Main Street I waited on the curb. Main Street is wide and has lots of traffic. But there is a crossing guard to help. She stopped the traffic, and I crossed the street. Usually she says, “Good morning, you two.” Today she just said, “Good morning.”
I said, “Hello,” and kept on walking.
I almost stopped at the toy store. My friend and I like to look in the window. Besides lots of toys and fancy, dressed up dolls, there are wagons and skates and bikes. But I didn’t stop to look today. Today I just kept walking.
Next to the toy store is a grocery store with a gum machine by the front door. It has red, yellow, green, and white gum balls. My friend and I both like the yellow ones best. Sometimes my friend and I stop on our way to school and buy gum balls to have after lunch. But not today. Today I just kept walking.
I crossed the stone bridge over the Indian River. My friend and I like to stop and watch the sparkling water swirl around the rocks. Sometimes we throw pebbles into the water and watch the circles that form. But not today. Today I just kept walking.
I walked as fast as I could past the firehouse. I didn’t want to be in front if the sirens went off. They go shreeeow,shreeeow! The sound hurts my ears. My friend and I always hold hands and run past the firehouse.
I looked at the clock on the steeple of the church on the hill. I had ten minutes to get to school. Sometimes my friend and I skip fast up one path to the steps of the church. We sit and catch our breath. Then we skip down the other path back to the sidewalk. But not today. Today I just kept walking.
At last I was almost at school. I stopped in front of the house with a sign by the front door that says: “Built in 1726.” Sometimes I imagine myself living in that house way back then. But not today. Today I ran the rest of the way to school. It was a long way without my friend.
I saw my friend in class, but I didn’t talk to her all day.
When school was almost over, I looked at the clock six times. Finally the big hand clicked and moved ahead. The bell rang. I scooted out of the classroom as fast as I could go so that I could get home without seeing my friend along the way. I ran past the old house and the church. I ran past the firehouse with my hands over my ears. I zoomed across the stone bridge.
I stopped when I got to the grocery store. I slipped a nickel into the gum machine. Out came a yellow gum ball. I stuck it in my pocket and ran past the toy store.
As soon as the crossing guard nodded at me, I hurried across Main Street. I dashed past the house with the wooden bridge and down the street made shady by maple trees.
After I stopped at the corner and carefully looked both ways, I sped across the street. Then I ran down the sidewalk, and I didn’t even watch out for cracks. I stopped for a moment in front of my friend’s house. I wondered when she would get home.
As I walked up the front steps to my house, I felt something round and smooth in my pocket. It was the yellow gum ball. I decided to save it for my friend. I think I’ll give it to her when I walk to school with her tomorrow.