Gospel Story Finder

If we choose the wrong road, we choose the wrong destination. For example, a friend of many years told me that her husband, always a “good kid” in high school, took a few drinks he thought would help him forget some problems. Before he knew what was happening, he was addicted. Now he is not able to support his family, and he is ineffective at almost everything he tries to do. Alcohol governs his life, and he cannot seem to break free of its grip.

A few months ago I fell and cut myself. My mom and dad decided I needed to go to the doctor and get stitches. I was really scared and did not want to go because I knew the doctor was going to give me a shot.
Before we went to the doctor’s office, my dad gave me a blessing. The Holy Ghost comforted us and whispered to us that we should bring the Friend to read while we were waiting.
When we got to the doctor’s office, I was scared. I didn’t want to get stitches. I was crying a little bit. While the nurse was getting the doctor, I started to read from the Friend. It made me feel a lot better. I got six stitches, and it hurt a little, but I wasn’t scared anymore. I’m grateful that we listened to the Holy Ghost and took the Friend with us. I know that the Friend is my friend.Tanner Allred, age 7, with help from his familyLas Vegas, Nevada

One night after contemplating the upcoming change, I dreamed about my great-great-grandfather Joseph Skeen. I knew from his journal that when he and his wife, Maria, moved to Nauvoo, he desired to serve, so he sought out the Prophet Joseph Smith and asked how he could help. The Prophet sent him to work on the prairie and told him to do the best he could, so he did. He worked on the Smiths’ farm.8
Fulfilling callings requires faith. Shortly after Joseph began working on the farm, he and Maria became very sick. They had no money and were among strangers. It was a difficult time for them. In his journal, Joseph wrote, “We worked along [and] hung on to the Church with what little faith we had, though the devil tried to destroy us and turn us back.”10
I, along with hundreds of other descendants, will be eternally grateful that Joseph and Maria did not turn back. Blessings come as we persevere in our callings and responsibilities and hang on with all the faith we have.

During my sophomore year in high school, we were studying the Book of Mormon in seminary. After we read Moroni 10:3–5 [Moro. 10:3–5], our seminary teacher challenged us to pray about the things we were studying. I really enjoyed learning about the Book of Mormon, so I took him up on his challenge.
That night I read Moroni’s promise again and got down on my knees to ask my Heavenly Father if this book was really true. I liked the stories, but I just wasn’t sure if the Book of Mormon was true or not.
First I got in tune with the Spirit and started my prayer. At one point in the prayer I asked Heavenly Father if the Book of Mormon was really true. All at once I experienced a strong, loving feeling in my bedroom, and I got warm all over. The next thing that happened really shocked me. It felt like someone wrapped his arms around me and gave me a big hug.
I later served a mission on the Navajo Indian Reservation in the New Mexico Albuquerque Mission. I wouldn’t have gone on a mission if it wasn’t for the answer I received that night. I know the things I prayed about are true, and I want to share that knowledge with others.

After serving a full-time mission in Scotland for the Church, Darrell went back to work at the solicitors’ practice of Lester and Russell. He enjoyed the work and the solicitors loved him and his work ethic.

They encouraged him to go to the careers office to find out what he would need to do to become a legal executive. Darrell was encouraged to pursue the vocation that meant the most to him. It was to be a pivotal conversation, for he left the office determined to follow a career in music. The advisor had told him that such a path promised little money or future, and yet something had been sparked in the young man’s imagination; even though the path was far from straightforward, he had a vision to follow.

At the age of 23 he auditioned for the London College of Music, using both voice and instrument (piano) as part of the audition. He was successful, and in 1990 started at the college as a mature student. Darrell was mindful of the career advisor’s warning, but his love of his chosen field blossomed and overrode any other practical or financial concerns.

During his time at the London College of Music he attended a performance of The Magic Flute at the English National Opera. There he had an epiphany, setting the wheels in motion for the next shift in his career.

Transferring to the Royal Northern College of Music in Manchester, Darrell won a prestigious competition and was employed by the Glyndebourne Festival Opera. His voice was starting to be heard.

Darrell graduated in 1997 and attended Brigham Young University in Utah, USA to complete his master’s degree. From there, he moved to New York City to study at the Manhattan School of Music, for his third degree in the subject he had once failed while still a struggling schoolboy.

Whilst in New York he met and married Jennifer Welch, a renowned opera singer in her own right. In 2005 Darrell, Jenny and their two little sons moved back to Utah where they were both asked to teach at BYU. Darrell was eventually offered a full-time position, and Jenny decided to be a full-time mother.

As a professor of music for 14 years, Darrell was hugely successful, with his students winning major international opera competitions. One of his students, Rachel Willis-Sørensen, was invited to sing at Prince Charles’ 70th birthday party at Buckingham Palace, who has since gone on to be a highly successful recording artist.

In 2019, Darrell was approached by the world-renowned Juilliard School and offered a full-time faculty position. Darrell, Jenny and now five children moved back to New York.

His abilities opened many doors. He was part of the Channel Four programme on Glyndebourne Festival Opera; he sang with the BBC Symphony Chorus in the Last Night of the Proms; and he was a soloist at the BBC Proms at The Royal Albert Hall, and a member of The Tabernacle Choir on Temple Square. He has also sung at the Metropolitan Opera and Carnegie Hall.

In 2021 it was announced that Darrell would be chair of the music faculty at the Juilliard School. It can be no surprise to learn that his students have also won many competitions and have appeared on The Voice and America’s Got Talent. One student has also been nominated for a Grammy award.

Not bad for a young man who failed O-level music and was told a career in music had no future.

In Darrell’s words, “Never give up your hopes of doing something you love! I always knew I had a passion for music; my 16-year-old self just didn’t know it.”

In another city we were in the home of a less-active young man named Melusi Ngwenya. He was busy writing exams, and he gladly accepted when we asked him if he would like a blessing. Joining us on that visit was a seminary friend of Melusi’s. This inspired friend reminded Melusi of the good questions he would ask in class and that his participation had inspired and helped other students. His big smile suggested that he had no idea that he had positively impacted anyone.

As we were leaving Melusi’s homestead, we stopped by his pigeon house and noticed that there were 10 birds inside, and the cage door was open. We asked why he leaves the door open and if the birds ever fly away. With another big smile he responded, “They always come back; they know there is food and water here and that it is home.” He then told us that he actually had about 50 pigeons and the rest would return that evening.

As we left this young man, his words “they always come back; they know it is home” did not leave my mind. I thought of the Church as the shelter, with food, water, and safety. Some may wander at times and pursue strange and forbidden paths, but when we have eyes that see and ears that hear, we return to partake of the living water and bread of life and the embrace of our Savior. We then realize that “His hand is stretched out still” (see 2 Nephi 19:17), beckoning us to come unto Him that we may “have eternal life” (see 3 Nephi 9:14). I was reminded again of my responsibility to make it easier for any who may have strayed to come back through loving them and not judging them.

Melusi and the two families we visited are once again actively participating in church. Elder Mervyn B. Arnold of the Seventy said, “As we go to the rescue, God gives us power, encouragement, and blessings.”1 I have learned that we will receive help and inspiration when we are on the Lord’s errand. We surely do not go alone when we go to rescue His children. He has indeed graven us upon the palms of His hands and will therefore never forget any of His children.

Serving a mission can be a financial burden to any missionary and his family, but what do you do when you have three sons all wanting to leave at the same time? The Rozsa family has foreseen this, and the boys have been working since the age of 13 toward their missions. In addition to those icy Boston paper routes, they’ve sold avocados, worked in construction, and held other odd jobs. Last summer all three worked at the same taco stand at the same time, guaranteeing considerable confusion among unsuspecting customers. They report their bank accounts are in good shape for the missions to come.

An example of such service was the missionary experience of Juliusz and Dorothy Fussek, who were called to fill a two-year mission in Poland. Brother Fussek was born in Poland. He spoke the language. He loved the people. Sister Fussek was English and knew little of Poland and its people.

Trusting in the Lord, they embarked on their assignment. The living conditions were primitive, the work lonely, their task immense. A mission had not at that time been established in Poland. The assignment given the Fusseks was to prepare the way that a mission could be established, that other missionaries be called to serve, people taught, converts baptized, branches established, and chapels erected.

Did Elder and Sister Fussek despair because of the enormity of their assignment? Not for a moment. They knew their calling was from God, they prayed for His divine help, and they devoted themselves wholeheartedly to their work. They remained in Poland not two years, but five years. All of the foregoing objectives were realized.

Elders Russell M. Nelson, Hans B. Ringger, and I, accompanied by Elder Fussek, met with Minister Adam Wopatka of the Polish government and we heard him say, “Your church is welcome here. You may build your buildings, you may send your missionaries. You are welcome in Poland. This man,” pointing to Juliusz Fussek, “has served your church well. You can be grateful for his example and his work.”

Like the Fusseks, let us do what we should do in the work of the Lord. Then we can, with Juliusz and Dorothy Fussek, echo the psalm: “My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth. … He that keepeth thee will not slumber. Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep” (Ps. 121:2–4).

My name is Emma, and I am six years old. I love to read the Friend with my little brother, Dallas, who is four. We especially enjoy reading the stories at the back where children share stories about how they are trying to be like Jesus. We cut them out and save them in a special folder so we can read them again and again. The other day, Dallas and I did something that our mother said was following the example of Jesus Christ.
Our mother was feeling very sad. I wanted to help her, but I didn’t know what I could do so she could feel better. Then I remembered that I should try to be like Jesus. Jesus comforts those who are sad. I went over to where my mother was sitting, gently put my arms around her, and held her to my shoulder. She looked up and told me that she felt special to know how much I love and care about her.
Then Dallas came into the room and asked what was wrong. Mother explained that she was feeling sad. He also hugged her and softly said, “Mommy, Jesus felt sad, too, when the men put nails in His hands. They were mean and spit on Him and laughed at Him. I love you, Mommy.” Mother sat up and wiped away her tears. Then she told Dallas and me that she didn’t feel sad anymore, because we had reminded her that Jesus loves us and that He had suffered more than anyone. We felt good knowing that we had helped Mother by following the example of Jesus.

Early in my professional life, Sister Homer and I were asked to accept a change in job assignment. At the time, it seemed to us a huge decision. We studied, we fasted, and we prayed, but an answer was slow to come. Eventually, we made a decision and pressed forward. As we did, we felt settled and soon learned that it was one of the best decisions we had ever made.

As a result, we have learned that answers are sometimes slow to come. This can be because it is not the right time, because an answer is not needed, or because God trusts us to make the decision ourselves. Elder Richard G. Scott once taught that we should be grateful for such times and made this promise: “When you are living worthily and your choice is consistent with the Savior’s teachings and you need to act, proceed with trust. … God will not let you proceed too far without a warning impression if you have made the wrong decision.”22

On a cold December afternoon, Tia C. walked through the doors of the Church History Library. History is one of Tia’s favorite subjects, so she was excited to help show Friend readers some of the library’s fascinating historical treasures. Tia met Elder Marlin K. Jensen, who is the Church Historian. He showed her some very special journals and photographs. He told Tia it is important for every boy and girl in the Church to keep a journal. “Two or three times a week, sit down and think about how Heavenly Father has blessed you, protected you, and kept you from temptation,” he said. “Mainly, it is important to write about your feelings.”
Tia watched a video about a pioneer girl named Mary Jane Millett. Mary Jane’s father had a special experience that he wrote about in his journal. Mary Jane copied it into her own journal. Mary Jane’s journal is in the Church History Library, and Tia visited the conservation lab to see how it is being preserved.
Tia loves writing stories. Now she knows how important it is to write down her own special experiences. “Visiting the Church History Library was the best experience ever!” Tia said. “I will never forget it.”
But just in case, she went home and wrote about it.

I have been a member of the Church all my life, but it took a girl who lived the standards to make me realize that I should do the same, and also that I should go on a mission. Naturally I enjoyed “By the Way She Is” in the September issue. I am deeply grateful to this young woman, for not only did she impress me with the importance of a mission and open up an entirely new world for me in the gospel, but she also helped me indirectly to find the joy of reading the New Era. You see, after two weeks out in the mission field I contracted an illness that left me with some time on my hands, and I happened onto a copy of the New Era. I read it and then frantically started searching for more copies. It may interest you to know that in a four-hour period, I read and reread seven copies.
Elder Leslie Dale MartineauCanada Halifax Mission

Joseph wrote these feelings to his wife in an 1832 letter from New York City, where he had gone with Newel K. Whitney to buy goods for the Whitney store in Kirtland, Ohio. He had spent some time walking through the “most splendid part” of the city:

“The buildings are truly great and wonderful to the astonishing of every beholder and the language of my heart is like this: Can the great God of all the earth, maker of all things magnificent and splendid, be displeased with man for all these great inventions sought out by them? My answer is no. It cannot be, seeing these works are calculated to make men comfortable, wise, and happy. Therefore not for the works can the Lord be displeased, only against man is the anger of the Lord kindled because they give him not the glory.”

Then he wrote:

“I returned to my room to meditate and calm my mind. And behold, the thoughts of home, of Emma [his wife] and Julia [his daughter] rushes upon my mind like a flood and I could wish for a moment to be with them. My breast is filled with all the feelings and tenderness of a parent and a husband. … Yet when I reflect upon this great city … my bowels are filled with compassion towards them and I am determined to lift up my voice … and leave the event with God.”

He concluded,

“I prefer reading and praying and holding communion with the Holy Spirit and writing to you than walking the streets and beholding the distraction of man.”25

While on this journey with Brother Whitney, Joseph suffered a severe case of food poisoning that almost cost him his life. He wrote to his wife:

“My situation is a very unpleasant one although I will endeavor to be contented, the Lord assisting me. I have visited a grove which is just back of the town almost every day where I can be secluded from the eyes of any mortal and there give vent to all the feelings of my heart in meditation and prayer. I have called to mind all the past moments of my life and am left to mourn and shed tears of sorrow for my folly in suffering the adversary of my soul to have so much power over me as he has had in times past, but God is merciful and has forgiven my sins and I rejoice that he sendeth forth the Comforter unto as many as believe and humbleth themselves before him.”26

Six months later, I was at school, sitting at lunch with a group of friends. All of a sudden there was commotion in a corner of the lunchroom. I looked over and saw that a boy was bending over and flapping his arms. Everyone who was watching was in shock, standing around just watching the uncomfortable scene. I got the impression that this boy could be choking. I jumped up from my table, ran over to the boy, and made the choking sign as a question to him. He nodded his head. I quickly got behind him and started doing the Heimlich maneuver. The food came up, and he started breathing again. The lunchroom erupted in applause, but I knew that it wasn’t me. I knew the Spirit prompted me to do what I did.
I am so grateful for what I learned from the experience during the summer so that I was prepared when the situation in the lunchroom happened. It added to my testimony that the Lord allows everyone opportunities to have experiences so they can then use them to help others.

Some time ago I had the difficult responsibility of informing a young missionary that his father had been killed in a tragic accident that morning. He was shocked, his chin quivered, and tears welled up in his eyes. Then I observed some of the miracle that comes from personal testimony and the cultivation of spirituality. He slowly lifted his head and an expression of quiet resolve came over him. He agreed to call his mother, but there was never even a hint that he would leave his mission. He said he knew that he was where his father and his Father in Heaven wanted him to be and he was going to stay. He exhibited an attitude of peace and courage I’ve seldom seen. He is an example of a strong, committed, well-prepared young man that any father would be proud to have as a son.
Fortunately, into his life along the way had come personal revelation that the gospel is true, that Jesus is the Christ, that there literally is a resurrection. All of these truths helped strengthen him in this time of crisis.

In 1980 I was a missionary serving in the Philippines Cebu Mission when I was transferred to a city called Ormoc. This district had normally shown steady growth, but for several months there had been very few baptisms.
I arrived in Ormoc on 28 October and met my new companion, Elder Alexander. The first few weeks were extremely slow for us. We had few teaching appointments and almost no referrals. In spite of working long hours and praying to find people to teach, we met with very little success. I remember praying for guidance and receiving confirmation that the Lord was preparing people for us to teach.
On 15 November Elder Alexander and I were tracting in the Barrio Isla Verde, a community on a small island in the Ormoc River. To get there we had to cross the shallow river some 23 meters on stepping-stones, which proved to be a feat in itself. However, the local residents traveled the path with ease.
While there, we met Petronilo and Andrea Ygonia and their grandson Allan Sueto Sungahid. They accepted our invitation to hold a family home evening in their home. That evening was the beginning of a beautiful relationship. After playing some games, we introduced a gospel message and bore our testimonies.
Our visits continued with this family for the next two weeks. It was exciting to watch as their countenances began to shine. By the end of November all three had committed to be baptized the following month.
I will never forget the teaching experience we had in the Ygonias’ home on 2 December. Brother Loa, the ward mission leader, came with us to a neighborhood meeting at the Ygonias’. More than 30 neighbors had accepted the Ygonias’ invitation to listen to the first discussion. As we bore testimony, the Spirit became so strong I believe everyone present was touched.
We explained that the warm, peaceful feeling each person was experiencing was the presence of the Holy Ghost. Prompted by the Spirit, we invited each person in that room to continue investigating the Church and commit to baptism. All 30 neighbors accepted the invitation.
Brother and Sister Ygonia, their grandson, and seven others were baptized in December. The work in Ormoc had begun to prosper once again, due in large part to the faith of this good family. Shortly thereafter I was transferred from Ormoc. Although I had spent only six weeks there, these weeks were some of the best of my life. Never had I worked harder for such a worthy cause. Never had I felt closer to the Lord. During the six weeks I served there, the Lord had allowed us to teach and baptize 9 souls, and another 30 individuals were preparing for baptism.

A second experience in the branch dealt with a kind and conscientious woman who faithfully turned in envelopes containing a few coins for payment of her tithing. One day as she came to church, she was also holding in her hand a plastic sandwich bag with a piece of dried-up bread in it. She handed the plastic bag to us and said: “If you are going to belong to a church, you ought to contribute. I can’t contribute much, but I can contribute the sacrament bread.”
As we used her bread for the sacrament, the whole experience carried an additional meaning that day. Going through my mind was the verse that reads: “And Jesus sat over against the treasury, and beheld how the people cast money into the treasury: and many that were rich cast in much.
“And there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites, which make a farthing.
“And he called unto him his disciples, and saith unto them, Verily I say unto you, That this poor widow hath cast more in, than all they which have cast into the treasury:
“For all they did cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living” (Mark 12:41–44).

My name is Ginger Lyn and I’ve always loved Christmas, but last year was the best one we’ve ever had.
It all started on our Thanksgiving Day the last Thursday in November, as our family knelt in prayer to give thanks for our blessings. We were all so happy that we talked about some of the things we could do to help others have that same happy feeling.
Together we came up with many ideas, but the best one of all was our plan for Christmas Day. What we like most is our large family, and the happiness the gospel brings to us. We decided to share both these blessings as our gift to others.
The Salt Lake Temple is only a short drive from our home, and going there was part of our plan. We decided that on Christmas Day, after opening our gifts and eating breakfast, we would clean up the house, fix a big dinner, and then go to the temple grounds and find someone to spend Christmas with us. Before going down to the Visitors Center on Temple Square to find our unknown guests, we would set the table with candles and our best silver and crystal, lay a fire in the fireplace all ready to light, and turn on the Christmas tree lights.
We pasted a picture of our family inside the cover of some copies of the Book of Mormon, wrote a message under each picture, and signed our names. These books were to be given to our dinner guests as we sat around the fire and talked in the evening.
We were excited about our plan, and we knew the Lord would help us. In all our family prayers from Thanksgiving until Christmas, we asked Him to prepare for us someone in need of our love who would be ready to hear the gospel.
Christmas Day finally came and we were all excited. It took us a lot longer to cook the dinner and clean the house than we thought it would. Because of this we arrived at the Visitors Center later than we had planned. We were afraid everyone would have eaten by then and we wouldn’t find anyone to share Christmas dinner with us.
We talked with a number of people and invited several of them to our home. Some said they had already eaten and others looked a little puzzled and said, “No, thank you.” But we just kept asking because we knew that our Heavenly Father had prepared somebody for us. And sure enough, He had!
We found a father and mother from Michigan and their seventeen-year-old son. They were surprised at our invitation, but said they were very hungry and were just going to look in the phone book to find a place to eat. The father and mother had been to the Visitors Center before on another vacation, and on this visit they wanted their son to learn a little bit about the Latter-day Saint people. The father said, “There isn’t a better way for us to learn about your church and lifestyle than to go right into one of your homes. We’d be delighted to come!”
We also invited two young women who were on vacation from Australia to our home. They seemed excited too. They said they hadn’t eaten dinner and would enjoy being with a family at Christmastime.
We had a wonderful time on that Christmas night, eating and talking and answering questions about the Church. Before we said good-bye to our guests they thanked us over and over again. The Michigan family said they would always remember their Christmas dinner with us as a highlight of their trip, and before they left they took a picture of us around the Christmas tree.
The girls from Australia were a little teary as we gave them each a copy of the Book of Mormon with our picture inside the cover.
After the visitors had left, our family gathered in the kitchen to do the dishes. We agreed that the real spirit of Christmas had touched each one of us and that it had been the best Christmas ever. We learned, too, that we don’t have to wait for Christmas to have a Christ-like feeling—all we have to do is share the gospel with others and it can be Christmas every day of the year!

I knew Shannon couldn’t help being talented and intelligent. It wasn’t her fault that she always came home with straight A’s and that she had a natural talent for music and art. It also wasn’t her fault that her hair flowed softly over her shoulders and that she had the long willowy body of a model. But none of these things helped me any.
It was the summer before I was to enter high school. Everytime I looked in the mirror there was another freckle until they were all over everywhere, even on my toes. I was plump and dumpy, and I had hair that would only go the way it wasn’t supposed to go. I marveled that our parents’ genes could play such a dirty trick. How could one child turn out so lovely, enchanting, and full of grace, and the other turn out to be a homely little 16-year-old nobody.
That summer things were at an all-time, record-breaking low for me because I was to enter Jackson High School in September. I wasn’t looking forward to it. I begged my parents to let me transfer to another school, but they could see no sense in it. It made perfect sense to me. Shannon had been junior prom queen and secretary of her class and had sung the lead in the big musical just the year before. How could I follow in those footsteps? I also got nauseated at the thought of hearing those words again—the words I had heard all through Everest Elementary and Weston Junior High: “Is Shannon your sister?” (with the accent on the your). “Why she’s so beautiful … so talented …” (so everything you’re not). I knew I would hear those words dozens of times. They would bring tears of anger to my eyes. Yet how could they help being amazed? It wasn’t anyone’s fault.
Even though I knew no one was to blame, certainly not Shannon, I took my unhappiness out on her. There are subtle ways to persecute a sister. I knew them all. When she was trying to take a nap, I turned up my radio. When she tried a new recipe, I refused to eat it because it looked “funny.” I slipped into the shower just as she was getting ready to take one. I borrowed her shoes without asking. And I hurt her in thousands of more painful psychological ways.
But, Shannon never complained. It was always “Good morning, Janet.” Her cheerfulness made it worse, and I tried to think of more ways to make her angry. Nothing I did, however, seemed to stir her quiet grace. I guess the worst way I hurt Shannon was when I tuned her out of my life. I stopped telling her things, stopped sharing secrets, and stopped listening. When she came into my room just to talk, I would cut her off with “I’m busy right now.” She would walk out of my room sadly, and pretty soon she quit coming in. Our communication deteriorated to one- and two-word sentences. That summer we stopped being close because I wanted it that way.
Then it happened. It was just two weeks before school would start, and I had a date with Robert Bates. It was only the second date I had had all summer, and Robert was a pretty super guy. I had no idea why he had lowered himself to asking me out unless it was because we had had some fun times during roadshow rehearsals. I was excited and nervous, but I knew we’d have a good time because we got along pretty well. We doubled with Jill Quigley and John Turnbine and the date turned out to be even more fun than I had anticipated. In fact, I hadn’t had so much fun all summer.
Afterwards we stopped at my house for ice cream, and then we all sang around the piano. Jill could play the piano almost as well as Shannon.
“All I can play is the bass viol,” I proclaimed. No one believed me, so I went upstairs to get it. I had taken up the bass viol because I knew Shannon would never try to play one. She wasn’t the bass viol type.
The wall between our bedrooms is thin, and I was puzzled to hear Shannon in her room because I knew that she had had a date with Jack Smithson. I liked Jack because he was nice to me, and I set great store in a man who can be nice to his date’s little sister. The next thing I heard puzzled me even more. It was the sound of subdued sniffling. Shannon rarely cried. What did she have to cry about? My first reaction was curiosity, but I forced myself not to speak. I didn’t want to get involved.
Picking up my bass, I started toward the stairs. Getting it down the stairs was always the most difficult part. I had gone only a few awkward steps when I heard another sniffle. I wanted to just pretend I hadn’t heard: I could just go down the stairs and no one would know I had heard Shannon crying. Well, except me. I leaned my bass against the wall, walked back to Shannon’s door and knocked.
“You okay?” I didn’t get an answer and my duty was done, so I turned back toward the stairs, but there was another sob.
“I know you’re in there. Now, what on earth is the matter?” My voice was icy.
“Nothing. Just leave me alone,” she squeaked. “Just please, please, leave me alone.”
“Well, I’ll be back.”
I showed the group my bass viol and played for them. I think Robert was impressed even though I made a couple of bad mistakes. It was getting late, however, and everyone was tired, so they left—but I knew Robert would call me again.
When I went back upstairs, Shannon was sitting by her dressing table brushing her hair, pretending that nothing was wrong. I must say she didn’t look beautiful. Her skin was blotched and her aristocratic nose was swollen and red.
“What is it? Can I help you?”
“What?”
“Can I help?” I was as surprised as she was that I had said it. I guess it was because she looked so pitiful sitting there trying to pretend nothing was wrong. The shock of my concern set her off again, and she began sobbing like smooth, collected Shannon had never sobbed since we were small. It affected me so much that I put my hand on her shoulder and patted it.
“Come on. Come on. Things aren’t that bad, are they? Does it have something to do with Jack? You can tell me if you want to. I mean I’d like to hear if you feel like telling me.”
“You would?” I was ashamed at her amazement.
“Yes, I would.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind? Oh, Janet, I’m so miserable.”
“Come on; tell me about it.”
She sobbed again, gulped, and got control of herself.
“I’ve wanted so much to tell you about Jack. He’s all I’ve been able to think about for weeks. I can’t explain what it is about him. He’s different from the other boys I’ve dated. He’s so good-looking and intelligent and a good athlete, but it doesn’t seem to affect him. None of that has gone to his head. He’s always courteous and kind to people, even little children. Now I’ll never see him again.”
“What happened?”
“Oh, it was just awful. I couldn’t think of anything to say. I was nervous and jittery, and my stomach was all twisted inside. I was a bore. Finally I asked him to take me home early. I knew he was having a lousy time.”
“Oh, come now, Shannon. It’s all your imagination. Things couldn’t have been that bad.”
“They were. They were.” She began crying again. Then suddenly she blurted out some words that took me entirely by surprise.
“And it’s your fault.”
“My fault?” I couldn’t imagine what she meant. “What do you mean my fault?”
“I guess I might as well tell you what ruined the date. Just as we were going out the door, you had to come in and do one of your cute little routines. You always do that when I go out with someone—come in and show off your personality. Then, on the way out to the car, Jack said, ‘Wow, your little sister is sure a little firecracker. What a personality!’ After that the whole date was ruined. I couldn’t think of anything to say. I was like a dead battery. If I could have been like you, he would have liked me. You can always think of funny, witty things to say, and you always remember jokes and sayings. I get sick of people saying, ‘Is Janet your sister? Why she’s so bubbly and so full of energy!’ What they’re really saying is that I’m a bore.”
I was so stunned that I just sat there on her bed in a stupor. “Is she your sister?” I had almost hated her for those words. Then I began laughing, but I was crying at the same time.

“Mom! Watch this.” Grace shuffled her feet, tapping her dance shoes on the kitchen floor.
“Wow!” Mom said. “You’re getting good.”
Grace did a spin. She loved to dance.
Her older brother Nate came down the stairs. It was time for him to ride his bike to school.
“Bye, Mom! Bye, Grace,” he said, running out the door.
“Can I run to the end of the street with him and then run back?” Grace asked Mom.
Mom glanced at the clock. “Sure,” she said. “You still have time before you have to leave for school.”
Grace kicked off her tap shoes and quickly put on her sneakers. She burst out the door. Nate was climbing onto his bike. Grace ran beside him until he got to the end of the street. She waved as he turned the corner. Then she turned and skipped back home.
“I’m back!” Grace called to Mom. She plopped down on the couch.
“That was so fast!” Mom said. She sat down next to Grace. “Look at all these amazing things you can do. Dance. Run. Your body is a wonderful gift.”
Grace thought about that. She didn’t think her body was that wonderful. Especially when she compared herself to the other kids at school. Sometimes she even complained about her body.
But she did love running. And she felt so happy when she danced. And that was all thanks to her body. She swung her legs and grinned. Maybe her body was wonderful.
A few days later, Mom picked Grace up from school. “How was your day?” Mom asked.
“Good.” Grace climbed into the car and buckled her seatbelt. “Well, mostly good. At lunch a boy said something mean about my body.”
Mom glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry.”
Grace shrugged. “I told him what he said wasn’t kind. And then I left and talked to other kids.”
“I’m proud of you,” Mom said. “How did you stay so calm?”
Grace bounced her feet. “Well, I remembered what you told me. About how my body is a gift from Heavenly Father. I know that if I take care of my body, He will bless me to be able to do what I need to do.”
Mom parked in front of their house. “You are absolutely right! Are you OK?”
“I’m fine. I’m going to go for a bike ride before I do my homework, OK?” Grace bounced out of the car. Soon she was on her bike, pedaling fast down the sidewalk.
She loved her body, no matter what anyone else said. Her body was a gift.
Grace whooped and pedaled even faster.
This story took place in the USA.