Gospel Story Finder

The Young Women of the Lafayette Ward, Baton Rouge Louisiana Stake, completed a special quilting project. Each girl cross-stitched a colored square that displayed one of the Young Women values. The Young Women motto was added as well.
The quilt was made with the intent of presenting it to their Young Women president while she thought it was to be given to someone else. Prior to the presentation, Shannon Dunaway, the Laurel president, explained to the ward the meaning of the quilt and the love that had gone into each stitch.

My husband’s sister Lilly, her husband, Robert, and their two children had come from the United States to visit us in Sweden, and I wanted to do something special. We decided to spend an afternoon at a water park. I felt it would be a safe activity since there would be four adults to watch the children.
But there must have been some misunderstanding about who was to look after Leonard, my five-year-old son. When we realized he was missing, we frantically began looking for him. Suddenly my husband, Henri, screamed, “Leonard has drowned!” Lilly, who is a trained lifeguard, dived into the pool, pulled him from the bottom, and immediately began resuscitation efforts.
I couldn’t believe this was happening. I wondered if my son was to be taken back to Heavenly Father. I prayed intensely for the Lord’s will to be done. In the middle of the chaos, Henri put his hands on Leonard’s head and gave him a blessing. During the short blessing, a burning feeling came over me. I have no words to explain it, but I know it was the Lord comforting me. I somehow knew that if I exercised faith, things would be all right. Just as Henri finished the blessing, Leonard took one breath.
The ambulance came and took Leonard to the hospital. He was still unconscious, and the doctors warned us that if he awoke from his coma, there would likely be brain damage. But I believed he could be healed if that was the Lord’s will. I concentrated on the task of having faith.
Two days later Leonard awoke—scared but well. Feelings of relief, happiness, and gratitude flooded over us. We had been blessed with a miracle through the power of the priesthood and through exercising our faith.

Elder Alejandro Patanía, a former Area Seventy, relates the story of his younger brother Daniel, who sailed out to sea to go fishing with his crew. After a time, Daniel received an urgent warning that a major storm was rapidly approaching. Immediately, Daniel and his crew started for port.

As the storm intensified, the engine of a nearby fishing boat ceased to function. Daniel’s crew hooked a cable to the disabled boat and began towing it to safety. They radioed for help, knowing that, with the increasing storm, they needed immediate assistance.

As loved ones anxiously waited, representatives from the coast guard, the fishermen’s association, and the navy met to decide the best rescue strategy. Some wanted to leave right away but were told to wait for a plan. While those in the storm continued pleading for help, the representatives continued meeting, trying to agree on the proper protocol and a plan.

When a rescue group was finally organized, one last desperate call came. The raging storm had broken the cable between the two boats, and Daniel’s crew was going back to see if they could save their fellow fishermen. In the end, both ships sank, and their crews, including Elder Patanía’s brother Daniel, were lost.

Elder Patanía compared this tragedy to the Lord’s admonition when He said, “Ye [have] not strengthened, … [or] brought again that which was driven away, … [or] sought that which was lost; … and I will require my flock at [your] hand.”

Elder Patanía explained that, while we must be organized in our councils, quorums, auxiliaries, and even as individuals, we must not delay going to the rescue. Sometimes many weeks pass as we talk about how to help families or individuals who are in special need. We deliberate about who will visit them and the approach to take. Meanwhile, our lost brothers and sisters continue needing and sometimes even calling and pleading for help. We must not delay.

The girls of the Missoula Montana Stake decided to try a backpacking expedition for their camping experience instead of a regular camp. They selected a lake located up a three-mile trail as the location for their primitive camp.
After hiking in, the girls set to work digging latrines and building fire circles. Some braved the icy water of the lake in taking a swim. The certification hikes started from camp and explored the snow fields nearby. They went sledding using plastic garbage bags. They attended classes on survival and were able to put some of the skills learned to good use.
They broke camp by filling in the latrines and burying the fire circles. Although they had fun at their camp experience and left with a new feeling of accomplishment, having done things they never thought they could do, the girls enjoyed getting back to hot showers and the comforts of home.

I sit at the sewing machine and feed thread onto seams of flannel. Child-print patterns in soft colors decorate the tops, and coordinating colors form the backs of the baby receiving blankets I’m sewing.
Our ward Relief Society assembles newborn kits for poverty and disaster areas. I’m an amateur seamstress, but I’m committed to participate. I enjoy choosing fabric for the project and cutting out blanket-sized squares.
I put right sides of the fabric together, sew around the edges, and leave an area open to turn the blanket right side out. Then I stitch along the edges, clip the corners, turn the blanket so that the colorful sides are on the outside, and stitch up the open area.
I sew along the top of the edges to reinforce the seams. I ease the fabric into place and take off at a brisk pace. As I rush to finish so I can resume household duties, a thought strikes me: “What if I were sewing this blanket for baby Jesus?”
With that thought, I slow down and take great care to straighten the seams. But even with care, the stitching doesn’t run straight.
Next I sew a 10-inch (25 cm) square in the center to secure the front to the back. I make a heavy paper template, center it on the blanket, and lightly mark around it. I put the fabric in place, ease down the needle, and carefully sew.
When I’m done, I clip the threads and pull out the finished blanket. It isn’t square—it’s a cross between a trapezoid and a parallelogram.
I set the blanket aside, pull out fresh flannel, and start again—taking greater pains for this gift worthy of Deity. But even with the extra effort, the results are only slightly better. Each blanket I sew is imperfect.
I feel that I can’t take any of the blankets to the collection site, at least not this year. I’ll keep practicing, and perhaps someday I can make a contribution.
Then another thought floats through my mind: “If you wait until your sewing is perfect, the Christ child will be in Egypt.”
I understand. The opportunity for service would be gone. The Savior accepts our offerings when we use our best efforts, imperfect though they may be. I know that a newborn, wrapped in a soft, clean blanket, would not refuse to sleep because the corners aren’t square.
As I contemplate whether my efforts will make a dent in worldwide needs, Christ’s counsel comes to mind: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40).
So I continue sewing blankets, working to make them as attractive as I can. I know there is a need now, not some vague time in the future when I can sew them perfectly.

The origin of the celebration, however, is a bit more serious and dates back to the seventeenth century. Because King James I was disliked by some people for his religious intolerance, a plot was formed to blow up the House of Parliament when he and his chief ministers would be there. The man in charge of igniting more than twenty barrels of gunpowder in the cellar was Guy Fawkes. Although plans were carefully made, the plot was discovered, and on November 4, 1605, Fawkes was arrested.
Even though he was severely punished to try to make him reveal the names of his coconspirators, Fawkes refused and was subsequently convicted and later executed opposite the parliament building on January 31, 1606. The discovery of the Gunpowder Plot, which saved the King’s life and left the House of Parliament standing, is still celebrated each November 5, the day the House of Parliament was to have been blown up.

The choir’s effectiveness as missionaries for the Church can be attested to by their August 1985 trip to Japan. Choir members made a commitment to do more personalized missionary work, and distributed more than a thousand Japanese copies of the Book of Mormon. In addition, they distributed more than 3,000 brochures about the choir, and approximately 3,200 Articles of Faith cards.
Within two months of the choir’s visit, Elder William H. Bradford, Area Administrator in Japan, “told us that several baptisms had been traced directly to the copies of the Book of Mormon that had been distributed by choir members,” related Brother Ottley. “We may never know the total number of people we influence through our music or through the personal contacts we make.
“While in Japan, I met and talked with one lady who had been studying the gospel for months but committed to baptism that very night at the concert. That’s the most gratifying part of our work. While we like to do things that are musically viable and important, if we can touch someone’s heart and spirit through our music and cause them to feel about the gospel of Jesus Christ the way we do, then we are doing what we are supposed to be doing.”
As an example, on the 1985 trip, Marilyn Smith was introduced to a Japanese woman who attributed her membership in the Church and the mission she just completed to the spirit she felt when Marilyn sang a solo during the choir’s previous trip to Japan.

May I share an experience with you? I served with Admiral Rickover, a very demanding individual. When I was called to be a mission president, he tried to dissuade me from going. When I said it was a prophet of God who had called me, he said, “If that’s the way Mormons are, I’m not going to have any of them working in my program.” I knew there were many families in Idaho depending on work in that program, and I was concerned about it.

As I prayed, a song came to my mind: “Do what is right; let the consequence follow” (“Do What Is Right,” Hymns, 1985, no. 237). I did that. I couldn’t see how some of the challenges we faced would be worked out the way I hoped they would be with the individual who would come to replace me, but “do what is right; let the consequence follow.” It all worked out very well.

When Admiral Rickover knew I was going to leave on a mission, he had said he never wanted to see me again and never wanted to talk to me again. On the final day of my working with him, I asked for an appointment. The secretary gasped, expecting that there was going to be an explosion.

I went in, and he said, “Scott, sit down. What do you have? I’ve tried every way I can to change your decisions. What is it that you’ve got?”

I handed him a copy of the Book of Mormon and said, “Admiral, I believe in God. And I believe that when we do the best we can, He will help us.”

Then Admiral Rickover said something that I didn’t ever expect to hear. He said, “When you finish your mission, I want you to come back and work with me.”

“Do what is right; let the consequence follow.”

Again, as a young Navajo boy growing up on a reservation and as the only Mormon in my family, I was tempted many times by friends whose values were not as lofty as my own. Even my own flesh and blood, my own brothers and sisters, tried me.
Two, three, four of my brothers were so determined for me to live their way that one day they attacked me and attempted to bind my arms and legs. When I became helpless, they would pour wine and beer into me. But the plan didn’t work. I resisted. I fought back with all the strength and courage I had. I managed to escape and run away from them. But I still loved them and asked Heavenly Father to forgive them.

“One night when I was sixteen years old, Father gave a Christmas party for his own children and their families and the nearest neighbors. We danced. My brothers were the musicians. We knew it was Father’s aim to end the party at ten o’clock, which he did right in the middle of a square-dance by ordering the musicians to stop. But Father didn’t know that my brothers had lifted me up to the clock many times that night. Each time I turned it back thirty minutes. It must have been past midnight when the party broke up.”

From Christian Olsen family records, in Carter, Our Pioneer Heritage, 15:199.

A few days before my final year of seminary was about to begin, Brother Fernández, our new teacher, came to my house. He asked my sister and me to join with him and his wife in singing a hymn about the First Vision in sacrament meeting. I had never sung in public before. I had always felt that my voice wasn’t good enough. But I felt I couldn’t refuse, so I agreed to try.
The hymn was unfamiliar to me. A few days before the performance, Brother Fernández loaned us a cassette so my sister and I could learn our parts.
On the Friday before we were to perform, my throat started hurting. I went to bed early that night, but I couldn’t sleep and had a hard time breathing. My body hurt all over.
I got up the next day complaining of the pain, and my mother advised me to see the doctor. The doctor gave me some medication and sent me home to rest.
I spent that day in bed. My family was frightened because my fever wasn’t going down. I prayed a great deal, asking Heavenly Father to help me get better.
When I woke up on Sunday, I felt much better and went to church. After I shared my testimony about how seminary has blessed me, it was time to sing. I didn’t feel well prepared, but I knew that Heavenly Father knew my situation and would help me.
My seminary teacher, his wife, my sister, and I sang about the Prophet Joseph Smith’s vision of God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, and how we are called to serve in Their work. Later the members complimented us, but my greatest satisfaction came from having sung to the Lord with all my strength.
I am so grateful for the gospel, because I know that when I pray, I’m talking to my Father in Heaven. He hears me. He loves me and knows my needs.

I have the feeling that I have mentioned this story here before, and there may be some of you who remember it. If so, it will be better for you. This is another story of which I may share only the headline. It is the story of a beautiful soul in a misshapen body. Her children may be here; conceivably she may be as well. She lives in this vicinity. I will only tell you that my wife and I came across her as she received an award for helping the handicapped. She who from the moment of her birth had suffered such a serious lack of normal blessings physically, she with the great heart, the great spirit, the great soul—she received the award given to one who had helped the handicapped.

In accepting the award, she recalled the day when she’d run home from school crying because thoughtless, careless children had called her hunchback, froggy, and other names. Her great father had held her in his arms and then rocked her on his knee and wept with her. He told her the importance of this day in her whole life, saying to her, “Elaine, today you decide: your life can be all that God intends it to be. The boys and girls, when they called you those names, were in a sense telling the truth. You do have a hump on your back, and you have other problems that have made your life miserable physically. But Elaine, Heavenly Father knew that as you were forming in your mother, and He sent a beautiful, special spirit, one that could handle the problems this little body would have to handle. What was said about you is in a sense true, but it wasn’t fair; it wasn’t kind. If all your life you will be more fair and more kind to others than a few of them will sometimes be to you, then you’ll have a happy, warm, full, fruitful life like God intended.”

And at that awards ceremony, that beautiful little soul who stood there with an oxygen tank behind her attached to her nostrils, who had to be helped to the platform from the hospital where she had been, bore her testimony of humanity and of her love for God and her fellowman. She said, “The only real justification I have for receiving this award is that I can say to you in honesty that all my life I have tried to be more fair and more kind to others than a few of them have sometimes been to me.”

Chioma N., age 15, of Nigeria, studied John 7 and 3 Nephi 14 as part of a desire to be more obedient. She admits that it’s difficult to “do some things I hate doing—especially tidying up the kitchen when I am tired.” But she also has a desire to “love people around her,” and obedience, she found, was one way to show that love (see John 14:15).
As Chioma studied the Savior’s teachings about obedience and read about His submission to Heavenly Father’s will, she recognized that because Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ knew that we would sin and go astray, They gave us commandments to help us stay on the strait and narrow path. She also learned that without obedience, we cannot enter into the kingdom of God.
“I learned that nobody is perfect, but with obedience, we can all strive toward perfection,” she said. “And I have learned that we should be obedient so that Heavenly Father can bless us.”
She found an opportunity to exhibit obedience at school when she was asked to sweep the classroom when it wasn’t her turn.
“I humbly obeyed as I listened to the Holy Ghost telling me to obey and sweep the classroom. My fellow students were surprised, and our teacher also. Because of this incident, people now know me as an obedient and humble girl. I felt happy throughout the week because I was obedient.”

Let me introduce my subject with a brief story. A month or so ago, on a Saturday morning, my wife, Barbara, was busy finishing a baptismal dress for a neighbor girl, and the house was in need of a good picking up and vacuuming. The need was there, so I did what I frequently do in such situations: I pressed the children into service. Unfortunately, I sometimes become grouchy when cleaning house. I noticed, however, that every time I asked my 12-year-old son Matt to do a job, he always responded with a smile and a genuinely cheery face. He was apparently trying to overcome my grouchiness by smiling—which became obvious to me, as it did to everyone else. I apparently kept ignoring the oh-so-obvious smiles, however, because Matt finally said, “Dad, whoever said that smiles were contagious didn’t know about your antibodies.” I finally melted into a smile.
Well, my antibody against the contagion of a smile is one of my several flaws, which, like a messy house, could use a good picking up and vacuuming. And that is only one of the several flaws I am aware of, thanks to the help of my wife and children. Who knows how many more flaws are lurking, hidden away from my discernment?

“If only Dagmar weren’t so aggressive,” thought Lars. “Then I could relate to her better.” He and his wife had been feeling distant from each other, and Lars wanted to feel again the oneness he and Dagmar had felt when they were first married.
Lars felt that maintaining a close relationship with his wife would be possible only if Dagmar changed. But then it occurred to him that perhaps he needed to do some changing himself. “What could I do to be united with Dagmar?” he thought. That question led to another: “What manner of man ought I to be?” (see 3 Ne. 27:27).
The question would not leave his mind. He remembered, for instance, how concerned Dagmar had been last Saturday about preparing for a Primary meeting. He had been grumpy, thinking that she would make them late for their son’s soccer game. Throughout the afternoon, his tension had grown, and at the same time, he had been jealous of how many hours she was spending in preparation for the meeting.
But now, while he read the scriptures with the companionship of the Spirit, the event began to look different. What manner of man had he been? Had he been helpful, supportive, or willing to sustain her in her calling? The evidence was against him.
It was becoming clear to him that his accusations against his wife had been expressions of his own selfishness. He wondered how he could have been so blind. Her support and sacrifice for him condemned him even further. That same Saturday he had become upset, Dagmar had risen early to type a report for him for his office.
The scriptures describe Lars’s situation clearly: “If we say that we have fellowship with [Christ], and walk in darkness, we lie, and do not the truth.” (1 Jn. 1:6.)
As Lars began to repent of fault-finding, and as he asked the Lord for help, he received further promptings from the Spirit. He saw what he had earlier refused to see: his own need for spiritual refinement. The Holy Ghost was showing him how to have fellowship with his wife rather than how to change her.
When we seek to be obedient to the Lord, the fellowship we seek with our marriage partners becomes easier to obtain. The spirit will teach us what manner of men and women we ought to be.
But what kind of answers, if any, can we expect to receive if we approach the Lord having already judged our spouse to be aggresive or unrighteous or insensitive? Is it possible to get clear answers when praying with such resentments? The truth is, so long as we retain jealousy or resentment or anger or any other un-Christlike feeling, we resist spiritual guidance.

Joseph Smith said that our loved ones are around us all the time. I believe that. I believe it with all my heart. And I’m sure that our loved ones loved us even before we or they were born. One day I helped one of my little grandsons in the bathroom with his needs. Perhaps feeling a bit embarrassed at my invasion of his three-and-a-half-year-old privacy, I hugged him up to me and said, “You know, it is good for me to help you because I’m big and you are little.” He looked up at me with his big brown eyes and said, very seriously, “I helped you when you were little.” I remembered my training in childhood education and I replied with confidence, “Yes, I know. You were big when I was little, and I am big when you are little.” But he shook his little head and looked up at me again; there was seriousness and wisdom in his eyes. He paused a moment, and then said sweetly and clearly, “No, Grandpa. I mean before I was born, when you were little, I helped you.” And he added, “I liked to help you.” Then he turned and ran off to his playthings and I remembered how Jesus opened the mouths of the little Nephite children and they told their parents things of the spiritual dimension which were unspeakably beautiful and impossible to write.

To conclude, here is my own recent experience. There sits a man on this stand today who I admire very much. He has a brother who is a physician and a medical researcher. I had the great honor to visit that brother and his family and others in a stake presidency in another place. The visit was beautiful and sweet, but not extraordinary. We met the families—the wives and children—and conversed with them, got to know and love them, and left the stake feeling like brothers to these choice people.

After some months had passed, I met the physician on the street in Salt Lake City and we talked for a little while. He seemed pleased that I would remember him, and I got the feeling that there was something he would like to have told me; but both of us had to hurry and so we just put our arms around each other and parted. A few days later a letter came. I shall read it to you just as it is written. If I had any inkling that you would misunderstand it or the purpose I have in reading it, I would not share it. I plead with you, let your hearts tune in for just a moment.

Dear Brother Hanks:
Meeting you on the street the other afternoon was a very pleasant surprise for me, and I’m sorry we were in such a hurry because I wanted to share an experience with you that’s been very dear to me. Thus, I thought I’d take the opportunity to write you this note and tell you. Perhaps you remember when you visited our stake, the lunch was served by my wife and my young daughter. You asked my daughter her name and she replied, “Mary.” You told her that that was the most beautiful name for many reasons. You told her that you also had a daughter named Mary and told her about your Mary. That episode changed Mary’s attitude about her name. Up to that point, she had not liked her name very well because she thought it so plain. Thereafter, she thought of her name in a different light. I don’t know exactly what you told her or what message she received from you, but I must tell you that it changed her life. My wife and I have reflected on that experience a great deal during these past few months and it has brought back such pleasant and very choice memories. We will be forever grateful to you for that brief encounter and for what it did for Mary. I’m sure that you had no way of knowing that Mary passed away a short time after that. Her death was very sudden and due to medical reasons that are not yet explained. I wanted you to know how you touched her life and thank you for it.

Can we really believe that we have nothing to give? That we are so weak and so simple, you and I? That our consciousness of our personal failings and inadequacies disqualifies us from helping others? That we really cannot expect anybody to care very much or respond to us? Oh, God help us to be and not to seem—to give, to love, to be humble. If we cannot lift up even our eyes unto heaven, then God help us to have sense enough to cry, “God be merciful to me, a sinner.” But you have so much to give. Let this simple incident say what I could not say if I had tried for an hour, and tell you that I know this is God’s work and that we are really neighbors, brothers, sisters—His children. There is in the least of us—even in the most dependent—that which is better than we understand; shared, it can bring more than we know to those who seek.

In the comic strip Peanuts, Charlie Brown told Lucy about his New Year’s resolutions. He said, “You’re going to be proud of me, Lucy. … I’ve decided that this next year is going to be my year of decision! This is a list of things in my life that I’m going to correct. … I’m going to be a better person!”

Lucy’s reply was, “Not me. … I’m going to spend this whole year regretting the past. … It’s the only way, Charlie Brown. … I’m going to cry over spilt milk, and sigh over lost loves. … It’s a lot easier. … It’s too hard to improve. … I tried it once. … It drove me crazy. … ‘Forget the future’ is my motto. … Regret the past! Oh, how I regret the past! Why did I do this? Why did I do that? Why? I regret it all! Oh, what regrets! What remorse! What anguish! What …” Charlie Brown sighs and throws away his resolutions. (Ellipses in the original.)

I would like to tell you about the St. Charles Ward and how they friendshipped and nourished Brother Jim Hueston. Jim belonged to another church, but he found it was hard to obtain transportation to attend meetings. No one picked him up. I had the good fortune to meet Jim. A Book of Mormon was given; a commitment was made to read and pray. Our members provided transportation for Jim to come to the St. Charles Ward. The missionaries taught the discussions, and Jim read and prayed.
At Jim’s baptism, he asked me, his bishop, “What do you want me to do?” I took Jim to my office and talked about the Church, teaching him about the priesthood and what the Lord would have him do as a member of the Church. He received the Aaronic Priesthood and was assigned to serve as a home teacher. The elders quorum president assigned a strong, faithful, diligent home teaching companion. Brother Hueston, as the newest member of the St. Charles Ward, made sure that his home teaching was completed. Not only for that first month but for the past 20 years he has completed his home teaching every month. He has served in many different callings, and serving as a stake missionary was one of his favorites.
Ward members wrapped their arms around Brother Hueston and made sure that he was a fellow citizen “with the saints, and of the household of God” (Eph. 2:19). Jim learned to drive and bought himself a car so that he could do his home teaching and any other callings he received. We are not sure if we kept him or he kept us “in the right way” (Moro. 6:4). We know that what President Hinckley is asking us to do now was accomplished then with Brother Hueston.
I talked with Brother Hueston this summer. He told me how he and his home teaching companion were helping a less-active member come back into activity. He said, “She is looking forward to taking the temple preparation class and going to the temple.”

May I relate to you my first journey along a personal Jericho Road. In about my tenth year, as Christmas approached, I yearned as only a boy can yearn for an electric train. My desire was not to receive the economical and everywhere-to-be-found wind-up model train, but rather one that operated through the miracle of electricity.

The times were those of economic depression, yet Mother and Dad, through some sacrifice, I am sure, presented to me on Christmas morning a beautiful electric train. For hours I operated the transformer, watching the engine first pull its cars forward, then push them backward around the track.

Mother entered the living room and said to me that she had purchased a wind-up train for Widow Hansen’s boy, Mark, who lived down the lane. I asked if I could see the train. The engine was short and blocky—not long and sleek like the expensive model I had received.

However, I did take notice of an oil tanker car which was part of his inexpensive set. My train had no such car, and pangs of envy began to be felt. I put up such a fuss that Mother succumbed to my pleadings and handed me the oil tanker car. She said, “If you need it more than Mark, you take it.” I put it with my train set and felt pleased with the result.

Mother and I took the remaining cars and the engine down to Mark Hansen. The young boy was a year or two older than I. He had never anticipated such a gift and was thrilled beyond words. He wound the key in his engine, it not being electric like mine, and was overjoyed as the engine and two cars, plus a caboose, went around the track.

Mother wisely asked, “What do you think of Mark’s train, Tommy?”

I felt a keen sense of guilt and became very much aware of my selfishness. I said to Mother, “Wait just a moment—I’ll be right back.”

As swiftly as my legs could carry me, I ran to our home, picked up the oil tanker car plus an additional car of my own, ran back down the lane to the Hansen home, and said joyfully to Mark, “We forgot to bring two cars which belong to your train.”

Mark coupled the two extra cars to his set. I watched the engine make its labored way around the track and felt a supreme joy difficult to describe and impossible to forget.

Mother and I left the Hansen home and slowly walked up the street. She, who with her hand in God’s had entered into the valley of the shadow of death to bring me, her son, across the bridge of life, now took me by the hand and together we returned homeward by way of our private Jericho Road.

Some remember mother for her rhymes recited, others for her music played, songs sung, favors bestowed, or stories told; but I remember best that day we together traveled our Jericho Road and, like the good Samaritan, found a cherished opportunity to help.