Gospel Story Finder

A number of weeks later, we had another conference, this time with our new mission president, Elder Gene R. Cook. In my interview with him, he told me he felt that I had a good spirit and that God expected much of me. He also said he knew I could do more and be a better missionary.
I thought deeply about his words, and about those left us by our former mission president. I sought the inspiration of the Spirit and told the Lord that I would work hard during the rest of my mission to bring souls unto him. I dedicated my efforts to fulfilling the mission that God had given me. I worked hard. Even so, as my mission neared its end, I had not yet felt what my first mission president had felt: confirmation from God that my work was accepted.
I continued to work hard, and on the last day of my mission—our preparation day—my companion and I baptized a special young family.
When I returned to the mission home in Montevideo, President Cook interviewed me for the last time. After we prayed together, he asked me if I had anything I wanted to discuss with him.
I thought about it, but decided not to burden him with my desire for a confirmation from the Lord that my work was accepted. Then, as if he read my thoughts, he looked me in the eyes and said, “Elder Acosta, the Spirit tells me that the Lord is pleased with you because of your labors, and I feel that you may return home reassured. I feel that this is troubling you.”
With tears in my eyes, I told him that it had been troubling me but that now I could go home happy because I knew the Lord was pleased with my missionary labors. An inner peace came over me, confirming that it was so.

Recently I went on a soccer recruiting trip to a university in another state. I went to decide if I wanted to go to school there.
While I was there, some girls already on the team decided they would show the recruits what college life was like, so they took us to a party. This party was not the kind I was used to. Everyone there was drinking and smoking.
One guy at the party announced that all the recruits had to get in the middle of a circle and he would pass around a bottle of liquor for us to drink.
When I wouldn’t even touch the bottle, he said to me, “You’re not even going to taste it?”
“No thanks,” I told him.
He continued to harass me for a few minutes.
Throughout the party I felt very uncomfortable and wanted to leave. Finally we did.
The following day as I listened to general conference, I heard Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles say, “Be grateful that your righteous life molds you so that you don’t fit where you don’t belong” (“The Power of Righteousness,” Liahona, January 1999, 81). I am thankful that I have lived my life in such a way that I was uncomfortable at the party. I felt that I was out of place there, and I am glad I was. I am also grateful I decided long ago that I would never drink. That decision helped me in my time of need.

Saturday was a special day for the Olson family, who lived in a sprawling old farmhouse in a little western Canadian town nearly seventy-five years ago.
The ten brothers and their sister knew that Saturday was the day to get ready for Sunday, and everyone was expected to help. Some were assigned to care for younger children, while others helped Father with the outside chores. Indoors, there was washing, cleaning, and baking to do, for even the food to be eaten on Sunday was prepared on Saturday.
Aromas of freshly baked chicken, warm spice cake, and homemade bread were tempting, but everything was carefully wrapped, covered, and put away for Sunday dinner.
After the baking was done, teams of boys helped Mother scrub and clean the kitchen, while their only sister ironed freshly laundered white shirts with the old flat iron that had been heated on the big black coal stove. Sheets were changed and bedrooms tidied, and when the house was finally ready, it was time for the last Saturday chore—the bath. Two or more boys at a time had to share the large round wooden tub of hot soapy water.
After the last child was scrubbed and in his nightclothes, Mother served a favorite treat—hot cider with fresh buttered popcorn or homemade doughnuts. Afterward Father gathered the family together to give thanks to our Heavenly Father for the blessings of that day. Finally the children would climb into bed clean, tired, happy, and ready for the Sabbath day.

It was then that I moved to Kinshasa to commence my studies in law. Once I arrived in 2007, I enrolled at the University of Kinshasa. In my first year in 2008, we experienced a total strike at the University of Kinshasa. During the strike, I left the neighborhood where I lived to go to the commune of Masina to stay with my older brother.
And once in Masina, during the strike, I discovered The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the neighborhood where I lived with my older brother.
I made the decision to go to a meetinghouse of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on a Sunday. When I arrived at the building, a brother greeted me at the door and invited me to come inside. I then participated in the Sunday service and afterwards I was placed in contact with the full-time missionaries.
I took the missionary lessons for two weeks. After being taught, I had a strong desire to be baptized.
However, this was the beginning of strong opposition from within my family and my older brother who was like a guardian to me. He told the village to inform everyone that I wanted to become a member, that it is a bad church, and that no one should support me or contribute money to support my academic studies.
Consequently, I dropped out of law school and began preparing for a full-time mission. Thanks to Bishop Mutambay’s advice and direction, I remained a member of the Church despite opposition and began preparing for my full-time mission. I served in the Lubumbashi DR Congo from June 2013 to June 2015.
After serving as a full-time missionary, I came home and was fortunate to find the Church’s inspired Perpetual Education Fund program which allowed me to achieve my goals in completing my law studies through this program instituted by President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008).
Today, I am a lawyer. My wife, Mireille, and I are parents of four children: Ross Power Kongo Kongo, Ron Cross Kongo Munemeka, Blacke Prestones Kongo Ibula, and Brian Lesser Congo. I accepted adversity by relying on my faith without knowing what was going to happen to me when I was abandoned for having chosen the restored Church.
I know that God is our Heavenly Father and despite difficulties and opposition He is there to help us. I will never be disappointed with the path I took and my decision to join His church.
I know this was the best decision I ever made. I will be forever grateful. Joseph Smith is the prophet of the Restoration, and I am grateful to be in the Church of Jesus Christ.

One day I witnessed evidence of the Spirit and the courage to follow the counsel. It was in a second-grade elementary classroom. The student teacher held the children captive with her story-telling skills. In great detail, she told of a cross old man whose name was Mr. Black. In contrast, the account was given in similar detail of a Mr. Brown, who was kind and thoughtful and loved by everyone. At the conclusion of the story, the teacher asked the children, “How many of you would like to have Mr. Brown for a neighbor?” Every hand in the room was raised. Then, almost as an afterthought, she asked the question, “And is there anyone who would like to have Mr. Black for a neighbor?”

A little boy in a faded green shirt near the back of the room began to raise his hand, bringing a ripple of quiet amusement from the children. Hesitating only briefly, he looked around at his friends and still mustered the courage to hold his hand high and dare to stand alone in his difference. When called on for an explanation of his single vote, he spoke in a soft tone. “Well,” he said, “I’d like Mr. Black to be my neighbor because if he was my neighbor, my mom would make a cake for me to take to him, and then he wouldn’t be that way anymore.” A hush fell over the room. Everyone felt something wonderful that they couldn’t explain. A little child broke the silence like a benediction: “Oh . . . I wish I’d said that.”

We had all made a quick decision about who would be the best neighbor, but only one—just one—had a spirit within, the discernment that allowed him to see what might be.

Having heard the voice of the Shepherd, they fully committed their lives to living the gospel and following the direction of the Lord’s prophet. Responding to the call to gather to Zion, they left behind their home in England, crossed the Atlantic, and gathered with the Saints in Nauvoo, Illinois.

They embraced the gospel with all their hearts. While trying to get established in their new land, they assisted in the building of the Nauvoo Temple by tithing their labor—spending every 10th day working on the construction of the temple.

They were brokenhearted at the news of the death of their beloved prophet, Joseph Smith, and his brother Hyrum. But they carried on! They stayed true to the faith.

When the Saints were persecuted and driven from Nauvoo, Robert and Maria felt greatly blessed to receive their endowments in the temple shortly before they crossed the Mississippi River and headed west. Although they were uncertain of what their future held, they were certain of their faith and their testimonies.

With six children, they slogged through mud as they crossed Iowa on their way west. They built for themselves a lean-to on the side of the Missouri River at what came to be known as Winter Quarters.

These intrepid pioneers were waiting for apostolic direction on how and when they would be heading further west. Everyone’s plans were altered when Brigham Young, the President of the Quorum of the Twelve, issued a call for men to volunteer to serve in the United States Army in what came to be known as the Mormon Battalion.

Robert Harris Jr. was one of over 500 Mormon pioneer men who responded to that call from Brigham Young. He enlisted, even though it meant he would leave behind his pregnant wife and six little children.

Why would he and the other men do such a thing?

The answer can be given in my great-great-grandfather’s own words. In a letter that he wrote to his wife when the battalion was on its way to Santa Fe, he wrote, “My faith is so strong as ever [and when I think of the things that Brigham Young told us], I believe it about the same as if the Great God had told me.”

In short, he knew he was listening to a prophet of God, as did the other men. That is why they did it! They knew they were led by a prophet of God.

In that same letter, he expressed his tender feelings for his wife and children and told of his constant prayers that she and the children would be blessed.

Later in the letter, he made this powerful statement: “We must not forget the things which you and I heard and [experienced] in the Temple of the Lord.”

Combined with his earlier testimony that “we are led by a Prophet of God,” these two sacred admonitions have become like scripture to me.

Eighteen months after departing with the battalion, Robert Harris was safely reunited with his beloved Maria. They stayed true and faithful to the restored gospel throughout their lives. They had 15 children, 13 of whom lived to maturity. My grandmother Fannye Walker, of Raymond, Alberta, Canada, was one of their 136 grandchildren.

Grandma Walker was proud of the fact that her grandfather had served in the Mormon Battalion, and she wanted all of her grandchildren to know it. Now that I am a grandfather, I understand why it was so important to her. She wanted to turn the hearts of the children to the fathers. She wanted her grandchildren to know of their righteous heritage—because she knew it would bless their lives.

The more connected we feel to our righteous forefathers, the more likely we are to make wise and righteous choices.

And so it is. Each of us will be greatly blessed if we know the stories of faith and sacrifice that led our forefathers to join the Lord’s Church.

From the first time Robert and Maria heard Wilford Woodruff teach and testify of the Restoration of the gospel, they knew the gospel was true.

They also knew that no matter what trials or hardships would come to them, they would be blessed for staying true to the faith. It almost seems that they had heard the words of our prophet today, who said, “No sacrifice is too great … in order to receive [the] blessings [of the temple]” (Thomas S. Monson, “The Holy Temple—a Beacon to the World,” Ensign or Liahona, May 2011, 92).

The two-pound coin of the United Kingdom has inscribed on its side “Standing on the Shoulders of Giants.” When I think of our great pioneer forefathers, I feel that we are all standing on the shoulders of giants.

Although the admonition came from a letter from Robert Harris, I believe that countless forefathers would send the same message to their children and grandchildren: First, we must not forget the experiences we have had in the temple, and we must not forget the promises and the blessings that come to each of us because of the temple. Secondly, we must not forget that we are led by a prophet of God.

I testify that we are led by a prophet of God. The Lord restored His Church in the latter days through the Prophet Joseph Smith, and we must not forget that we have been led by an unbroken chain of prophets of God, from Joseph to Brigham and through each succeeding President of the Church to our prophet today—Thomas S. Monson. I know him, I honor him, and I love him. I testify that he is the Lord’s prophet on the earth today.

It is the desire of my heart that, along with my children and grandchildren, we will honor the legacy of our righteous forefathers—those faithful Mormon pioneers who were willing to put everything on the altar to sacrifice for and defend their God and their faith. I pray that each of us will live true to the faith that our parents have cherished. In the holy and sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The Holy Ghost also warns us against the dangers and evils in this life. Dorothea Speth, now wife of Spencer J. Condie, records an unforgettable experience that occurred on February 13, 1945, in Dresden, Germany. This was the night that Dresden was firebombed, and Sister Condie’s parent’s home was hit. As the firestorm was raging through the streets, her parents decided to take the four daughters and head for the Elbe River, which was down a wide street about four blocks from their home. She says:

For safety, we did not all walk together. My father took one of my older sisters and my twin sister and began to lead the way. My mother, my oldest sister, and I were to follow as closely as possible. As my father started walking, he headed towards a narrow side street instead of choosing the wide street which led directly to our goal, to the river. Mother stopped, not wanting to follow down the narrow, burning street and began calling Dad to try to persuade him to turn around and take the more direct route along our street, which seemed so much safer and quicker. But due to the firestorm, Dad could not hear her plea, and he continued walking along the narrow side street.
With each passing second, the distance between us increased, but Mom was still not willing to abandon her plan. Then I heard my older sister plead with her, “Mom, let’s follow Dad; he holds the Priesthood!” With this reminder, we started to move quickly, trying to catch up with Dad, who led us safely in a roundabout way down to the river.

After they reached safety, a neighbor lady came to tell them that she and her husband had taken the wide street to the river.
Her husband, tall and slender, walked very quickly leading the way, but she, somewhat short and heavy, could not follow so quickly, and lagged behind. Suddenly she saw her husband burnt alive in front of her eyes. Unknown to anyone, liquid phosphorous from one of the bombs had covered the street. It could not be seen but was immediately ignited whenever anyone stepped on it. There was nothing she could do to save her husband, she could only turn around and save herself. [Dorothea Speth Condie, “Let’s Follow Dad—He Holds the Priesthood,” in Behind the Iron Curtain: Recollections of Latter-day Saints in East Germany, 1945–1989, coll. and trans. Garold N. Davis and Norma S. Davis (Provo: BYU Studies, 1996), 33–34]

As a holder of the priesthood, Sister Condie’s father had listened to the Holy Ghost and had saved his family from a fiery death.

One of the great leaders of our time, President Harold B. Lee, in a devotional address at BYU, spoke of a Latter-day Saint young man who, during World War II, was in England. He had gone to an officers’ club where they were holding a riotous kind of celebration. He noticed, off to the side, a young British officer who didn’t seem to appreciate the party at all. So he walked over to him and said, “You don’t seem to be enjoying this kind of party.” And this young British officer straightened himself a few inches taller than he was before and replied, “No, sir; I can’t engage in this kind of party because, you see, I belong to the royal household of England.” As our Latter-day Saint young man walked away, he said to himself, “Neither can I, because I belong to the royal household of the kingdom of God” (“Be Loyal to the Royal within You,” in Speeches of the Year, 1973 [Provo: Brigham Young University Press, 1973], p. 100).

A woman I’ll call Megan shared a poignant experience she had shortly after her husband announced his desire for a divorce. Recalling one Sunday when she was sitting in sacrament meeting, Megan said, “I hadn’t anticipated how awkward and painful it would be to sit there in church, pretending that everything was OK when inside my heart was breaking and my stomach was churning. The thoughts in my mind seemed to be on a continual loop of pleadings with the Lord: ‘What am I going to do? How can I be a single parent and provide the kind of life I want for my kids?’”

On that occasion Megan’s answer came in the closing hymn—“How Firm a Foundation.”11 As she heard the lyrics “As thy days may demand, so thy succor shall be,” her heart felt peace. To succor means to “run to support; … to help or relieve when in difficulty, want or distress; to assist and deliver from suffering.”12 Megan realized that even in her circumstances, she could turn to Christ and He would come to her aid. When we go through excruciating trials, even to the point of feeling abandoned by God, Christ will empathize with and succor us because He has experienced that very feeling.

2. Be Honest with Yourself
A young woman on a university volleyball team tells of the time when she and her friend Muki were playing together in a championship match:
“I remember it being a close game. … Gracie [on our opponents’ team] rounded her approach, jumped, and smacked the ball as hard as she could. … The line judges signaled out, and the head official raised his finger to show a point for [our team]. We began giving our usual high fives when we noticed that Muki was hand-motioning to the official that she touched the ball on her block. Muki was calling her own touch.
“The quiet, withdrawn Muki had showed an act of integrity and honesty like I had never seen before. Gracie was so impressed that she talked with Muki after the match. … Muki later gave Gracie a Book of Mormon. I don’t know if Gracie has read the book … , but I do know that Gracie was touched by Muki’s example, as we all were.”2

Imad Telhami, an Arab Israeli entrepreneur, created a moral context and pursued the soul of leadership in a remarkable way. Telhami had experienced discrimination and marginalization firsthand in his life, and he had a burning desire to overcome those barriers and help people of all backgrounds grow and progress. In 2008 he started Babcom—Arabic for “your door”—an Israeli company that provides business process outsourcing services for customers in Israel and around the world. He sought to create a company that would employ men and women from every religious and ethnic group in Israel—Muslims, Druze, Christians, Arabs, and secular, religious, and ultrareligious Jews.

Telhami believed he could create effective teams with talented people while helping them work together to overcome barriers rooted in deep-seated cultural, religious, and historical differences. He believed strongly that these people could grow personally and would provide superior service to their customers.16

At the heart of Telhami’s strategy were four values:

Telhami learned that embedding these values into the hearts of his employees required sustained effort in assessing, hiring, training, coaching, mentoring, and building relationships of trust at Babcom.

The evidence over many years proved Telhami correct. At Babcom, people of diverse backgrounds worked well together, grew and progressed beyond their expectations, and provided higher-quality service at a lower cost than their competitors, all while working in a social environment in which anger, resentment, and conflict were prevalent and sometimes dangerous. Indeed, Babcom has lived through five wars since its founding. Babcom’s resilient culture was captured by one employee who said, “Babcom is the safe place.”18

My family and I moved to Layton, Utah, from Georgia during my senior year in high school. As a black teenager, I hated the thought of moving. I liked it in Georgia where I fit in quite well with my peers. The idea of attending a different school in a very white community didn’t appeal to me, even though I was a member of the Church. When I arrived in Utah, adjusting to life there took a great deal of time, and I only managed to make a few friends.
One night I was paired up with a guy my friend and her boyfriend set up with me. I would have enjoyed the night more if my date hadn’t said his parents would freak if they knew he was out with a black girl. His words hurt, but I hid it well. I’ve hid a lot of my feelings.
After graduation, I began to hang around three girls who weren’t LDS. As our friendship grew, I started smoking. I felt like life had no meaning, so I didn’t care that what I was doing was wrong. I couldn’t understand why I was on the earth, and figured I was probably better off dead. After a while, we went our separate ways and I vowed I would never smoke again. But many of my other feelings didn’t change.
I knew I wanted to marry in the temple and raise a family but wondered if I would get the chance. It was rather annoying when people I knew would become engaged, leaving me to question if I would ever get a date in this lifetime.
I wanted to blame the way I felt on something, so I blamed it on the color of my skin. It was stupid of me, I know. But I figured it was the only reason I didn’t have many friends.
By the time I was 20, I wanted to change. I decided to fix my appearance. I lost a little weight and bought new clothes and glasses. I found it helped me feel better about myself. But the actual change started when I began attending the single-adult ward and decided to go to college. This gave me the confidence that I could do things I had been too shy or scared to do before.
One day in sacrament meeting, my bishop spoke about the importance of attending church, the importance of paying tithing, reading scriptures, and praying. I felt the Spirit so strongly that I had no doubt the Church was true. It was at this time I decided to read the Book of Mormon.
For a month, I read my scriptures every night. Afterward, I would pray. I continued to pay my tithing and attend church, and I received a calling in the ward. My life couldn’t have been happier.
One day I looked in the mirror and stared at my reflection. “I’m pretty,” I said to the image before me. Tears welled up in my eyes that suddenly seemed to be looking at things differently. I saw myself, but it was as if I were looking at the face of a stranger. The fact I saw myself differently filled me with a happiness I can’t describe.
Without warning, the color of my skin no longer mattered to me. I’m Jennifer, a child of God. If God can love me, then I can learn to love myself, I thought. I now understand why they say you have to love yourself before you can show love to others. Today I can say I’m proud to be black. Four years ago I couldn’t even say it, much less mean it.
My promise now is to live the gospel and put my trust in God. After all, he’s given me the thing I needed most—a sense of my own worth.

It also matters how job applicants see these issues. I remember interviewing two well-trained applicants for the same position one day. When I asked how each one felt about the Church influence here, one said, “Oh, the Church is no problem for me. I have learned not to let it get to me.” The other said, “The Church and the gospel are my whole life. That is why coming to work at BYU would fulfill my lifelong dream.” The vast attitudinal difference between these people was, and should be, a major factor in deciding whom to hire. We aren’t looking for people who merely ­tolerate our environment or who will try not to harm it; we seek believing, thoughtful people for whom this is the freest intellectual and spiritual environment in the world.

Recently, I had surgery to remove my tonsils. What I remember most about the experience is the blessing that my dad and another worthy priesthood holder gave me in the hospital before my surgery. Before the blessing I was scared, but after the blessing I was brave and my fear went away. I have faith in Heavenly Father and know He uses priesthood blessings to encourage, heal, and strengthen His children.

As a child I grew to love the temple. I lived in Raymond, Alberta, Canada. Our home was about 35 miles from the Cardston Alberta Temple. I loved to see the temple; I knew I was going there someday. Our family often stopped at the temple and took family pictures in front of the temple. Even before I was old enough to figure out very many things, I knew that the temple was very important to my mother and father and to my grandparents.

I remember sitting on the floor in the dining room and watching my mother iron her temple clothing. She would tell me that, "Tonight is temple night, and your father and I are so happy to be going to the temple." She was setting an important example for me.

I am reminded of a commercial I saw many years ago on YouTube. A young woman who looked to be in her late twenties visited her aging father in his apartment. As she entered the apartment, her father was busy cooking at the stove. The daughter greeted him with a kiss and then turned to assist by washing some dishes in the sink. Thus, her back was turned to her father. She began to speak, asking a question: “Dad, how do you like the new iPad I bought you for your birthday?”

She heard no response, so she asked again, in a little louder voice, “Dad, do you like the new iPad I gave you?” Again, no response.

With a little frustration, the daughter turned around to face her father and opened her mouth to ask the question a third time. But before she could speak, she watched with alarm as her father finished chopping carrots and celery, using the brand-new iPad as a cutting board, and then stepped over to a pot of boiling stew, where he used a knife to scrape the chopped vegetables from the iPad into the boiling water.

Obviously, her aging father did not know the value of the iPad or what it could do when used for its intended purposes by someone who understood the rules by which it operated. Without this understanding, her father could not appreciate the gift his daughter had given him and could not enjoy the full use of the gift.

When my youngest was 18 months, my husband was called to serve with a wonderful Stake President, President Stanley, in one of BYU-ID's stakes. I would sit by myself in our home ward with my three rambunctious boys in the pew right next to the exit door. In fact, no one would ever try to sit on that bench because the ward knew this was my bench. Many times sacrament meeting ended with me having vomit in my hair and smashed Cheerios on the floor. In fact, after my husband served here on campus for four years, he came back to the home ward and the Sunday School president asked me to introduce my "guest." She must have thought I was a single mother because I was always alone with my boys. The stake president would call me about every six months and ask how I was doing. I would tell him to "just leave my husband where he" was, he was a better man, husband and father because of his service and the association he had with the President and the other men in the stake.

All too soon the finale arrived. All of the performers rushed out onto the floor of the coliseum. A rainbow of talented youth whirled, and waved small green and gold flags, and danced their hearts out. They were answered with an ovation from those in attendance, but they were not quite through with the evening’s program. There was one more thing they wanted to do.
And there, standing before the capacity audience, the 2,000 colorfully costumed young dancers stood and sang from their hearts, “We thank thee, O God, for a prophet To guide us in these latter days.” As the hymn continued, the lights in the house were lowered, and a single spot shone on an elderly, white-haired gentleman in the audience. He rose to his feet and smiled his acknowledgment.
Then, with whoops and cheers, the dancers ran from the floor. The evening was over, and after several minutes of applause, the appreciative audience stood and started filing out. One nonmember remarked to his wife as they stepped out into the cool evening air, “I wonder who that gentleman in the spotlight was? Those young kids certainly seem to love him.” A festival participant who had hurried into the departing crowd to listen for comments and answer questions heard the statement and replied with quiet conviction, “He’s a prophet of God, sir.”

A short illustration: A few weeks ago I was waiting in the Chicago O’Hare Airport for a connecting flight to Salt Lake City with two of my colleagues: Blake Boatright and Vance Theodore. As we were seated near our gate, reading and relaxing before the last leg of our journey, I was interrupted by a rather enthusiastic black Labrador dog sniffing around my briefcase and other belongings I had on the floor. A police officer was standing nearby, and I immediately recognized the dog as a “sniffer” dog looking for drugs or the residue of explosive materials. While the dog moved rapidly from person to person, sniffing purses and carry-ons, it returned to my briefcase for a second check. After a few sniffs and what seemed like 100 wags of its tail, the dog and the police officer disappeared. A short time later, a second sniffer dog stopped by our gate to check things out as well.

Now, I could have dismissed the experience and continued to focus on my reading or think about needed preparations for the following week in school. Instead, my mind turned to the present moment, and I began to think about the two dogs and their training. They were there to make sure everything was in good order. They were there to ensure my safety and the safety of others who would be flying that day. After contemplating this, I quietly expressed thanks to Heavenly Father for trainers and dogs with wildly wagging tails who were there to bless my life. As mundane as that might sound to you, it was an enriching feeling—one that I have thought of frequently. Look for blessings in the now or the present moments of your life.

The great oak tree reached its arms to the sky—higher, higher, higher. Lissa lay on a quilt at its foot and gazed through spring-green leaves to the gray sky beyond. It made her feel dizzy. She closed her eyes.
“Lissa, will you help me get up the tree?”
Her eyes opened. It took her a moment to focus on her little brother, Spencer, looming above her. “Uh-uh,” she said. “The wind’s too wild. You’d be scared.”
“I wouldn’t be scared.”
“Then I would be.” Even as she spoke, thunder rumbled in the distance. The wind became a mad thing, suddenly swirling and tearing in all directions. The giant pines in their yard swayed and bent as if they would snap in two. The oak was a churning green sea, its leafy whisper changed to a roar.
Spencer drew in a frightened breath. Lissa laughed and leapt to her feet. She caught his hands and whirled him around and around until he was laughing, too. “Will the wind blow us away?” he asked.
“No,” Lissa said. But it felt like it might.
“Come inside now,” Dad called from the house.
Lissa and Spencer hesitated and whirled around again.
“Now!” Dad yelled. “Before the storm hits.”
Even as Lissa snatched up her quilt and dashed for the door, fat raindrops struck her skin. By the time they were inside, the rain was pouring down in silver sheets.
While Dad made them hot chocolate, Lissa and Spencer dried themselves off. They slipped beneath blankets on the couch and sipped their drinks. How cozy and safe it felt in the house, although the walls seemed to tremble and the windows rattled.
Dad huddled with them. “When I call you,” he said, “you need to come right away. Don’t stop to think about it. Just come. There’s always a good reason.”
Lissa and Spencer nodded.
The room grew dim. Dad switched on the lamp. He brought a book of stories to read aloud and drew them close.
It was hard to listen.
Boom! shouted the thunder.
Spencer jumped. Lissa shivered. White lightning flashed. Then B-O-O-M! It was explosive!
Dad sprang to his feet and ran to the window. Lissa and Spencer followed. “What was that?” Lissa asked, her heart thudding in her chest.
Dad peered through the gloom. “Looks like the oak tree’s down. Good thing it missed the house.”
“Oh, no!” Lissa cried. “I love that tree.”
The storm passed on.
A few days later, Dad took his chain saw out to the fallen tree. “We can use it for firewood,” he told Lissa and Spencer.
Lissa said nothing. She still wanted to cry when she saw the oak stretched out in their yard. Its branches were tangled, and its great clump of dirt-choked roots lay exposed. She watched from the porch step, her chin in her hands, as Dad worked.
Spencer scrambled over the trunk like a squirrel. He ignored scratched knees and sap-sticky hands. After a while he disappeared. “I’m down in this big hole where the roots were,” he called. “There are all kinds of bugs and worms poking their heads out.”
“Don’t get too dirty,” Dad called back.
Lissa could hardly hear them over the chain saw’s buzz. Dad was making good progress. He had the branches off and was starting to cut the trunk into sections. Lissa sucked in a breath of the fresh-cut wood smell.
Dad put the saw down for a moment. He reached his arms above his head to stretch his back. He flashed a smile at Lissa. Her return smile fled when his expression changed to a look of horror. “No!” he yelled.
It happened too fast to even think. Without the weight of its limbs to hold it down, the trunk of the tree had risen from the ground and its heavy ball of dirt and roots smashed back into the hole with a thud that shook the earth. The trunk quivered for a moment. No movement or sound came from the hole.
“Spencer!” Dad and Lissa screamed at the same time. They raced for the hole. Tears streamed down Lissa’s cheeks as she and Dad shoved at the trunk. It didn’t budge. They kept trying.
“What’s the matter?” Spencer’s voice came from behind them. “How’d the tree stand up again?”
Lissa and Dad whirled around. Spencer watched them calmly from beside a clump of azaleas.
Dad’s face collapsed with emotion as he grabbed Spencer to him.
“Where were you?” Lissa asked. Her voice sounded strange.
“Behind the bushes,” Spencer said into Dad’s shirt.
“We thought—we thought you were down in the hole!” Lissa put her arms around both Dad and her brother.
“You thought I got squished?” Spencer asked, pulling away from them.
They nodded.
“I was down there,” Spencer said, “but Dad told me to get out.”
Dad looked at him. “I didn’t.”
“Yes you did,” Spencer insisted. “You said, ‘Get out of the hole right now.’”
Dad shook his head. “It wasn’t me. Was it you, Lissa?”
“No.”
Spencer’s eyes grew wide.
“I’m glad you listened,” Lissa whispered.
“And obeyed,” Dad added.
Spencer gave a shaky grin. “I guess I always will from now on.”
“Me, too,” Lissa said. And she meant it with all her heart.