Gospel Story Finder

Erik Fagergren sloshes along one of the dirt-turned-to-mud roads that crisscross the San Rafael Valley between his home in Patagonia, Arizona, and the United States/Mexico border. The rain has filled the usually dry washes that cross the road into ponds and filled streams and gullies into raging rivers. The four-wheel-drive Suburban plows through one of the small ponds, the exhaust pipe belching bubbles, and the tires churning muddy water.
Erik points through the rain-streaked windshield at the Patagonia Mountains that jut out of the desert. It was in those mountains that Erik led his dad, bishop, and three other Scouts on a 50-mile hike for his Backpacking merit badge.
Impaling the storm clouds to the east are the Huachuca Mountains. On a lake in these mountains, Erik earned his Rowing and Canoeing merit badges.
The road Erik is bumping along passes old film sets where the musical Oklahoma and many western movies were filmed. It is also the road Erik pedaled for 50 miles to finish his Cycling merit badge. Some of the other cycling trips he took for this merit badge took him on the highway that leads north out of Patagonia to Sanoita.
Traveling south on the highway out of Patagonia is Nogales, Arizona, where Erik attended church and Scout meetings. Being active in the Church and Scouting for so many years, and living 30 minutes from the church, means putting in a lot of miles—especially when there are six brothers and sisters in the family. The vehicle that has taken them to most of their meetings and activities has traveled more than 500,000 miles—the equivalent of about 20 times around the earth or just a little farther than to the moon and back.
But the Fagergren family’s dedication to Scouting has done more than rack up miles on the family car. Erik says the standards of Scouting reinforce the standards he has learned in church.
Erik’s decision to follow his family’s legacy in Scouting earned him the title of Outstanding Eagle Scout of the Year, a national award given by the Sons of the American Revolution. The award came with a check for $5,000—money Erik says will help pay for his mission. But his passion for Scouting has earned him something more valuable than mission money; it has helped him learn values that make good missionaries.
Erik’s love of Scouting and his goal to earn his Eagle Award came in part from his dad and two older brothers who were also Eagle Scouts. Their examples helped Erik get involved in Scouting earlier than most people. Before he turned 12, his dad was the Scoutmaster and his brothers were active in Scouting. Although he wasn’t officially a Scout, Erik went camping with his dad and the troops and anxiously anticipated the day he would wear a uniform.
“I couldn’t wait until I turned 12 so I could actually start earning my merit badges and ranks,” Erik says. When he turned 12, he began walking in the footsteps of his dad and older brothers toward his Eagle Award. Along with the merit badges and rank advancements, Erik learned important values.
The Scout slogan is “Do a good turn daily,” and service is a value that Erik has tried to internalize. During high school, Erik donated time at a farm for injured animals. The owners of the farm were getting old, and their health kept them from working as much as they wanted. So every day after school, Erik would spend time feeding the animals and doing other chores on the farm.
Erik has served in many leadership roles in Church and school. He has served in quorum leadership as a deacon, teacher, and priest. As the only priesthood-holding student in his school, he set an example by living up to Church standards.
When it was time for Erik’s Eagle project, he found plenty of people willing to help. “I always went out helping the other guys with their projects, and they helped me in return,” he says.
The cemetery in Patagonia sits on a hill and overlooks the town. Although it is still used, the cemetery doesn’t receive continual maintenance, and many of the headstones were buried, and weeds and trash had covered others. For his Eagle project, Erik, with the help of his family, ward members, and friends from the community, cleaned the cemetery.
But when he earned his Eagle Award, Erik didn’t stop Scouting. “When I got my Eagle, I had about 60 merit badges, about half of the possible badges. My Scoutmaster would always joke around, ‘So when are you going to finish them all?’” Although it was just a joke, Erik started to wonder if it really could be done. “I started out just wishing. Then I was talking to my dad and he said, ‘Maybe you should try,’ so I just started working on it.”
Three weeks before his 18th birthday, Erik earned his Bugling merit badge. That brought the total number to 119, all that were available.
“Through doing the merit badges, it helped me choose what I want to go into as a career. There is such a variety of merit badges. By doing each one and researching each field, I learned about what I would do in each job,” Erik says. Inspired by the Engineering and Computers merit badges, Erik now studies mechanical engineering as a freshman at the University of Arizona.
As well as directing him in his career choice, Scouting helped Erik decide what kind of person he wants to be. He says Scouting teaches values, such as those in the Scout Law. “I haven’t forgotten it,” Erik says. “A Scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, reverent,” he quotes it without hesitation.
Everybody who knows Erik comments on his high standards, and they often use words from the Scout Law to describe him. Erik believes these standards have helped him fulfill his priesthood responsibilities and prepare for a mission. “Keeping the standards of the Church and Scouting, I was prepared to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood,” Erik says. “When you learn values, they help no matter what situation you are in.”
When Erik turns 19, he plans to serve a mission, something he has looked forward to for a long time. Although he still has to wait a year, Erik says since he has been ordained an elder, he already has many of the responsibilities of a missionary; he just isn’t set apart to do it full-time. “Being an elder means you are in the service of your fellow beings,” Erik says. “I’m responsible to let people know the truth of the gospel.”
Until Erik is called as a full-time missionary, the skills he learned in Scouting will keep him busy exploring caves, rafting rivers, and biking trails in the Sonora Desert. Once he goes on a mission the climbing ropes, backpack, bike, and raft will have to be put away. But the values he learned will stay with him and help him share the gospel as someone who is striving to live it.

One night recently my seven-year-old son was having a hard time and was misbehaving, so I sent him to bed a little early. My two boys share the same room, and I usually read to them before bed. That night as I went down to read to them, I was in a hurry to finish a talk I had coming up in my Church assignment—as well as being a little frustrated with my son’s behavior. So I hurriedly read to them and, before leaving, gave my son one more short lecture on proper behavior. During that time I felt something—a feeling—that I should stop and give him a hug and tell him that I loved him. But in my haste and frustration I ignored the prompting, finished reading, and hurried back upstairs to finish my talk. That was a missed opportunity I regret.

Thankfully for me, Heavenly Father is patient—perfectly patient—and was patient with me on that occasion. The next morning, as I was lying in bed getting ready to get up and start the day, I felt that same prompting: give your son a hug and tell him that you love him. This time I followed the prompting. When my son awoke, I called to him and asked if he could come to my room. When he did, I asked him to sit down on my bed.

He did so and looked at me and asked, “What?” like he was expecting to get another lecture like the night before.

I said, “Hayden, I sure love you and am grateful that you are my son.” I then gave him a big hug. He got up and left, and a few minutes later I could hear my son in his happy element, making siren sounds while playing with Legos. The experience was nothing spectacular, but it was a tender mercy, and I am thankful for a second prompting from the Spirit to do what I should have done the night before.

My grandfather had been living in Farmington, Utah, for a few years before he and his family were asked to go out into south-central Idaho and help settle a new community to be named Oakley. My father, Hector, was a teenager when they moved. My mother, Clara, was a teenager living in Tooele, Utah, when her father was asked to move to Oakley and build the first flour mill there. And so Hector and Clara fell in love out in that little Idaho town.
When it was time to be married in 1890, they didn’t ask where they would be married and what they would do. They knew what to do. I remind those of you who may not have your geography straight that in that part of Idaho it is about 180 miles to the Logan Temple. But my parents went to the Logan Temple from that little town to be married on May 15, 1890. I’ve often wondered how they made the trip. Imagine one of the old double-seat surrey buggies without any sides on it, pulled by a team of horses. In spite of spring rains, they set out to go 180 miles in the buggy.
I don’t know how many were in the company, but if you would imagine a modern automobile with its steel top, glass sides, heaters, radio, comfortable seats by the side of that buggy, you would see a great difference. Imagine those young people with some of their party organizing to travel 180 miles. It would take a week. They set out to make the seven-day trip to the temple in that buggy. They were without sleeping bags or winter clothing as we know it today, but they had clothing that was appropriate for that time—blankets and quilts—and some flour sacks filled with food.
So when we sing about the strength of the hills, we should thank the Lord for the strength of where we are and who we are and what we believe in and how we live. Are the young people today wondering if it would be inconvenient for them to go a few miles to the Manti Temple or the St. George Temple or the Atlanta Georgia Temple or even to the Stockholm Sweden Temple or the Johannesburg South Africa Temple or wherever it might be? Picture in your minds what went on only a few years ago, and your travel to a temple will not seem so inconvenient.

I’m trying to read the whole Book of Mormon before I turn eight. In family home evening my dad talked about setting goals, so I decided to read three pages a day to meet my goal. Sometimes I take my Book of Mormon to school so I can read it during silent reading. My friends have asked me about the Book of Mormon, and I have been able to tell them about it. I’m happy that we can have the scriptures to read and share with others.
Emily S., age 7, Texas

Sabrina, age 18, remembers the sister missionaries coming to home evening when she was 10. “They taught me simply but firmly that God reveals truth through prayer,” she says. “They said I needed to kneel down and ask Heavenly Father in humility to give me a testimony. ‘Me kneel down?’ I thought to myself. A few days later, Mom wanted to go for a walk with my sisters and me. Even though the sun was shining and I wanted to go with them, something stopped me. I knew it was the perfect time to pray. I knelt down in the dining room. I pleaded with Heavenly Father to let me know if the Book of Mormon was true. I asked Him if the principles I was taught in church were true. Five minutes went by. After I ended my prayer I remained on my knees. Suddenly a ray of light illuminated my face. I could not understand this, because the house was dark. But there was a small window in the kitchen without a curtain, and the light was coming from there.

“I felt so happy. I realized my Father had answered my prayer in this way. Now I have a testimony of all these things, and I know they are true. I know prayer has tremendous power.”

I have been the recipient of countless acts of service. It seems more so since my husband passed away. Our home teacher, brother Lauvaki, came by almost every day. He answered my questions, counseled me, and gave me whatever support I needed at the time. He was always calm, thoughtful and kind. Sister Connie Lo was the gatekeeper-asking people to come back later when I would be more prepared to see them, always ready to help without wanting any recognition. We had so much food brought to our house I asked my daughter to tell the Relief Society compassionate service leader to let the sisters who signed up for meals know that we didn't need any more food. She told my daughter that the sign up list had not been passed around yet! I can never repay the kindness received from so many people, but I can do to others what was done to me. So many others helped me and I cannot name them all. Liam and Veronica, students from New Zealand and Taiwan, came by once a month and still come to give me a spiritual message. Many students and our former missionaries come by to help me with the yard work and whatever I need help with.

I must mention Elder and Sister Dummar. Aside from my children, they were also a lifeline to me. They are senior missionaries serving at Polynesian Cultural Center and live in our downstairs apartment. After the death of my husband, there were many nights when I could not sleep. Whenever I walked down the steps to the bottom of the house, Elder Dummar would be there waiting to see if I needed anything. He would hear my footsteps and come out to check. We took walks around Laie at 2 or 3 a.m. and Elder Dummar and I would talk about my husband Bill, about the gospel and we would laugh or I would cry. My daughter Jessica told me: Mom, you've got to stop walking at night with Elder Dummar, people will start to talk! But they helped me so much during those early awful days after my husband's sudden death.

When I was young I loved playing sports, and I have many fond memories of those days. But not all of them are pleasant. I remember one day after my football team lost a tough game, I came home feeling discouraged. My mother was there. She listened to my sad story. She taught her children to trust in themselves and each other, not blame others for their misfortunes, and give their best effort in everything they attempted.
When we fell down, she expected us to pick ourselves up and get going again. So the advice my mother gave to me then wasn’t altogether unexpected. It has stayed with me all my life.
“Joseph,” she said, “come what may, and love it.”

When he was introduced to the Church, eighteen-year-old Lindo Casinillo couldn’t speak or understand much English. But since the Book of Mormon wasn’t available in Cebuano, he read it in English. “I kept reading it, even though I couldn’t understand it,” he says. “I read until I could understand it.” Now, only a few years later, he has read it seven times, from cover to cover. His English is fluent.

During my first year of high school, my seminary teacher invited my class to give copies of the Book of Mormon to nonmember friends. Even though I was incredibly timid, I accepted the invitation.
It took me a couple of days to build up the courage, but I eventually gave my friend Britny the book during lunch hour and bore a brief testimony. Britny thanked me for the book.
At the end of that school year, Britny moved, but we kept in touch. She told me about her new school and how almost all her friends were members of the Church, but she never talked about anything spiritual with me.
That changed before I left for my mission. I got a message from Britny saying she had big news for me: she was going to be baptized, and she wanted to thank me for being her friend and setting a good example.
God took a shy 15-year-old boy with no missionary experience and directed him to share the gospel with someone He knew would accept it. I know that by listening to the Spirit, we can all find people around us who are waiting to learn about the restored gospel. I know that if we help bring even one person to the Lord, “how great shall be [our] joy with him [or her] in the kingdom of [our] Father!” (D&C 18:15).

One preparation day, my missionary companion and I were visiting a cathedral in Parma, Italy. While marveling at the beautiful paintings there, I noticed a monk reading nearby. I received a prompting to talk to him about the Book of Mormon, but I became afraid.
How would a Catholic monk react to a missionary proselyting inside a cathedral? The prompting came again, but again I dismissed it.
A few weeks later, the other two elders in our apartment told us they had visited with a monk named Giuseppe while street contacting. After they had taught him a lesson, he accepted a copy of the Book of Mormon.
When the missionaries met with Giuseppe a week later, he had already read much of the book. He was very excited about it.
Before the missionaries met with Giuseppe again, my companion was transferred, so I joined their companionship. When we went to teach Giuseppe in the cathedral, I was not surprised to see that he was the same monk I was prompted to talk to earlier.
Giuseppe told us he was reading the book of Alma, whom he compared to the Apostle Paul. We decided to teach him the second lesson, which ended with an invitation to be baptized. At the end of our lesson, just before we could invite Giuseppe to follow the example of Jesus Christ by being baptized, the cathedral bells began ringing, startling us.
Giuseppe had lost track of time and said he needed to join the other monks for midday prayers. Then he apologized, saying he would be unavailable in the future because he was going to a monastic retreat. His ordination as a priest would follow.
We were surprised at how that significant moment had just evaporated. Had I responded to my earlier prompting, we would have had more time to teach Giuseppe and he would have had time to finish reading the Book of Mormon. As far as I know, missionaries never taught him again.
After that experience, the sound of clock-tower bells reminded me how valuable and short our time is. For the rest of my mission, every time I heard a bell tower ring, I was motivated to speak to anyone I could about the gospel. Today, I still strive to follow promptings from the Spirit.

Zina Diantha Huntington Young first encountered the Book of Mormon when she was 14 years old and living in Watertown, New York. She later wrote, “One day on my return from school I saw the Book of Mormon, that strange, new book, lying on the window sill of our sitting-room. I went up to the window, picked it up, and the sweet influence of the Holy Spirit accompanied it to such an extent that I pressed it to my bosom in a rapture of delight, murmuring as I did so, ‘This is the truth, truth, truth’” (see Ensign, March 1984, 37).

This story happened in the USA.
Bradley dumped another cup of sand into his bucket. He was going to need lots!
His school’s science fair was soon. Bradley was making a model that showed how tsunamis worked. He learned that a tsunami is a big wave of water caused by an earthquake in the ocean. He wanted his project to be perfect. Maybe he would win a prize!
When his bucket was full, Bradley gathered some sticks. Then he found a plastic bin and some small toy houses in the basement.
Bradley poured the sand into the bin to make the land. He carefully placed the houses and trees. Next came the exciting part—the water! Once he poured it in, he could push a piece of cardboard through the water to create the wave.
But then he made a big mistake. He poured in too much water! The houses were flooded—and he hadn’t even made the wave yet. The wet sand made a goopy, muddy mess.
Bradley called to his mom in the kitchen. “What should I do now? I put too much water in.”
“That’s OK. You can just start over,” said Mom. “Let’s do it together and measure a little at a time.”
“OK.” Bradley hung his head and went outside to get more sand.
This time they carefully measured the right amount of water and poured it in. Bradley moved the cardboard and watched the waves crash against the sand. It worked!
Next Bradley and Mom worked on his poster. He started writing some fun facts about tsunamis. But the words didn’t fit on the page.
“I don’t want to write it all over again!” Bradley said. His head began to ache.
“We don’t have to rewrite all of it,” said Mom. “We can just reword it so it will fit on the page.”
Bradley groaned. His poster did not look at all like he wanted it to. “I don’t want to do that. It will look bad if the words don’t fit perfectly.”
“Learning can be hard.” Mom gave him a hug. “Sometimes we make mistakes. But the important thing is that we don’t give up. Heavenly Father wants us to keep trying. So let’s take a break and finish in the morning.”
The next morning, they finished his poster. It wasn’t perfect, but Bradley felt a little better about it.
Finally the day of the science fair came. Mom dropped Bradley off at school. “Remember,” she said, “you worked hard on your project and learned a lot. And that’s what matters.”
Bradley carried his project to the big gym. It was full of projects and posters. All the fourth-graders were sitting down and waiting for their turn to show their project.
Soon it was Bradley’s turn. His heart beat fast as he walked to the front. What if everything went wrong?
Bradley pushed the cardboard through the water and showed the judges how the waves crashed against the land.
“What causes those big waves in the ocean?” one of the judges asked.
“The big waves are caused by . . .” Bradley’s mind went blank. “I can’t remember. But I can tell you some fun facts about tsunamis.” He read them the facts on his poster.
After school Bradley climbed into the car with his project.
“How did it go?” Mom asked.
“Not exactly the way I wanted.” Bradley smiled. “But I did my best and kept trying.”

Let me begin with a story familiar to some of you. It goes back to the dedication of another temple, the Salt Lake Temple, which you will recall took forty years to build. President McKay tells of a man who didn’t have money enough even to buy shoes to attend a conference in the Tabernacle. During the conference Brigham Young arose and pied with the brethren that there needed to be more granite brought from the quarry about fifteen miles south. They hauled it mostly by ox team. A man came out from this conference, saw the other brother on the street with a team of oxen. “Why weren’t you there, Brother?” “Uh, my feet. I didn’t feel right about going in.” “Well, Brother Brigham pled for more people to get granite.” “All right,” said the brother, “I’ll go. Whoa, hah, Buck!” And he started.
Man Is a Temple
President McKay’s eyes filled with tears at that simple incident.

All afternoon the children had filled the house with happy sounds of play and laughter. But toward evening, when Joseph Smith came with news that some wicked men had gathered into a mob and were looking for him to do him harm, a feeling of worry and fear settled over everyone.
A few minutes later some friends of “Brother Joseph” also came to the house and offered to help him escape or to stay all night and act as guards against the mob.
Instead of the lighthearted play of the afternoon, the children’s thoughts were now heavy with concern. They loved Brother Joseph. He always had a smile and a pleasant word for them, and never seemed in too much of a hurry to stop and talk with them as he walked about the streets of Kirtland, Ohio.
As the adults discussed how the Prophet could be protected, the children went with their playmates to Mother’s bedroom to talk about how they might be able to help their beloved friend.
The oldest boy was just ten and the youngest child only four years old. In solemn whispers they made their suggestions, but no one had any solution until a seven-year-old girl quietly said, “I know what we can do. We can pray and ask our Father in heaven to keep Brother Joseph safe from harm.”
At that very moment Mother passed by the partly opened door and overheard the suggestion. She hurried to the room where the men were talking and whispered something to the Prophet Joseph. He excused himself and went with her, and they arrived at the bedroom door just in time to see the children kneeling together and to hear their simple prayer for his safety.
Tears filled his eyes and then rolled down his cheeks. And as the children arose from their knees by the bedside, he heard one of them say, “I know Brother Joseph will be safe now. The wicked men can’t hurt him at all.” And he saw the other children nod in agreement.
He wiped his eyes and returned to the room where the men were still discussing his safety. Joseph Smith thanked them but assured them they need have no fear for his safety. He urged them to go to their own homes and rest, saying he no longer needed to worry about escape or about being guarded throughout the night, for he knew that the prayers of the children had been heard.
Everyone rested in peace that night and the next morning the thankful children had breakfast with their beloved Prophet Joseph Smith.

I met a young woman in California who told me this story. She started keeping company with a young man who was a member of the Church, but he wasn’t active. When he got serious and proposed to her, she said, “I will never marry a man who doesn’t honor his priesthood and do his duties in this church. I want to be able to say to my children, ‘You follow your father.’” He wasn’t willing to pay the price, so their courtship ended right there. She was an uncommon girl.

My wife and I tried to think of ways to help our four children remember who they are. We had a Family Home Evening lesson on obedience when they were young, I think ages 6 to 12. In that lesson we talked about the temple and how much we wanted our family to be together forever. I wrote up a contract which said, "I promise to remain worthy so that I can go to the temple with my whole family on the day that the last child gets married." Each of us signed our name to the contract. Over the years, that promise became a regular part of our family conversation. When someone would leave the house on a school trip or a sleepover, or later when they went to college or on their mission, we would say, "Remember who you are. We'll see you in the temple."

About 15 years later, in our last Family Home Evening before we left on our mission to Brazil, our children surprised us by redoing the contract. Two of the children had been married in the temple by then, and the third was engaged. We talked about it again, how we all wanted to be together in the temple on that important day, and then we renewed our promise by signing our names again. I'm happy to report that we were able to keep our contract. Our youngest daughter was married on January 12, 2007. On that day all of our children and all of their spouses were gathered in the sealing room of the Salt Lake Temple. As we looked in each other's eyes we saw tears and we saw commitment and we caught a glimpse of the Celestial Kingdom.

The testimony of the Prophet Joseph continues to change lives. Some years ago I served as the president of the Canadian Mission. In Ontario, Canada, two of our missionaries were proselyting door-to-door on a cold, snowy afternoon. They had not had any measure of success. One elder was experienced; one was new.

The two called at the home of Mr. Elmer Pollard, and he, feeling sympathy for the almost frozen missionaries, invited them in. They presented their message and asked if he would join in prayer. He agreed, on the provision that he could offer the prayer.

The prayer he offered astonished the missionaries. He said, “Heavenly Father, bless these two unfortunate, misguided missionaries that they may return to their homes and not waste their time telling the people of Canada about a message which is so fantastic and about which they know so little.”

As they arose from their knees, Mr. Pollard asked the missionaries never to return to his home. As they left, he said mockingly to them, “You can’t tell me you really believe that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God anyway!” and he slammed the door.

The missionaries had walked but a short distance when the junior companion said timidly, “Elder, we didn’t answer Mr. Pollard.”

The senior companion responded: “We’ve been rejected. Let’s move on.”

The young missionary persisted, however, and the two returned to Mr. Pollard’s door. Mr. Pollard answered the knock and angrily said, “I thought I told you young men never to return!”

The junior companion then said, with all the courage he could muster, “Mr. Pollard, when we left your door, you said that we didn’t really believe Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. I want to testify to you, Mr. Pollard, that I know Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, that by inspiration he translated the sacred record known as the Book of Mormon, that he did see God the Father and Jesus the Son.” The missionaries then departed the doorstep.

I heard this same Mr. Pollard in a testimony meeting state the experiences of that memorable day. He said, “That evening, sleep would not come. I tossed and turned. Over and over in my mind I heard the words, ‘Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. I know it. … I know it. … I know it.’ I could scarcely wait for morning to come. I telephoned the missionaries, using their number which was printed on the small card containing the Articles of Faith. They returned, and this time my wife, my family, and I joined in the discussion as earnest seekers of truth. As a result, we have all embraced the gospel of Jesus Christ. We shall ever be grateful to the testimony of truth brought to us by those two courageous, humble missionaries.”

Please allow me to tell you a story about my family. As my wife, Karen, mentioned, we have been blessed with four sons and one daughter whom we love very, very, much. Our children are very close in age. When Clay, our youngest, was born, our four other children were ages two, three, four, and five. Karen was a very busy mother.

When Clay and Sid were two and four years old, our family was invited to a friend's home for a barbeque. It was held in their backyard which was nicely landscaped and contained a large swimming pool. As we were seated for dinner on the patio, Sid and Clay removed their sandals to dangle their feet in the water near the pool steps. Soon they started to argue and all too predictably Clay began to complain that Sid had done something to annoy him. Karen got up from her seat and went over to Sid and scolded him by whispering something in his ear.

Our visit with our hosts continued for a few more minutes when Karen suddenly jumped from her seat, and in what seemed like one sweeping movement, ran to the pool and then leaped in fully clothed. She scooped Clay from the bottom and brought him back to the pool's edge. Karen had our baby above the water's surface so fast that I am not sure if he even realized that breathing under water was going to be a problem.

Soon it was apparent that Clay was OK and not the least upset by his walk on the bottom of the pool. At this point, Karen turned to Sid and firmly demanded, "why didn't you help your brother?" Then, with all the frustration that a four-year old could muster, he glared at her and said, "You, told me not to touch him!"

I need to conclude in deference to your classes by sharing a couple of things that have happened recently. Last Friday night a dear, longtime friend toppled over at a dinner we were attending. He was unconscious and dying—it was obvious. There were some physicians in the group, one of whom reached him immediately and quickly did what had to be done to save him from choking to death on regurgitation.

Before the 911 folks arrived with their professional skills, our friend was regaining consciousness. His first words were to ask for a blessing, and some there who loved him and were qualified knelt around and petitioned the Lord to bless him.

This sobering incident seemed to me a choice example of the blending of spiritual and temporal help in reaching to supply the needs of those in trouble. It seemed also a clear example of diversity among us in responding to our observation of a need and in our helpfulness in quickly moving to offer assistance. Many present were capable of offering the help urgently needed, but many stood or sat in apparent shock or indecisiveness while a handful moved into action. A life was saved that it seemed certain would be lost.

“You have to tell Ba (Father), Loan (LoAnn).”
Loan looked up at her older brother as they walked home through the snowdrifts. “I … I know, Giang.” She buried her nose deeper into her scarf. “But what will he think when he finds out that I’m singing the solo tonight in our school’s Christmas play?”
Her brother’s answer came in frosty puffs. “I don’t know. It is a great honor that Miss Watson chose you out of all the third graders. But I’m afraid that Ba will not approve. After all, he is a leader in our Buddhist religion, and we do not celebrate Christmas.”
Loan felt tears stinging her eyes. “I wish Ba would understand. Sometimes it’s hard being different. If I was good at something, maybe I could make friends easier.”
“I know, Loan, and you are good at singing.” Her brother put his arm around her. “It’s just that Ba might not like your singing in a Christian program.”
“Loan? Giang?” Their mother called from the front porch.
“We’re coming, Ma (Mother).”
“Ooh, you are wet.” Ma bent to help with their coats, giving them each a kiss. Loan caught the comforting scent of almond shampoo as her mother’s hair swished against her silky aó-dài (long, side-split dress worn over pants). More good smells drifted from the kitchen.
“Mmmm. What’s for dinner?”
“I’m making something special tonight—fish, with your favorite nu’o’ c mam (fish sauce), and mangoes for Uncle Lan.”
“Uncle Lan?” Loan asked.
“Yes, remember? Têt Nguyên Dán (Vietnamese Lunar New Year) is early this year—at the end of January. Uncle Lan has offered to help us get ready for it by fixing our broken couch. Your Aunt Mai and I will sew new clothes.”
Tet, a day filled with fireworks and gifts of money, celebrates the renewal of body and spirit. Loan wondered how she could have forgotten her favorite Vietnamese holiday. She’d forgotten other things too—Buddhist relatives, neighbors, and friends. What would they think if they found out about her solo? Ba would be ashamed.
But it was too late. The play was only a few hours away. Loan stood in the middle of the room, her foot tracing a pattern in the rug. “Ba?”
“Yes?” He looked up from his book. Then, seeing something in her face, his voice turned deep and warm. “Come here, little one. What is it?”
She drew closer, and he put his big hands on her narrow shoulders. Suddenly she was not afraid. Her story poured out.
“Ahhhh.” Wise lines crinkled around her father’s eyes. “Loan, you are too young to remember our home in Vietnam. When you were born in Saigon, it was the season of the rains. Outside our window was a flowering bush where a thrush lived. All day long he sang. I think that that little bird of Saigon gave you his beautiful voice.”
“Then you do not mind?”
“No, my little bird. I am proud for you to be chosen. Go tonight and do your very best. Sing with all your heart and soul.”
“Oh, Ba, thank you.”
“How will you get to the school?”
“One of my classmates, Molly, and her parents will pick me up on the way. There will be a party afterward for my class members and their families in our classroom.”
“I see.” He nodded slowly. “But I wish you to come straight home after the performance. I will send Giang to walk with you.”
“Yes, Ba.”
Loan saw her mother standing in the doorway. “I’m sorry I won’t be here for your special dinner,” she said.
“Do not worry.” Her mother smiled softly. “Hurry, and I will have some food for you before you leave.”
A few hours later Loan climbed the platform in the school auditorium. It was time for her solo, “Silent Night,” the final song in the Christmas play. As she took her place by the nativity scene, the rest of her class filed onstage behind her, holding pinpoint flashlights.
“Shhhh,” Miss Watson signaled. The auditorium lights dimmed, and the curtain swept back to reveal a sea of faces. Loan could feel her knees begin to tremble nervously. Her mouth felt dry. Then Ba’s words floated into her memory: “Sing with all your heart and soul.” She pictured the thrush singing in his flowering bush, and her voice sailed out over the audience, high and pure. “… Sleep in heavenly peace.” On her closing notes, the lights went out. Only the children’s flashlights dotted the dark like a sprinkle of stars. The applause was thunderous.
As the curtains closed, Molly hugged Loan. “You were wonderful,” she whispered. Miss Watson and Loan’s classmates beamed at her.
Loan smiled, too, but her pleasure didn’t last long. Her classmates were already hurrying off the stage to join their families. They were getting ready for the party, and Loan knew that she must leave with Giang.
As the lights went up, Loan spotted Giang in the back of the auditorium. Then her eyes widened. Uncle Lan and Aunt Mai were beside her brother, and next to them, smiling proudly, were Ma and Ba!
They came to hear me sing! Loan realized. Tears blurred her vision.
Suddenly Molly was beside her on the stage. “I hope you’re coming to the Christmas party, Loan.”
“Yes, … I think I am.”
Molly waved to Loan’s mother and father. “Your house was so cheerful tonight when we picked you up. Were you celebrating something?”
“We’re getting ready for our new year—Tet.” Loan hesitated. “W-would you like to come over and see sometime?”
“Could I?” Molly linked her arm through Loan’s. “I’d like that very much.”
Together they ran toward the side of the stage. Loan felt her heart soar and sing like the little bird of Saigon.