Gospel Story Finder

I’m home again. Things are not going well. The cancer is back, and Tuesday I’ll be leaving for Minnesota for a bone marrow transplant. I’m not excited about it, but it’s the only hope I have. …
I’ve been in Minnesota for a couple of days now. The doctors have killed most of my diseased bone marrow, and because of that I need blood platelets and white cells. I don’t know anyone here to ask to be a donor, so I had the doctor call the mission president. Within just a few hours—can you believe it!—there were more than eight people here waiting to be typed. My doctor was amazed, and I was just thankful. It isn’t like giving blood. They had to sit by a machine for several hours while their blood was pumped out and stripped of the materials I need.
None of them even knew me, and some of them drove as far as 60 miles to help me. The Church is like a big family for me. I know I can depend on the members for help anytime I need it. It’s a good feeling.
My brother is going to be the donor for my transplant. I’m grateful that his marrow is compatible with mine and grateful he is willing to give it to me. It’s a big sacrifice. I really love him for it.
During the operation they are going to kill the rest of my bone marrow and then give me some of my brother’s healthy marrow. If the transplant doesn’t work, I’m in a little bit of trouble. It’s a chance I have to take. I don’t have a choice, not if I want to live. There is so much I want to do, but if I don’t make it, I’m grateful for what I’ve had. I have so much to be thankful for: my family, my friends, the gospel.
I still don’t know why this has happened to me. I guess it really isn’t important. What I do know is that I must trust in and obey my Father in Heaven. I know that in the end, everything will be all right. One of the beautiful things about the gospel is that no matter what happens to us, as long as we have faith and as long as we are obedient, we have hope. I wouldn’t wish what I have experienced on anyone, but I do wish that everyone could feel what I feel about the beauty of life, about the value of living every day as completely as we can, and most of all, about the beauty and strength the gospel can bring to us.

When I was young, I never wondered, “Should I go on a mission?” I always knew that I wanted to serve a mission, and I was called to be a missionary in England. Very early in my mission, I had a very important decision to make. I had to decide just what kind of missionary I was going to be. Was I going to be a really good missionary? Would I follow every rule and always do my best? Or would I just follow most of the rules and do my best some of the time? I decided that I wanted to be a really good missionary. Every day I got up at the time we were supposed to get up, or even a little early. Every day I studied the missionary discussions and the scriptures. And every day my companion and I tried to not miss any opportunities to talk to people about the gospel.
I have always found that when we do the little things correctly, the Lord gives us the strength to accomplish big things. One day my companion and I were walking to an appointment when we both got the feeling that we should go another way. After we changed directions, we noticed a man walking toward us. He was wearing a Brigham Young University sweatshirt. We stopped and asked him about it.
He said that his sister had traveled across the United States. She had stopped in Provo, Utah, and bought him the shirt at the BYU campus bookstore. Neither he nor his sister was a member of the Church, and he knew nothing about it or BYU. My companion and I were able to teach this man and his wife about the gospel and baptize them. Meeting this man was not a coincidence. The Holy Ghost guided my companion and me to meet him. Because we were following the rules and keeping the commandments, we were able to hear the still, small voice.

Yellowman family
“People like being included. They just need to be invited.”
The home of Tom and Gina Yellowman, in Kirtland, New Mexico, is a place where friends and neighbors gather regularly for dinners. “But there’s a catch,” Gina says as she, her son, and her daughter prepare fry bread in the kitchen. “You can only come if you bring someone from your ward who hasn’t been attending church or someone, member or not, who needs a friend.”
She explains: “We kept meeting people who felt isolated. So we decided to have a barbecue where they could get to know others. For example, my niece came. She’s a high school volleyball coach, and a couple of her players and their families came too. Two of the girls on the team hadn’t realized before that they are both members of the Church.
“And there are people who live across the river on the reservation, but they didn’t know each other. When they came here, they figured out, ‘Hey, we’re neighbors,’ and now they have friends nearby who share the same standards, people they can turn to for help or just to borrow a potato because they live far from the grocery store. That was our goal—to bring people together so they can support each other.”

Scott was not the best athlete in his high school. He had not carried the ball or tackled anyone in football, won any races in track and field, or scored any points in basketball. Yet that year his school’s athletes, coaches, and parents gathered to present him with their most prestigious award, the award for best athlete of the year. In the past, young men and women who received the award were on championship teams or won individual honors. Several had gone on to college with scholarships attesting to their abilities. Why they now gave the highest award to someone who had not been a member of any team is a story of sensitivity and gratitude for a boy honored for a different type of achievement.
I know this story because I am Scott’s priesthood adviser. I knew that Scott was given the award because he had, as manager of the football team, contributed his enthusiasm, warmth, and work to the team members. After one ugly incident when Scott was abused by a member of the team, the coach and other team members became very protective of him. Because of their love they voted to give him the award.

Illustration by Toni Oka
Taking the step to leave her family and gather to Zion was a profound choice for 20-year-old Cyrena Dustin. Baptized in Portage, Ohio, in March 1837, she was the only member of her family to accept the message of the restored gospel. Joining the Church brought opposition from her family, but rather than abandon her faith, Cyrena held fast to her testimony.
In the summer of 1837, she traveled to Kirtland, Ohio, and visited the recently dedicated temple. She described that meaningful experience: “Truly I felt like thanking God that my mind had been enlightened and that I had been permitted to embrace the gospel and partake of its blessings.”
The next year she felt the desire to gather to Zion and join her fellow Latter-day Saints in Missouri. This decision not only separated her from her family but required her to, in her words, “start out alone in the world to fight the battle of life among strangers.”
Cyrena trusted in the promises of her patriarchal blessing, which brought her comfort and gave her the “necessary faith, courage, and fortitude to make the sacrifice of leaving home and friends.” She wrote of her determination: “I went forth trusting in the Lord in full faith that he would give me grace sufficient to overcome all obstacles and difficulties which might be thrown in my way, and that I might endure to the end.”
Her final farewell with her parents and siblings before leaving for Far West, Missouri, was filled with tears, pleas for her to stay, and even threats to have her forcibly returned home. Despite the sadness, Cyrena left holding firm to the conviction that she had heard the voice of the Lord.
“As I was leaving the house,” she recalled, “I turned back at the door and bore a faithful testimony to the truth of the gospel, and that was the last time I ever saw any of my father’s family.”
Quotations come from Cyrena Dustin Merrill, Autobiography, L. Tom Perry Special Collections, Harold B. Lee Library, Brigham Young University.
A longer version of this article can be found in this issue at liahona.ChurchofJesusChrist.org or in the Gospel library app.

Most people wouldn’t have thought 1853 was the best year for the Saints to break ground for an extensive building project. After all, people were still arriving in the Salt Lake Valley, and most of them didn’t bring much with them. One anonymous brother described his situation like this: “I walked the morning the ground was broken for the foundation of the Temple. … I went through frozen mud and slush with my feet tied up in rags. I had on a pair of pants made out of my wife’s skirt—a thin Scotch plaid; also a thin calico shirt and a straw hat. These were all the clothes I had. It was go that way or stay at home. … I was not alone in poverty. … There were many who were fixed as badly as I was.”

But the Lord’s house needed to be built. Later that day, John D. McAllister described the following event:
“The ground being frozen, President Heber C. Kimball commenced breaking the ground with a pick. … President Young took out the first turf. … While taking it out [a] silver dollar was flung from someone in the congregation which struck in the hole. Brother Kimball said that was an omen that we should have plenty of money to build the Temple.”

I walked to school one day, my first day in fourth grade and at a new school. I was scared but got to my classroom OK. At recess, I was all alone. I saw Erin* all alone, too. She didn’t have any friends, and other kids made fun of her because she had lived in three foster homes.
I went over and said hi. She started crying. I asked what was wrong. She said that nobody had been that nice to her. It made me feel really warm inside to know that I had made someone feel better.

The scriptures say the Sabbath day is a holy day, a joyful and delightful day, a day of rest, a day to celebrate.1 But a few years ago, while in my late teens, I found Sundays miserable. Instead of peace, I felt stress. Instead of joy, sadness. Instead of hope, guilt. I had a full-on case of the Sabbath blues.
Each Sunday morning, after an embarrassing amount of time hiding under my covers, I’d finally admit it was indeed Sunday and get dressed for church. At church, I’d review my past week. During the sacrament, I would add up all my failures, never finishing before the first speaker got up. The rest of church became a battle of staving off tears as the guilt intensified with the new regret of feeling so rotten at church.
The afternoon was much the same. I’d feel guilt about past choices, stress about future choices, and sadness about present circumstances. Without school and extracurricular activities to distract me, I would spend my time dwelling on negative thoughts.
After listening to, reading, and then re-reading President Russell M. Nelson’s April 2015 general conference talk about how the Sabbath is a delight, I prayed for peace on and love for the Sabbath rather than the misery I currently felt.2 And an answer came.
I felt prompted to shift my focus from my woes to my relationship with Heavenly Father and the Savior. Rather than ponder my failures, I took time to ponder Their involvement in my life.
When negative thoughts came, I repeated to myself what I knew and believed about God and Jesus Christ: I am a child of God. He loves me. Jesus Christ is my Brother, and He atoned for me. They want me to be happy and return to Them. The Sabbath is a gift from God.
I began to exercise faith in this testimony.
Changing my focus led me to also reconsider how I approached the sacrament. For so long I had treated the sacrament as time to punish myself. But that’s not its purpose. The sacrament is a sacred ordinance to renew our covenants. It is a chance to become clean again through the atoning power of Jesus Christ. Focusing on the ordinance and the covenant with faith and a repentant heart, I realized that the sacrament offered peace as I accepted the gift of forgiveness, kept my covenants, and received the Lord’s Spirit (see D&C 20:77, 79).
Thinking of Christ’s Atonement during the sacrament brought another gift to my mind. Not only could I be forgiven, but I could also receive healing because my Savior took upon Himself my pain and infirmities (see Alma 7:11–12). Through His Atonement and the sacrament, I could find peace and strength on the Sabbath—or on any other day—rather than stress and sadness.
And I found that peace. My Savior is there for me on Sundays and always!
This wasn’t a one-week fix. It was a struggle, and it took time. “But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it” (Romans 8:25). I kept working on my focus and praying to feel love for the Sabbath.
In time, I did find peace and delight on that holy day, but I couldn’t quit there or I’d again slide into the Sabbath slumps. Each week requires diligent focus on the Savior and the purpose of the Sabbath, but I know the promise of peace and joy is true.

Just the year before, the family had been living in Colorado, and Ryan had injured his shoulder in an accident at school. When the local doctor checked the shoulder, he found evidence of cancer in Ryan’s arm. Ryan and his mom drove for five and a half hours to the hospital in Denver, taking with them only enough for a stay of one or two days. They were in Denver for three and a half weeks.
During the following year, as Ryan went through chemotherapy, surgery to replace the diseased bone in his left arm with a donor bone, and chemotherapy again, the family, Church members, and community friends drew close together. The family came to understand what things are most important. “We almost lost him a couple of times,” said Mom. “He’s here because of priesthood blessings and prayer.”
“I got comfort from the whole ward,” Ryan remembered. “The Young Women in our ward put on a carnival. Afterwards they had a bake auction, and they raised nine hundred dollars for us.” His Primary teacher sent him messages each week, a special fast was held for him, and ward members tended the other Foster children when Ryan and his mom had to be away. His home teacher gave him a special blessing before every trip to Denver. Friends at school raised six hundred dollars, and the principal brought the money to Denver. So Ryan learned to take serious things seriously, and the next year, after the family had moved to South Carolina and Hugo came, all that Ryan and his family had learned during his experience in Colorado was reinforced. Prayers were offered. Priesthood blessings were given to many. Members in areas not hit by the hurricane sent items from their emergency supplies to those in areas that were hurt. Church distribution centers sent stoves and lanterns and food. And teams of members, from Scouts to grandmas, came to help with the cleanup. The goodness and unselfishness of the community at large was also seen.

As it got late, everybody separated except Patrick and me. We left together in a jeepney. Still wondering why Patrick didn’t join in, I thought back to a day four years before, when we were 16. I remembered we were walking in the street near our school when I told him I wanted to be a priest someday.

“In our church you could already be a priest,” Patrick replied. “You just need to be ordained. Then when you turn 19, you can preach the gospel as a missionary.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said, thinking he didn’t know much about the gospel. “How can a 19-year-old preach to people? Priests take a lot of time to study so they can preach.”

Patrick insisted that 19-year-olds in his church could preach. He told me that his church also has another book of scripture, and he gave me a copy. I browsed through it at home, and I felt something mysterious in that book. But I didn’t really care about it; I just stuck it in a box, where it lay for the next four years.

Now, as we rode in the jeepney after the party, I asked Patrick where he was going. “I’m meeting some friends. They’re elders—missionaries.” I remembered having seen them around. I asked Patrick if he would take me to the elders so I could ask them some questions about their church.

We met up with the missionaries at a store near their subdivision, and they greeted us by shaking our hands. It was very formal. But after they introduced themselves to me, I realized they seemed like any other guys. They wanted to set up an appointment to answer my questions.

“OK, I’ll just get your number so if I’m available, I will text you,” I replied. I wasn’t really planning to text them.

When I got home, I got the book Patrick had given me four years before—something about it made me curious. The next morning I texted the missionaries to teach me. They started with the Restoration of the gospel. It sounded so different, and I told myself, “Why do people want to restore things when they know that older generations are different than our generation now?”

After two discussions I decided not to pursue them anymore. When asked why, I replied, “I’m just not interested anymore.” One week passed. I sat staring at the Book of Mormon, pondering the message I had been taught. I started to read what the missionaries told me to in 3 Nephi 11. I read that Jesus went to another nation to show that He was the Savior and Messiah. In 3 Nephi 15, I recognized one passage that I had read before in the Bible, in John 10:16. It was something the missionaries hadn’t even taught me yet.

Tears fell down my face, and I found myself weeping in my room. I realized the love Jesus Christ has for us. He loves us so much that He gave His own life to save us from our sins. I didn’t hesitate to pray, asking to know if the Book of Mormon I was holding is true. Praying in my room, all alone, I suddenly felt that somebody was there listening to me.

My heart was softened by the impressions I had received. I stood up and said, “This is the true Church. I know that this is the Church that Jesus Christ restored.”

The day before my baptism, I repeated the process of praying. Again what I had heard and felt sunk into my heart, and I knew the Holy Ghost had revealed the truth to me. I knew the truth that Jesus is the Christ. I felt in my heart and mind that I desired to be baptized, believing that through the Atonement of Jesus Christ I could be cleansed.

Jesus Christ atoned for our sins, and this is the very reason I was converted. I know that He was the only one who has the power and the authority to rebuild His Church in our dispensation. Now as a missionary serving in the Philippines Cagayan de Oro Mission, I am doing the best I can to help people feel the great happiness I have now.

When disaster struck in Oklahoma City last April, rescue workers were on the scene almost immediately. Many workers, who gave up regard for personal safety, made one request. They wanted some candy—it helped to keep their energy up while they were working.
Laurels in the Choctaw Ward, Oklahoma South Stake, went to work, stringing candy “leis” together for the workers to wear around their necks. Other leis were given to bomb victim’s families as a symbol of the love and prayers the Laurels were sending to all the people involved.
“We took the leis to the hospital and met a man whose wife and two sons had been hurt in the bombing. Our leis let them know they were loved and we were behind them,” says Laurel Rebecca Nevin.

When I was a missionary, as my companion and I were studying, we came across a four-word verse: “Quench not the Spirit” (1 Thes. 5:19). We thought that was an intriguing verse and that quench was an interesting word. As we would walk along tracting, if we found ourselves being somewhat light-minded, one of us would say to the other, “Quench not the Spirit.” It became a phrase that would come up whenever we found ourselves beginning to say or do things we felt we shouldn’t. That phrase has continued to come to my mind at such times throughout the rest of my life.

Elder Ulisses Soares traveled with President Dallin H. Oaks to help dedicate a new temple in Colombia, in the city of Barranquilla [bar-an-KEE-ya].
Many children came with their parents to see the new temple be dedicated.
President Oaks invited a boy and girl to help seal the cornerstone in place. The temple was finished!
Inside the temple after the cornerstone ceremony, Elder Soares gave a talk. Then President Oaks gave a prayer to dedicate the temple to the Lord. Now the temple is the Lord’s house.
Now children will be able to go inside to be sealed to their families and do temple baptisms!
“Whatever you do, keep your eyes on the temple.”
—Elder Ulisses Soares

Frederick W. Babbel, who accompanied Elder Ezra Taft Benson on his postwar visit to Europe to assist the struggling Saints, recounts in his book On Wings of Faith one heartrending account. A woman, even the mother of four small children, had been newly widowed. Her husband, young and handsome, whom she loved more than life itself, had been killed during the final days of the frightful battles in their homeland of East Prussia. She and her children were forced to flee to West Germany, a distance of a thousand miles. The weather was mild as they began their long and difficult trek on foot. Constantly being faced with dangers from panicky refugees and marauding troops was difficult enough, but then came the cold of winter, with its accompanying snow and ice. Her resources were meager; now they were gone. All she had was her strong faith in God and in the gospel as revealed to the latter-day prophet Joseph Smith.
And then one morning the unthinkable happened. She awakened with a chill in her heart. The tiny form of her three-year-old daughter was cold and still, and she realized that death had claimed her. With great effort the mother prepared a shallow grave and buried her precious child.
Death, however, was to be her companion again and again on the journey. Her seven-year-old perished, and then her five-year-old. Her despair was all-consuming. Finally, as she was reaching the end of her travel, the baby died in her arms. She had lost her husband and all her children. She had given up all her earthly goods, her home, and even her homeland.
From the depths of her despair, she knelt and prayed more fervently than she had ever prayed in her life: “Dear Heavenly Father, I do not know how I can go on. I have nothing left—except my faith in thee. I feel amidst the desolation of my soul an overwhelming gratitude for the atoning sacrifice of thy Son, Jesus Christ. I know that because he suffered and died, I shall live again with my family; that because he broke the chains of death, I shall see my children again in the flesh and will have the joy of raising them. Though I do not at this moment wish to live, I will do so, that we may be reunited as a family and return, together, to thee.” This prayer, this testimony sustained her until finally she reached Karlsruhe, her destination.

1 Whoa! I’ll get sent down to the minors if you keep pounding my famous fast ball.
2 Dad, Sister Simon told us that Jesus blessed people who couldn’t walk, and they stood up and walked. You gave me a blessing after my accident. How come I wasn’t healed?
I don’t know why, Sweetheart. Heavenly Father could raise up everyone out of every wheelchair, but he has chosen not to. What I do know is that he loves you and will do what’s best for you.
3 But being healed, would be best for me. What could be wrong with running and jumping and being free of this chair?
I don’t know. But tell me—haven’t you gained anything from being in that chair?
4 Well, I guess my arms are stronger.
And so is your spirit. You’ve become a very brave young lady, and I’ve watched you develop great love and kindness for other people with problems. Would you really want to give up everything you’ve learned?
5 I guess not, but I really want to walk again.
You will, Cathlyn. Because of the resurrection, you’ll have a perfect body again someday, and you’ll also get to keep everything you’ve learned from being in this chair. I know it’s a long time to wait, but Heavenly Father will help you.
6 And in the meantime, I can already hit your famous fast ball.
True, but I’ve been working on a mystery curve.
I like solving mysteries.

Some 23 years ago I was called as a young man to serve as the bishop of a large ward in Salt Lake City. The magnitude of the calling was overwhelming and the responsibility frightening. My inadequacy humbled me. But my Heavenly Father did not leave me to wander in darkness and in silence, uninstructed or uninspired. In his own way he revealed the lessons he would have me learn.
One evening at a late hour my telephone rang. I heard a voice say, “Bishop Monson, this is the hospital calling. Kathleen McKee, a member of your congregation, has just passed away. Our records reveal that she had no next of kin, but your name is listed as the one to be notified in the event of her death. Could you come to the hospital right away?”
Upon arriving there, I was presented with a sealed envelope which contained a key to the modest apartment in which Kathleen McKee had lived. A childless widow 73 years of age, she had enjoyed but few of life’s luxuries and possessed scarcely sufficient of its necessities. In the twilight of her life she had become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Being a quiet and overly reserved person, little was known about her life.
That same night I entered her tidy basement apartment, turned the light switch, and in a moment discovered a letter written ever so meticulously in Kathleen McKee’s own hand. It rested face up on a small table and read:
“Bishop Monson,
“I think I shall not return from the hospital. In the dresser drawer is a small insurance policy which will cover funeral expenses. The furniture may be given to my neighbors.
“In the kitchen are my three precious canaries. Two of them are beautiful, yellow-gold in color, and are perfectly marked. On their cages I have noted the names of friends to whom they are to be given. In the third cage is ‘Billie.’ He is my favorite. Billie looks a bit scrubby, and his yellow hue is marred by gray on his wings. Will you and your family make a home for him? He isn’t the prettiest, but his song is the best.”
In the days that followed, I learned much more about Kathleen McKee. She had befriended many neighbors in need. She had given cheer and comfort almost daily to a cripple who lived down the street. Indeed, she had brightened each life she touched. Kathleen McKee was much like “Billie,” her prized yellow canary with gray on its wings. She was not blessed with beauty, gifted with poise, nor honored by posterity. Yet her song helped others to more willingly bear their burdens and more ably shoulder their tasks. She lived the message of the verse:
“Go, gladden the lonely, the dreary;
Go, comfort the weeping, the weary;
Go, scatter kind deeds on your way;
Oh, make the world brighter today!”
—Deseret Sunday School Songs, 1909, No. 197

While packing to attend Especially for Youth at a local college campus, I felt as though I should bring an extra copy of the Book of Mormon to pass out. Thinking only members of the Church would be there, I didn’t understand why I would have such a prompting, but I followed it anyway and packed the book.
During several mealtimes, I happened to sit by some girls attending a jazz band camp that was on campus that week. They had a lot of questions about the Church, and I felt the Holy Spirit guide me on what to say. Much of my time was spent teaching instead of eating. I offered the girls the Book of Mormon that I had felt prompted to bring. One accepted it. Then I knew why the Lord had prompted me to bring it.
Be sure to listen to the promptings of the Holy Spirit and “trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding” (Prov. 3:5).

In his earliest childhood in Huntsville, Utah, where on his father’s farm he grew to manhood, he was taught by the example of his parents that the Lord and his work were to come first in a person’s life. When he was eight years of age, his two older sisters died, and a short time later his father was called on a two-year mission to Scotland. Sister McKay was to give birth to a baby girl in ten days, the farm had to be run, and the young family needed to be fed. But the Church came first. It was a test of faith, of commitment. As the elder McKay climbed on his horse to leave, he lifted his little son up into his arms, kissed him good-bye, and said, “David, take care of Mama and the family.” From that day onward, an exceptional sense of responsibility seemed to press on young David.

“Can we visit Heavenly Father?” Tara asked Dad as she got ready for bed.
“Probably not for a long time,” Dad answered.
“Last summer we flew on an airplane to visit Grandma Hill. We could fly on an airplane,” Tara said.
“We can’t get there on an airplane,” Dad said.
“At Christmas, we went by train to see Grandpa and Grandma Flowers. Maybe we could go by train,” Tara said hopefully.
“I’m afraid a train can’t take us there, either,” Dad said.
“Sometimes we drive in our car to visit friends,” Tara told father. “Let’s go by car. Or, I know, we can go by boat.” Tara was remembering the boat ride they had taken across the river.
“I’m sorry,” Dad said. “Not even a car or a boat can take us to Heavenly Father.”
Tara felt sad. She wanted to visit Heavenly Father. Daddy pulled her onto his lap and kissed her forehead. “We can’t visit Heavenly Father, but you can talk to him,” Dad said.
“You mean I can call him on the telephone or send him a letter?”
“No, but there’s something else you can do. Think about it.”
As she got ready for bed, Tara wondered how she could talk to Heavenly Father. She still couldn’t figure out what Dad had meant.
When Dad came into her room to listen to her say her prayers, she knelt, then jumped up and hugged Dad. “I know—I can talk to Heavenly Father by saying my prayers!”
“That’s right,” Dad said, hugging her. “And he will always listen.”

August 20
Dear Sarah,
Mr. Trujillo and I took the beans to the Farmer’s Market and sold them. I got $8.00! After tithing, that’s $7.20 I have ready to send you, but I’ll wait till I get some more.
Yesterday I picked beans again. It was easier this time.
Do you remember the Claybourne family? The ones with all those kids? Well, he lost his job, and they’re having a hard time. Mom said they’re trying to get by on their food storage, so she wondered if I would mind giving them the beans from this picking to freeze for the winter. Mom said she’d like to freeze some, too, and that would help us have more money for bills and for you.
So I told Mr. Trujillo why I wouldn’t be selling my beans this time, and he looked at me sort of funny again, then gave me a bushel from his rows too. We gave the Claybournes zucchini also.
I hope you won’t mind about the bean money.
Love,Angela the Delivery Girl