Gospel Story Finder

Each student in my kindergarten class gets to be a VIP (Very Important Person) for one week and bring in their family to meet the class at the end of the week. When my family came, I was telling the other children about us and mentioned that my mom and dad were going to the temple the next day. When it was time for the class to ask questions, one girl asked what a temple was. I did my best to explain that it is where people get married forever and where people are baptized and do ordinance work for people who have died. The whole class listened, and I was glad I got to share something that is special to my family and me.

Although temple marriage is associated with eternal promises, a husband and wife need not wait for eternity to experience the blessings of celestial marriage. Many temporal blessings also come from preparing for and being married in the temple. About eight years ago, Lee Hing Chung of Hong Kong lost an arm in an industrial accident. As a result, he also lost his job and became sick and despondent. But today faith fills his heart as he contemplates being sealed in the temple with his wife, Kumviengkumpoonsup, and their children.

“Before we joined the Church,” he says, “I was primarily concerned with making money. Now I have different priorities. … I am so grateful that we are together and that we can be together forever. … The presence of the temple reminds me to be good, to be disciplined, to be worthy” (quoted in Kellene Ricks Adams, “A Dream Come True in Hong Kong,” Liahona, March 1997, 38).

Illustration by Julia Yellow
It was a calm day at my job as a volunteer firefighter, so I decided to read the Book of Mormon. When one of my co-workers saw me reading, he asked if I knew how we could put on the armor of God in modern times. As we were talking, the alarm sounded. There was a fire in a nearby store.
We quickly put on our firefighting gear and went straight there. The flames were huge, and as we approached the store, something exploded in our direction. The flames engulfed us. The explosion disoriented my co-worker and me for a few seconds. But thanks to our equipment and protective clothing, we suffered no injury.
When we returned to the station after fighting the fire, I asked my co-worker if he remembered his question about the armor of God. He said he did, and I explained that the armor of God is like our protective firefighting gear. We must always wear it so we can withstand the powerful attacks of the adversary. If we keep the commandments, we will be blessed with the protective power of the armor of God, and the Holy Ghost will be our guide.
Fernando de la Rosa Marrón, Mexico

Some women face illness and incapacity, even to the point of being bedfast. Even so, there is the privilege to rise above affliction and to be a true example of faith, of love, and of service. Such was the partnership of Virginia and her husband, Eugene Jelesnik. They for many years worked together in bringing the gift of song and the joy of music to thousands of servicemen and women and to audiences from stages worldwide. Then illness and advancing age forced Virginia to remain within four walls—bedfast. But her spirit could not be held hostage by an impaired body. She continued to encourage her husband and to be his inspiration and constant support. All who are the beneficiaries of Eugene’s community concerts and his civic service marvel at his energy, his enthusiasm, and his kindness. In his many responsibilities, Virginia was ever a source of his strength.

At one time I worked on the immediate staff of a very hardworking, demanding, misunderstood man who became the father of the nuclear navy that provided great protection for the United States at a critical time in world conditions. His name is Hyman Rickover. I have great respect for him. After 11 years in that service, I received a call from the First Presidency to preside over a mission. I knew I would have to tell Admiral Rickover immediately. As I explained the call and that it would mean I would have to quit my job, he became rather excited. He said some unrepeatable things, broke the paper tray on his desk, and in the comments that followed, clearly established two points: “Scott, what you are doing in this defense program is so vital that it will take a year to replace you, so you can’t go. Second, if you do go, you are a traitor to your country.”
I said, “I can train my replacement in the two remaining months, and there won’t be any risk to the country.”
There was more conversation, and he finally said, “I never will talk to you again. I don’t want to see you again. You are finished, not only here, but don’t ever plan to work in the nuclear field again.”
I responded, “Admiral, you can bar me from the office, but unless you prevent me, I am going to turn this assignment over to another individual.”
He asked, “What’s the name of the man who wants you?”
I told him, “President David O. McKay.”
He added, “If that’s the way Mormons act, I don’t want any of them working for me.”
I knew he would try to call President McKay (1873–1970), who was ill, and that conversation would benefit no one. I also knew that in the Idaho Falls area there were many members of the Church whose families depended upon their working in our program. I didn’t want to cause them harm. I also knew that I had been called by the Lord. I didn’t know what to do. Then, the words of the song we sang tonight began to run through my mind: “Do what is right; let the consequence follow” (Hymns, number 237). While I had never contacted a General Authority in my life, I had been interviewed by Elder Harold B. Lee (1899–1973) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, so I had a feeling to call him. I explained that the admiral would try to call President McKay and would make some negative comments, but everything was all right and I would be able to accept my call. While doing that, my heart kept saying, “Is this going to turn out all right or will somebody be innocently hurt who depends on our program for livelihood?” The song would come back: “Do what is right; let the consequence follow.” True to his word, the admiral ceased to speak to me. When critical decisions had to be made, he would send a messenger or I would communicate through a third party. We accomplished the changeover.
On my last day in the office I asked for an appointment with him, and his secretary gasped. I went with a copy of the Book of Mormon in my hand. He looked at me and said, “Sit down, Scott. What do you have? I have tried every way I can to force you to change. What is it you have?”
There followed a very interesting, quiet conversation. There was more listening this time. He said he would read the Book of Mormon. Then something I never thought would occur happened. He added, “When you come back from the mission, I want you to call me. There will be a job for you.”

His finest moment on the court came in Laramie, Wyoming. The Cougars had just won their second WAC (Western Athletic Conference) crown, and he had been a starter in every game for those two glorious years. As the players were interviewed on regional television, Devin had a chance to respond to questions about his future. I don’t recall his exact words, but I’ll never forget his fervor as he explained, “Next week I’ll send my application in to serve a two-year mission for the Mormon church. I’m going to be a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
When asked why he would leave his most promising career, he replied, “God has given me so much. I just want to go out and do something for him.”
At that moment I remembered the words he had said to me as a little boy at the football game: “Dad, you do so much for me. Isn’t there something that I can do for you?”
And my reply: “Just be my son.”
As he stood on the basketball court in Laramie, I felt I almost heard the Lord say, “Devin, just be my son. Just be my son.”

Liking the school was one thing, but getting accepted was another thing altogether.

“I had to audition in front of the teacher,” Kamila said. “It was really hectic, because I had to create two storyboards [outlines of her film ideas] to present. I wasn’t prepared on the first day like everyone else, so I had to go on the second day. On the way there we got a little lost, and I was late. My mom told me not to worry and to call my dad. I did, and he said a prayer with me over the phone. It was nice.”

Kamila calmed down and presented her storyboards. The result? She was accepted into the program, and she just started her third year there.

In October 1988, as my plane droned onward to Berlin, my thoughts were upon these nations and my heart felt concern for their people, particularly our own members who had unflinchingly borne their burdens and suffered in silence. I sat back somewhat in reverie, contemplating my lengthy assignment to the German Democratic Republic. For twenty years this had been a vital part of my ministry. My mind filled with memories. My heart overflowed with gratitude to God. I reflected on the history of the Church in the land to which I was going.
Such was the dilemma uppermost on my mind as my plane landed in Berlin that October afternoon. We went forward with the vital assignment to visit with the leaders of the German Democratic Republic. Our ultimate goal was to seek permission for the doorway of missionary work to open. Elder Russell M. Nelson, Elder Hans B. Ringger, and I, along with our local German Democratic Republic Church leaders, headed by President Henry Burkhardt, President Frank Apel, and President Manfred Schutze, initially met with State Secretary for Religious Affairs Kurt Löffler as he hosted a lovely luncheon in our honor. He addressed our group by saying, “We want to be helpful to you. We’ve observed you and your people for twenty years. We know you are what you profess to be: honest men and women.”
Government leaders and their wives attended the dedication of a stake center at Dresden and a chapel at Zwickau. As the Saints sang “God be with you till we meet again”—“Auf Wiedersehen, Auf Wiedersehen”—we remembered Him, the Prince of Peace, who died on the cross at Calvary. I contemplated our Lord and Savior, when He walked the path of pain, the trail of tears, even the road of righteousness. His penetrating declaration came to mind: “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” (John 14:27.)
Then it was back to Berlin for the crucial meetings with the head of the nation, even Chairman Erich Honecker.
That special morning the sunlight bathed the city of Berlin. It had been raining all night, but now beauty prevailed. We were driven to the chambers of the chief representatives of the government.
Beyond the exquisite entry to the building, we were greeted by Chairman Honecker. We presented to him the statuette First Step, depicting a mother helping her child take its first step toward its father. He was highly pleased with the gift. He then escorted us into his private council room. There, around a large round table, we were seated. Others at the table included Chairman Honecker and his deputies of government.
Chairman Honecker began, “We know members of your Church believe in work; you’ve proven that. We know you believe in the family; you’ve demonstrated that. We know you are good citizens in whatever country you claim as home; we have observed that. The floor is yours. Make your desires known.”
I began, “Chairman Honecker, at the dedication and open house for the temple in Freiberg, 89,890 of your countrymen stood in line, at times up to four hours, frequently in the rain, that they might see a house of God. In the city of Leipzig, at the dedication of the stake center, 12,000 people attended the open house. In the city of Dresden there were 29,000 visitors; in the city of Zwickau, 5,300. And every week of the year 1,500 to 1,800 people visit the temple grounds in the city of Freiberg. They want to know what we believe. We would like to tell them that we believe in honoring and obeying and sustaining the law of the land. We would like to explain our desire to achieve strong family units. These are but two of our beliefs. We cannot answer questions, and we cannot convey our feelings, because we have no missionary representatives here as we do in other countries. The young men and young women whom we would like to have come to your country as missionary representatives would love your nation and your people. More particularly, they would leave an influence with your people which would be ennobling. Then we would like to see young men and young women from your nation who are members of our Church serve as missionary representatives in many nations, such as in America, in Canada, and in a host of others. They will return better prepared to assume positions of responsibility in your land.”
Chairman Honecker then spoke for perhaps thirty minutes, describing his objectives and viewpoints and detailing the progress made by his nation. At length, he smiled and addressed me and the group, saying, “We know you. We trust you. We have had experience with you. Your missionary request is approved.”
My spirit literally soared out of the room. The meeting was concluded. As we left the beautiful government chambers, Elder Russell Nelson turned to me and said, “Notice how the sunshine is penetrating this hall. It’s almost as though our Heavenly Father is saying, ‘I am pleased.’”
The black darkness of night had ended. The bright light of day had dawned. The gospel of Jesus Christ would now be carried to the millions of people in that nation. Their questions concerning the Church will be answered, and the Kingdom of God will go forth.

When I tell you that I played football in high school, it is not a boast. It is more of a confession.
You see, football came to our country town later than to most. The school board had no money for equipment or for a coach. Instead, we all played basketball. The only equipment we needed for basketball was a pair of shoes.
Finally, our principal saved enough to buy 12 inexpensive football outfits, not including shoes. The cleated shoes were too expensive, so we used our basketball shoes instead. Our coach was recruited from the faculty. He was selected because he had once watched a football game.
We learned a few simple plays. We learned how to tackle—or so we thought. Then we set off for our first game with Twin Falls, the previous year’s Idaho state champions.
We dressed and went out to the field to warm up. The other team’s school band started to play. They had more students in the band than we had in our entire high school! Then through the gates came their team. Our team of 12—a full team of 11 plus one all-around substitute—watched in amazement as they kept coming through the gates, all 39 of them in full uniform.
The game was most interesting. To say it was a learning experience is rather mild. After two plays we didn’t have any desire to have the ball, so we would kick it away, and soon they would score. Our main problem was how to get rid of the ball. It was less punishing for us when we weren’t being tackled!
In the final minutes of the game, the other team became a little reckless. A wild pass fell into the arms of Clifford Lee, who was playing halfback with me. He was startled. He didn’t know what to do until he saw the entire opposing team thundering toward him. Then he knew what to do! He was not interested in six points. He ran for his life!
He was fast. He made a touchdown, and we finally got six points on the board. We really didn’t deserve the six points, but with our torn shirts and socks and bloody shins, we took them anyway. The final score: 106 to 6!
That game was definitely a learning experience. It taught me that a team (or an individual) must be prepared. Success in all things depends on preparation.

Renee Holloway, a member of the Bonifay Ward, Panama City Florida Stake, is a goal setter.
At the beginning of her senior year she set several goals that helped her throughout the year. She decided she would read her scriptures every night and devote time to seminary study. She also achieved a goal to complete her Young Womanhood Recognition.
Renee received an award as the outstanding senior band member at her high school. She also received an award for being the most outstanding senior in her graduating class, an accomplishment she believes she couldn’t have achieved without setting goals. Renee said she was often inspired by the many faithful Latter-day Saint teenagers she read about in the New Era.

Four years and two more children later, we were again planning to visit my dad, who now lived 13 hours away. By then we had a different van, one that was 14 years old. About a week before leaving, I felt that I needed to replace the van’s spare tire. Remembering my previous experience, I followed the prompting. A couple of days later I felt an impression to buy some ratchet tie-downs to use on some gear we had previously tied with ropes. I needed two but bought a case of four. I put the extra two in our emergency kit.
On the way back from visiting my dad, we stopped to buy dinner. As I was getting some items out of a container on the roof of the van, my three-year-old daughter touched the sliding door. It fell to the ground! We were grateful the door didn’t hit her. We were almost 500 miles (805 km) from home on a Friday evening, so I wrangled the door into place so we could be on our way, but it wasn’t on the track and we could hear the highway as we drove. I pulled over again and used one of the extra tie-down straps to secure the door.
Several hours later the van began to shake violently. A loud banging came from the shaking door, but the strap held it in place. I pulled over and found that one of our tires had lost its belt. I quickly replaced it with the spare tire I had bought a few weeks before, and we were again on our way.

Old Bob came into our lives in an interesting way. He was a widower in his eighties when the house in which he was living was to be demolished. I heard him tell my grandfather his plight as the three of us sat on the old front porch swing. With a plaintive voice, he said to grandfather, “Mr. Condie, I don’t know what to do. I have no family. I have no place to go. I have no money.” I wondered how grandfather would answer. Slowly grandfather reached into his pocket and took from it that old leather purse from which, in response to my hounding, he had produced many a penny or nickel for a special treat. This time he removed a key and handed it to Old Bob. Tenderly he said, “Bob, here is the key to that house I own next door. Take it. Move in your things. Stay as long as you like. There will be no rent to pay and nobody will ever put you out again.”
Tears welled up in the eyes of Old Bob, coursed down his cheeks, then disappeared in his long, white beard. Grandfather’s eyes were also moist. I spoke no word, but that day my grandfather stood ten feet tall. I was proud to bear his given name. Though I was but a boy, that lesson has influenced my life.

As missionaries in Ghana, we washed our clothes by hand on preparation day. Elder Moss, my companion who had recently arrived from the United States, had not experienced this way of doing laundry. But being a native of Ghana, I was used to it.
Every Monday Elder Moss set out to scrub his clothes, but about halfway through the job, his hands and knuckles would start bleeding. I would then need to take over his work, in addition to finishing my own.
One Monday when washing time came around, Elder Moss seemed a bit worried. I had injured my hand the previous day, and he knew that I was not going to be able to help him with his laundry. I wouldn’t even be able to do my own. He started his washing, but as usual, he needed help halfway through.
Since I couldn’t help my companion with the actual washing, I encouraged him to endure—to let his hands rest and then keep trying. He stopped for a time and then continued. I told him he could find a way to finish. His hands and knuckles were still sore, but he pushed on. When the washing was completed, he said, “I am proud of myself. Elder Asante, are you proud of me?”
“Yes, of course I am proud of you,” I answered.
As I have thought about this incident, I realized that Heavenly Father knows our potential, but He tests us so we can develop diligence, patience, and faithfulness. He is pleased with us when we make righteous choices and prove that we can bear our afflictions.
When we work hard and endure the trials placed before us, we can say, “Heavenly Father, art Thou proud of me?” I know that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are pleased when we endure and that They will tell us so one day when They welcome us home.

In our ward we have had some success with two boys who had been completely inactive. We made friends with them. We took them out for pizza. We planned activities around their special interests. When we told them how much the program had to offer and showed them we really wanted them with us, they decided to give us a try.

Last week they both came to activity night. If we can care enough to make good on our campaign promises and really deliver the good program we’ve promised, and still care about them just as much, we’ll keep these boys, and they will have a chance to work out their salvation.

After a discouraging day of prom-dress shopping with two of my daughters, we returned home in weary tears. We had not found one modest dress. I encouraged my daughters to take their desires to the Lord in prayer. They looked at me quizzically, not at all certain that a wardrobe concern was prayer-worthy. I promised them that Nephi’s conviction in 1 Nephi 3:7 applies to the mundane as well as the monumental: “I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.” My daughters agreed to pray about the problem, and within a week we found beautiful dresses in unexpected places that we could alter to be perfectly appropriate.
We continue to make modesty a matter of prayer. I have learned to follow small promptings from the Spirit, even if it means driving a distance, searching through sample racks, or making substantial alterations. I want my daughters to know that I value modesty enough to go out of my way.
Jerie Jacobs, California, USA

NOTE: Elder David B. Haight, of the Quorum of the Twelve, was so impressed with a letter he received from eleven-year-old Brennon Fuelling of Oakley, Utah, that he suggested it be printed in the Friend. He had asked Brennon in person what he was doing for the Church, and Brennon had replied, “Well, I helped people join.” At Elder Haight’s request, and with the hope that other boys and girls will catch the spirit of missionary work, Brennon explains in the following letter what he did recently to help someone join the Church.
Dear Elder Haight,
Five months before Christmas, a family consisting of a husband, a wife, and their twin boys came to our door to ask if the house right by us was for rent. We said yes and took them over to show them around. They said it was nice and that they would think about it.
Well, the next day we received a phone call. It was from Mr. Nacy, the father of the family that had knocked on our door. He told us they would move into the house within two days, so I took over the lawn mower and started mowing the lawn and cleaning up the yard. When the Nacys got there with the moving van and saw me working on the yard, Mr. Nacy offered to pay me, but I refused. I helped them move in.
As the days passed, I started wondering if the Nacys were Mormons. I asked Mom and Dad if they knew, but they said they probably weren’t because the Nacys hadn’t attended our church.
I went over the next day, and Mrs. Nacy answered the door. I asked if they were Mormons. She said that she was a Baptist and that Mr. Nacy was a Mormon. I asked if they would like to come to church with us the next Sunday. It was stake conference, and I told them what time church started and everything.
Sunday I saw the Nacys in church on the front row.
The next day I went over and asked if they enjoyed the meeting, and they said yes. Later, a little before Christmas, I asked if they had a Christmas tree. Mrs. Nacy said no. I knew we had an extra one, so I told her that I had better be going home, and I ran over and got our extra Christmas tree. I took it over and gave it to her and said it was a Christmas present from me.
The Nacys moved shortly after Christmas. And last summer when I was hauling hay, Mr. Nacy stopped and told us his wife had been baptized.
Respectfully,
Brennon Fuelling

During my early teenage years in Glendale, California, my father, Wayne M. P. Hancock, was not a member of the Church, had habits contrary to the Word of Wisdom, and was a traveling salesman frequently gone from home. Harry V. Brooks, bishop of the Glendale West Ward, took a special interest in the youth of his ward and became my personal role model, counselor, and friend. I would do nothing that would disappoint him or bring him sorrow.
When it was announced that there would be a centennial Scout encampment at Salt Lake City in 1947 as part of the centennial celebration, Bishop Brooks determined that his Scout troop would participate. He readily saw in my nonmember father a man with organizational skills and a salesman’s boldness. Dad was called by him to be finance committee chairman. The close association that developed between Bishop Brooks and my father led to Dad’s joining the Church when I was 16 years old.

Another new missionary was so shy and bashful he could not look at me without blushing. I discovered he had been reared on a pig farm and was much more comfortable with pigs than with people. It was very difficult for him to talk to anyone, yet he had a burning desire to be a great missionary. Later, when we attended zone conference in the zone to which he was assigned, the missionary stood to bear his testimony: “President, I have discovered that becoming a missionary is like playing football.” He told of his leaving the farm to attend high school. As he registered for school, he noticed the football team practicing and decided he would like to play, but he didn’t have any football shoes or the money to buy any. Then he remembered that his cousin had been a football star at the school. He visited his cousin, asking whether he could borrow his shoes. His cousin gave him the shoes but warned, “Don’t you disgrace them.”

Our missionary got on the team. In the first game of the season, he found himself opposite a great, big, mean opponent. He took one look at that fearsome opponent, gulped, and said to himself, “‘I can’t knock him down! But my cousin could—and I’m wearing my cousin’s shoes.’ So I went ahead and knocked him down, and kept on knocking him down all through the game.”

What kind of a missionary do you think he became?

Walking slowly along the wet sand—hands in pockets and bare feet kicking the water that lapped at his toes—Guillermo (Gee-yer-mo) wished he had a present to welcome his friend Philip. Soon it would be time for Philip to arrive in Baja, California, after the trip with his family along the Oregon seacoast. Two years ago the two boys had been neighbors in Arizona. Will Philip be the same? he wondered. He was concerned that perhaps they wouldn’t still like the same things.
Guillermo stooped to pick up a flat, gray, roundish seashell almost hidden in the wet sand. It was a sand dollar! He turned it over in his hand with the feeling of awe and wonder he always felt when he thought about the legend of the shell. He slipped the shell into his jeans pocket as he heard the sound of his mother’s voice floating down from the bluff.
“Guillermo, it is time.”
He climbed the winding path up the bluff to their red brick home at the top and opened the heavy wooden door to enter a cool, tile-bordered room.
“Hurry, Guillermo, and help me set the table,” urged his mother. “Philip’s parents will want their lunch so they can be on their way to Cabo San Lucas. How nice that Philip can stay with you for a whole week!”
Guillermo had just finished putting a bright cloth on the table and had changed into a clean T-shirt when he heard a car pull into the yard.
“Here they are,” said his mother. “Tell Papa.”
“Papa, they’re here!” called Guillermo. Then he hurried outside, one hand in his pocket.
A red-haired boy ran toward him with a package in his hand.
“Hola (hello), Guillermo, como está usted (how are you)?”
“I’m fine, Philip,” Guillermo replied.
“I’ve been practicing Spanish,” his friend explained. “Look what I brought you.” He shoved the package into Guillermo’s hand and said excitedly, “Open it, OK?”
Guillermo opened the package. Inside was a plastic flying saucer.
“Muchas gracias, Felipe (many thanks, Philip),” he said, grinning.
Again he wished he had a welcoming gift for Philip. Then he remembered the sand dollar he had picked up. He put his hand into his pocket and drew out the flat seashell.
“I have a present for you, too, Philip. I’m sorry it isn’t wrapped.”
“I’ve never seen a shell like this before,” said Philip. “What is it?”
“It’s a sand dollar. However, some people call it a keyhole urchin. It’s found on the Gulf coast and Atlantic coast. After dinner let’s go to my room and I’ll tell you about it.”
Later when they reached his bedroom, Guillermo opened a shoe box on his dresser and took out a dry, sun-bleached sand dollar. “The legend,” Guillermo began, “says that this shell tells the story of the birth and death of Jesus.”
“How can a sand dollar do that?” asked Philip.
Guillermo pointed to the shell in his hand.
“The markings show up better on this dry shell than on yours. See, on the back there’s an Easter lily. In the center of it is the tracing of the star that guided the wise men to the Christ child.”
Guillermo turned the shell over. “Here on the other side are the markings of the Christmas poinsettia. In the middle are five holes, representing the wounds in Jesus’ body when He was crucified.”
“Wow!” said Philip, “that’s interesting.” Then, looking closely at the holes, he thought of something else and asked, “How does the shell move?”
“When it’s alive it’s covered with brown, hair-like spines, and it moves with them. It’s an animal like the starfish.” Guillermo pointed to a small hole in the bottom of the shell. “It takes food in through here.” He handed the shell to Philip. “Here, shake it,” he suggested to his friend.
Guillermo watched as Philip gently shook the shell and sand fell out.
“What’s inside, more sand?” asked Philip.
“No. Hold out your hand. Now watch.”
Guillermo broke open the sand dollar and out dropped several tiny white wing-like objects.
“They’re like folded butterflies made of ivory or bone!” Philip exclaimed.
“The legend says they are the white doves that spread goodwill and peace,” Guillermo explained.
“That’s really neat,” said Philip. “Can we look for more sand dollars on the beach?”
“Sure, Philip. Did you know that some women wear pendants of gold cast from real sand dollars? Other people thread sand dollars on strings and use them for wind chimes.”
“I can make a chime for my mother!” said Philip excitedly. “Or maybe I could make her a necklace for Christmas. Boy, Guillermo, I’m so glad I came!”

Andrew liked to rush home after school to put on his jeans, soft flannel shirt, and sneakers. These clothes were perfect for climbing the cherry tree. Andrew would play for hours in the tree until his mother called for him to come inside. Of course he didn’t play in it every day. But even on days when he had other places to go, like to a baseball game or sledding with his best friend, Jeremy, Andrew would smile whenever he passed the cherry tree.
Andrew remembered certain things about the tree that made it special each season. For instance, one spring he’d left his teddy bear up in the cherry tree overnight, and it had rained. The next morning the soggy teddy bear resting among all the fluffy blossoms looked like a lost mitten in a pile of new snow.
During the summer Andrew and Jeremy kept their jars of fireflies beside the tree trunk. They would climb the tree and talk about the fine tree house they would build as soon as they had enough money for lumber.
If Andrew had to pick a time when he thought the tree was most beautiful, he’d probably choose autumn, when the leaves changed into their brilliant colors. When he stood in the piles of leaves that fell to the ground, their good smell made him think of frost and log cabins and other things.
When winter snows fell, the cherry tree became a hitching post for sleds.
Jeremy liked the tree almost as much as Andrew did. They’d climb as high as they could in it, then tell each other secrets and make plans that no one could overhear. Their biggest plan this fall was to gather all the pinecones they could, cover them with peanut butter, roll them in birdseed, and set them in the cherry tree limbs for the birds. They knew their plan wouldn’t be ruined if someone overheard it, but whispering about it among the branches of their favorite tree made their idea more special.
On an Indian summer Saturday, Jeremy climbed the tree so he could sit and think. When Andrew came out of his house, Jeremy called down to him. Andrew could see his friend through an open spot in the orange red foliage. When Andrew had settled onto his favorite branch, Jeremy told him that his family was moving! His dad had bought a toy manufacturing company in Florida, and they were going to move there in November.
Andrew thought Jeremy’s secret was just about the most important secret he’d ever been told. They whispered excitedly about all the fun things Jeremy was going to get to do, like swimming in the ocean all year round. When they ran out of ideas about what Florida would be like, they talked about their pinecone plan. It was then that they realized that Jeremy might not be there to help Andrew put the peanut-butter pinecones out for the birds! Before they climbed down, they made a pact to pray every night from then until November for snow to come early so that they could try their pinecone plan before Jeremy had to move.
Each day Andrew noticed more leaves beneath the tree. He knew autumn would soon become winter. He prayed harder than ever that snow would come soon. Jeremy did too.
But November came, without any snow, and Jeremy’s family was ready to move. The boys decided that they wouldn’t cry, but it wasn’t easy. Even though Andrew knew Jeremy had to go, he felt deserted. Gathering pinecones wouldn’t be much fun without his best friend.
Snow fell the very next day after Jeremy left. Andrew moped around the house all morning. The more he thought about Jeremy, the worse he felt. Finally his mother suggested that he go out for a walk. He put on a jacket and went outside.
Crossing the bridge over the creek, Andrew missed Jeremy. Walking along the path into the woods, Andrew missed him too. But he missed Jeremy most when he was almost home and he came to the cherry tree. As Andrew solemnly stared at the tree, he spied a brown bag under it, partially hidden by snow and dead leaves. Hurriedly pushing aside the snow and the leaves, he lifted out the lumpy bag. As soon as he did, Andrew knew what was inside: pinecones! Jeremy had gathered them and left them there for him!
Andrew climbed up the cherry tree to a sturdy branch below the old secret-telling ones. He curled up into a comfortable position and daydreamed about his and Jeremy’s gift for the birds—a Christmas cherry tree decorated with pinecone ornaments of birdseed glitter and peanut-butter glue.