Gospel Story Finder

In 1959, I received that invitation. I did not even know of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At a dance, I met a young lady who was raised in the gospel. I was attracted to her. She said to me, “You know, I could never consider marrying you unless it were in the temple.” I responded to that invitation and was taught the gospel. She is now my eternal companion. I will ever be grateful that was the invitation she extended to me, for it has transformed my life.

Three weeks ago I stepped into Yesterday. In that moment I rediscovered Today. And it is about Today that I wish to speak.
A Church assignment had carried me across the vast reaches of the Pacific to the land of Vietnam. For me, this was more than a flight over an ocean. It was a step back in time. More than 40 years ago, I had served on the battlefields of that land as an infantry officer. Etched in my mind over those intervening decades were memories of that place, its people, and my comrades in arms with whom I had served. Jacob once wrote, “Our lives passed away like … unto us a dream” (Jacob 7:26). So it had been for me. And now I was returning from my hall of memories to that place of memory after a near half century. My Church business concluded, I determined to once again visit those fields of desperate struggle. Accompanied by my dear wife, I made the pilgrimage.
I am not quite sure what I expected to find after so many years. What I did find was most unexpected. Instead of a war-ravaged people, I found a youthful, vibrant population. Instead of a countryside pockmarked by shell fire, I found peaceful, verdant fields. Even the jungle growth was new. I guess that I had half expected to find Yesterday, but what I found was Today and the promise of a bright Tomorrow. I was reminded that “weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning” (Psalm 30:5).
My pilgrimage back in time completed, I looked around upon those peaceful fields of Today and saw in their fertility the promise of Tomorrow. I thought of my friend Sergeant Arthur Cyrus Morris. I thought of that fateful Palm Sunday of Yesterday. And I was profoundly grateful for the Redeemer of Easter morning, who grants us life, whose descent below all things makes possible our rising above all things—Tomorrow, if we but seize Today. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Although he made great progress, Manuel struggled to obey the Word of Wisdom. He had been drinking alcohol since he was a young man. Not only did he have difficulty stopping, but he also feared ridicule from his friends.
Corina also felt enslaved by her husband’s habit, and for years she had struggled to help him. Now, with newfound faith and a testimony of the power of fasting, she began to fast regularly for Manuel to have strength to obey the Word of Wisdom.
Corina’s love for her husband reminded me of the story in the New Testament when a father pleaded with the Apostles to heal his ailing son. Although they exercised faith, they were unable to perform the miracle. The Lord, however, made the child whole, afterwards explaining that “this kind goeth not out but by prayer and fasting” (Matthew 17:21).
And so it was that through prayer and fasting Manuel gradually gained the strength to break free from his habit. And although he was initially mocked by his friends, they soon gained a greater respect for him as he demonstrated his loyalty to the Lord by following His commandments.

For example, President Henry B. Eyring, First Counselor in the First Presidency, remembers when, as a young man, he’d convinced himself he couldn’t understand math. His dad thought otherwise and helped him through his homework. “I can’t remember the gifts my dad wrapped and gave to me” for holidays, he said. “But I remember the chalkboard and his quiet voice. … Because he had spent time [studying as a boy], he and I could have that time at the chalkboard and he could help me.”1

One of my earliest memories is of attending Sunday School class as a five-year-old in the basement of our old ward meetinghouse. I recall one day watching the dust particles move in the shafts of bright sunlight as our teacher read to us the story of how Joseph Smith prayed and our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ came and stood before him. I can still feel myself sitting there, looking and listening, surrounded by the towers of sunlight. But most of all, I remember the warm feeling swelling within me when I heard about Joseph Smith seeing and talking to our Heavenly Father.
Later that day at home, I found a book of my father’s that looked like the one my teacher had read from. I didn’t know at the time that it was a copy of the Triple Combination. I couldn’t read it, but just holding the book in my hands and looking at its pages recaptured for me what I had felt in Sunday School.

We’re Sam and Anastasia, and we try to SHINE OUR LIGHT by sharing with others!
Where we live, in Florida, USA, we see lots of people who are homeless. We wondered how we could help them. Jesus fed people who were hungry, and everyone needs to eat! So we decided to make emergency snack kits.
Our friend Joa helped us shop for supplies at the dollar store.
We put granola bars, bread sticks with cheese, and other yummy snacks in our kits. Sam even tried one!
Sharing our kits made us smile. Some people said, “Thank you!” and “Awesome!”
Our mom put the project online, and the young single adult branch found out about it. They made 100 more snack kits for our local homeless shelter. The shelter used them to invite people to sign up for a program to help them get homes. That made us really happy!

But joining the Church didn’t solve all their problems. Finances got even tougher, and the family moved to the country. Outside the little village of St. Edouard de Frampton, the Ferlands took charge of a dilapidated farm, and by sheer willpower worked to improve it. Mother still talks about tending children at the same time she was digging post holes in the stubborn earth.
Though father, now a truck driver, was often on the road, he worked hard at home too. He expanded the cellar, added a new room, stacked wood for the winter. The garden yielded plenty of food. Clément loved to play in the barn, and Marie Claude loved the animals, especially a pig named Pogo who followed the children to school.
To school. That was the rub for Christine. At age eight, it wasn’t easy being the only Mormon in her class, and except for her brother and sister, the only one in school.
The teacher talked to Christine’s mother. “Why doesn’t Christine come to church in town? All the other children are ready for their first communion. She’s the only one left out.”
When the class had to make the sign of the cross and pray in front of statues, Christine would not. Confronted by the teacher, Christine replied simply, “It isn’t right to pray to a statue.”
Over the years, the others learned to make fun of her. There were rude comments in the halls. Some would call on the phone, just to say stupid things. Christine’s grades, which had always been good, dropped.
Finally, it was time to move on to secondary school. Christine was excited to advance, to start fresh with new teachers and more students. But the same students from Frampton would be in school there, and she was sure the same old trouble would follow her.
It didn’t. There were already several students from different religions. Like a miracle, Christine was no longer a “freak.” She made friends. In fact, she found a best friend. They were inseparable for years.

A home teacher I know relates an experience that gave him a feeling of success that has since carried him through many difficult times: “I was working with a family that was reasonably active, but just didn’t seem to have enough commitment to living all of the gospel principles. I prayed to know what I should discuss with them that would be of most value at the time, and I felt inspired to talk about the principle of fasting. I found that they had been discussing this very principle among themselves, and I was able to answer some of their questions and give them some encouragement to use this principle. One of their children who had never fasted before committed to try fasting on the next fast Sunday, and afterward she beamed as she reported that it had been a wonderful experience.

“Just that one successful experience encouraged me and motivated me to try for other successes as a home teacher. And each subsequent success renewed my feelings that I was truly engaged in a worthwhile work. To this day, some of those early successes help to keep me motivated and inspired as a home teacher, and I truly enjoy that calling as a result.”

For Niilo Kervinen, a 24-year-old young adult from Rovaniemi, Finland, the 10-hour train ride to Helsinki is a small price to pay for the blessing of serving in the temple.
Before the dedication of the Helsinki Finland Temple in October 2006, Niilo and other members of his ward had to travel to the Stockholm Sweden Temple or to the Copenhagen Denmark Temple. “The trips would usually take a week during the summer vacation,” he remembers. Traveling by bus and sleeping in tents on those trips are some of the best memories he has.
Yet having a temple in his native land is a wonderful blessing. “When they announced the Helsinki Temple, I was so happy,” Niilo says. “The dedicatory prayer still resonates in my heart each time I go inside.”
In speaking of conversion, Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has said, “I promise that as we come to a knowledge of the truth and are converted unto the Lord, we will remain firm and steadfast and never fall away.”1 Although traveling to Helsinki requires time and money, Niilo is committed to being a disciple of Christ. And for Niilo, that is no sacrifice at all.

The first day I saw Frances, I knew I’d found the right one. The Lord brought us together later, and I asked her to go out with me. I went to her home to call on her. She introduced me, and her father said, “‘Monson’—that’s a Swedish name, isn’t it?”

I said, “Yes.”

He said, “Good.”

Then he went into another room and brought out a picture of two missionaries with their top hats and their copies of the Book of Mormon.

“Are you related to this Monson,” he said, “Elias Monson?”

I said, “Yes, he’s my grandfather’s brother. He too was a missionary in Sweden.”

Her father wept. He wept easily. He said, “He and his companion were the missionaries who taught the gospel to my mother and my father and all of my brothers and sisters and to me.” He kissed me on the cheek. And then her mother cried, and she kissed me on the other cheek. And then I looked around for Frances. She said, “I’ll go get my coat.”

Gavin looked out the window. Big white snowflakes were falling softly to the ground. He grinned as he thought about all the fun he could have skiing and building snowmen. Gavin loved winter in Canada.
“Gavin?” Mom said.
Gavin blinked and turned back to the living room. It was family home evening, and the lesson was on service. But it was hard to pay attention!
Mom smiled. “I know you’re excited about the snow, but what are ways our family could help someone?”
Gavin looked out the window again. Snow was piling up on the driveways on his street. “Hey! What if we shoveled the Ramseys’ driveway?” he asked.
“Yeah!” Gavin’s big brother, Jensen, said. “They’d really like that.”
“That’s a great idea,” Dad said. “The Ramseys are getting older, and shoveling snow is hard for them.”
The next morning, Gavin’s family shoveled the Ramseys’ driveway. Gavin was glad they were doing it together. Even Gavin’s little sisters, Chloé and Kenzie, helped. The path Kenzie shoveled looked like a giant snake had slithered through the snow.
After scraping together the last pile of snow, Gavin gave his brother a high five. “We make a great team!” Jensen said.
“Yeah!” said Gavin. “We’re the Snow-Shovel Squad!”
After the next two snowstorms, the Snow-Shovel Squad happily shoveled both their driveway and the Ramseys’. One time, Mrs. Ramsey tried to pay them, but they politely said no.
“The Snow-Shovel Squad is a not-for-profit team,” Gavin explained.
That made Mrs. Ramsey laugh.
The snow kept coming. Shoveling two driveways got harder and harder. After a while, Mom and Dad had to remind the Snow-Shovel Squad how much they were needed.
One morning Gavin woke up especially excited. They were going skiing today! He looked outside and grinned. The snow looked perfect. He ran to find his skis. Soon everyone was packing the van for their trip.
Just as they buckled their seatbelts, Mom turned to look at them. “What about the Ramseys’ driveway?”
Gavin looked at Jensen. They had forgotten all about it.
“Can we do it later?” Jensen said. “We want to get to the mountain before it gets too busy!”
“OK,” Mom said, and Dad started the van.
But then Gavin glanced out his window. He could see Mr. Ramsey trying to clear his driveway. It looked like he could hardly lift his shovel.
“Wait, Dad,” Gavin said. “Mr. Ramsey needs the Snow-Shovel Squad right away!”
Everyone got out and grabbed their shovels.
“Sorry we’re late!” Gavin called out.
Mr. Ramsey smiled. “Thank you so much,” he said. “It would’ve taken me hours to shovel this driveway alone.” With the help of the Snow-Shovel Squad, the Ramseys’ driveway was snow-free in just a few minutes. After that, nobody had to remind Gavin about the Ramseys’ driveway. If it snowed, the Snow-Shovel Squad was out shoveling, sometimes even before breakfast. Sometimes it snowed so much they had to shovel two times in one day!
As the weeks went by, shoveling the driveways didn’t seem so hard. In fact, Gavin thought that helping the Ramseys was one of the best parts of winter. Then one day, he woke up and saw that the sun was warm and bright. The snow was melting down the driveway. How could he help others now that it was spring?

In 1895 my great-grandfather, Abinadi Olsen, was called on a mission to the Samoan Islands. Obedient to the call of the prophet, he left his wife and four small children, including my maternal grandmother, Chasty Magdalene, in the town of Castle Dale, Utah. He traveled by train and ship to the mission headquarters in Apia, a journey of 26 days. His first assignment was to labor on the island of Tutuila.
After many weeks of living in what he called a grass hut, eating strange food, suffering severe illnesses, and struggling to learn the Samoan language, he seemed to be making no progress in his missionary work. Homesick and discouraged, he seriously considered boarding a boat back to Apia and telling the mission president he didn’t want to waste any more time in Samoa. The obstacles to the accomplishment of his mission seemed insurmountable, and he wished to return to his wife and children, who were struggling to support him in the mission field.
A friend who heard Abinadi Olsen describe the experience some years after his return, quoted him as follows:
“Then one night, as I lay on my mat on the floor of my hut, a strange man entered and in my own language told me to get up and follow him. His manner was such that I had to obey. He led me out through the village and directly up against the face of a perpendicular solid rock cliff. ‘That’s strange,’ thought I. ‘I’ve never seen that here before,’ and just then the stranger said, ‘I want you to climb that cliff.’
“I took another look and then in bewilderment said, ‘I can’t. It’s impossible!’
“‘How do you know you can’t? You haven’t tried,’ said my guide.
“‘But anyone can see’—I started to say in objection. But he cut in with, ‘Begin climbing. Reach up with your hand—now with your foot.’
“As I reached, under orders that I dared not disobey, a niche seemed to open in the solid rock cliff and I caught hold. Then with my one foot I caught a toe hold.
“‘Now go ahead,’ he ordered. ‘Reach with your other hand,’ and as I did so another place opened up, and to my surprise the cliff began to recede; climbing became easier, and I continued the ascent without difficulty until, suddenly, I found myself lying on my pallet back in my hut. The stranger was gone!
“‘Why has this experience come to me?’ I asked myself. The answer came quickly. I had been up against an imaginary cliff for those three months. I had not reached out my hand to begin the climb. I hadn’t really made the effort I should have made to learn the language and surmount my other problems” (Fenton L. Williams, “On Doing the Impossible,” Improvement Era, Aug. 1957, p. 554).
It is hardly necessary to add that Abinadi Olsen did not leave the mission. He labored for three and a half years, until released by appropriate authority. He was an exceptionally effective missionary, and he was a faithful member of the Church for the rest of his life.

But Tavita excelled not only because of his love for the sports, but because he taught himself strict discipline. That discipline helped him learn Cantonese while still preparing to enter the Hong Kong Mission. “When I got my call to Hong Kong, my next thought was, ‘What is a 265 pound Samoan going to do there?’ But I knew that was where Heavenly Father wanted me to serve.”
At the beginning, Tavita had a tough time with the language. It was frustrating to not be able to communicate his strong feelings about the gospel. “Through patience and prayer I learned to endure. The relationship between my Heavenly Father and me grew closer, more than I ever thought it could. My knees literally had calluses on them.”
Patience and long suffering helped him succeed on his mission. These attributes have continued to help him succeed in his college studies and football career. Unlike high school, where he thought he had to prove something, all he has to prove now is his worthiness to his Heavenly Father.

Not long ago, Sister Gong and I became acquainted with a father and family blessed by a faithful priesthood brother who came to their bishop and asked if he (the priesthood brother) could be a home teaching companion with the father. The father was not active and not interested in home teaching. But as the father’s heart changed, he and this loving priesthood brother began visiting “their” families. After one such visit, his wife—herself not then attending church—asked her husband how things had gone. The father admitted, “I may have felt something”—then he went to the kitchen to get a beer.
But one thing followed another: tender experiences, ministering service, changing hearts, temple preparation class, coming to church, being sealed as a family in the holy temple. Imagine how grateful the children and grandchildren are to their father and mother and to the ministering brother who came as a friend and companion with their father to minister to and love others.

In more than 39 years being a member of the Church, I can honestly say I have only missed Church once! Remarkable, isn’t it? One Sunday morning I had to decide, while holding my scriptures in one hand, should I go to Church or to a barbecue? I chose to attend the barbecue. There was a big festival coming to the township of Mbizo, Kwekwe, where I lived. My feelings were conflicted.
At first, I told my friends—who were not members of the Church—that I would join them after Church. I reasoned with them that I would sneak out after the first hour. My friends knew my weaknesses and the things I liked best. They reasoned: “If you go to your Church first, you will miss the most fun part of the festival! The barbecue will be finished before you get there”. So, I chose to go to the barbecue and to miss Church.
When I learned later that morning that the festival had been cancelled, it was too late for me to go to Church. I simply stayed in my home: the one-room apartment which was separated by a curtain from the main house. I felt a sense of loss—there was a big vacuum within me.
About 12:30 that afternoon, I heard a voice outside: “Does Eddie Dube live here?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Am I dreaming?” I asked myself.
At that moment, all I could think of was to hide. As I was eyeing the space under my bed, as it was the only possible place to hide, John and Jean Newbold were standing behind the curtain which separated my room from the main house. Reluctantly, I let my branch president and his dear wife in. Sensing my apprehension, Jean spoke first. “Eddie, you live in a nice safe neighborhood. Do you like this place?” she asked. After my affirmative response, they lovingly told me about the sacrament talks, and that they had missed me at Church. We visited for a while, and then they left.
Their words—“Eddie, we missed you. We missed you at Church today!”—kept ringing in my mind that afternoon and throughout the night. Those words have strengthened me up to this day. My children, and now my grandchildren know this story about John and Jean, who left the ninety and nine and went after the one. My great-grandchildren, my posterity will also know this story one day!
One invitation may not yield the needed results, as it did for me. Missing church for one day may be easy for anyone, but if not checked it can quickly become a habit. Can you imagine if John and Jean did not come on that very Sunday? Perchance another activity or distraction might have come my way. I could have easily slid back into my old habits. What a joy that they came!

I remember when I was young, there was an older boy who was physically and mentally disabled. He had a speech impediment and walked with difficulty. The boys used to make fun of him. They teased and taunted him until sometimes he would cry.
I can still hear his voice: “You’re not kind to me,” he said. And still they would ridicule him, push him, and make jokes about him.
One day I could bear it no longer. Although I was only seven years old, the Lord gave me the courage to stand up to my friends.
“Don’t touch him,” I said to them. “Stop teasing him. Be kind. He is a child of God!”
My friends stepped back and turned away.
I wondered at the time if my boldness would jeopardize my relationship with them. But the opposite happened. From that day onward, my friends and I became closer. They showed increased compassion for the boy. They became better human beings. To my knowledge, they never taunted him again.

I was in school when I saw a new boy. A few days later, some of my classmates hit him in the hallway. They gave him a black eye. I felt so much pain for what they had done to him. I found out where he lived and offered him my friendship. The gospel teaches us that we should be helpful, and I love that.
Jeshua, age 11, Illinois, USA (please include the star he’s holding in the photo)

I was in school when I saw a new boy. A few days later, some of my classmates hit him in the hallway. They gave him a black eye. I felt so much pain for what they had done to him. I found out where he lived and offered him my friendship. The gospel teaches us that we should be helpful, and I love that.
Jeshua O., age 11, Illinois, USA

We establish the Church in the hearts of our brothers and sisters when we minister properly. One day, while serving as the Lubumbashi Stake president, the Spirit of the Lord prompted me to call a friend from the Lubumbashi Second Ward. I had these promptings all day long, and I finally resolved to call him as I arrived at work. Here is what happened: He shouted, “President, I am surprised that you call me at this very moment! I have just had a discussion with a Protestant pastor who appeared to be convincing me! Your phone call has fortified me; this is a proof that we are in the true Church of the Lord.” I answered him: “My brother, we are members of the Church of the Lord; it is His Church, we need to stand fast in spite of all hardships we may be experiencing in life. We are from the Church of the Lord, no one can separate us from His love, and no one can change that.”
This phone call helped my brother to stand firm with an increasing faith in the Lord, since he had only been a member of the Church for two years.

Friday, August 20. Voices mix and mingle with the smoke as it drifts slowly across the camp, filtering the first rays of the early morning sun. The pace is brisk in the camp as families prepare the morning meal.
An unknown musician lends a feeling of peacefulness to the camp’s early activities as he breathes inspiring hymns into a well-trained harmonica.
Knowing that we have reached and set up our permanent base camp is reason enough for rejoicing as I reflect back on the toils and exertions ofthe past two days of pushing and pulling handcarts a total of 20 miles over the mountains.
An excerpt from a newly discovered pioneer journal? A fictional account by someone who has never gone near a handcart?
Actually it is neither. This is from my journal, and the handcarts were very real to myself and the 64 young people who had left the comforts of civilization to come on this five-day trek over Boulder Mountain in southern Utah.
It has been over 120 years since the first hardy troop of migrating Saints made their way across the plains to the Salt Lake Valley. It took that group nearly four months to make the trip from Iowa City. Now, a five-day trip had been organized under the cooperative efforts of the Brigham Young University Special Courses and Conferences and the Department of Youth Leadership to give jet-age youth a taste of the hardships—and the joys—encountered by those early Saints.
True to Mormon tradition, our group was first organized into “families” of 15 each, complete with fathers, mothers, and children. Handmade cotton dresses replaced slacks and cool summer tops, and rugged wool pants with suspenders were donned to simulate clothing that might have been worn by the forebears we hoped to emulate during this brief but arduous experience.
Thursday morning, armed with sunbonnets, hiking boots, and cod-liver oil, we started up the mountain road, leaving civilization behind us. There was no lunch or supper that day as our long caravan of travelers made their way through the wilderness. The crossing of each stream called for rejoicing as they provided the only means of nourishment with which we could feed our tired and aching bodies. I developed sore muscles in places I never even knew I had muscles.
We pushed on, and as night came we had only the stars to light our way. Those of us who could, drew on our extra strength to help those who were weaker.
Only the sounds of shuffling feet and the creaking of wheels broke the silence of the night. But soon the weary silence was broken by happy shouts as we pulled into camp, and many of our number collapsed into lifeless bundles of slumber on the grass-covered meadow floor.
Those of us who were able to stay awake were rewarded with two sourdough biscuits and a piece of beef jerky each.
I awoke the next morning with crumbs on my chest and a half-eaten biscuit in my hand. I had fallen asleep before I could finish my meal.
Saturday was a day for feasting. We caught enough wild turkeys for every group to have at least one. It was truly a sight to behold! Turkey feathers were flying as hungry “pioneers” chased down those plump birds and caught them with their bare hands. By the time the chase was over, the participants needed first aid more than the birds.
While the wounded veterans were being bandaged, the turkeys were roasted in a rock-lined pit. The meal was a delicious change from the cornmeal mush and sourdough biscuits of the previous two days.
The day’s activities concluded with a square dance. It’s amazing how much better pioneers can sing and dance on a full stomach. I can’t say it did all that much for our tune-carrying ability, but it definitely strengthened our vocal cords!
Sunday brought a more serious and contemplative mood to the camp as meetings were held and we reflected on our experiences, Moist eyes and wet cheeks glistened in the clear mountain air as testimonies were borne in that evening’s five-hour testimony meeting. Never have I felt the Spirit of the Lord as strongly as I did then. All of us realized this was to be our last gathering, for in the morning our journey would be at an end and we would return to the 20th century.
How grateful I am for the knowledge that God lives, and for those true pioneers who gave all they had—even their lives—for the building up of the the kingdom of God! Because of this experience I now have a better understanding and deeper appreciation of their sacrifices.

Old Mom flapped her huge ears and swayed her long wrinkled trunk. The journey from Germany aboard the big ship had been long and tiring.
“Come on, old girl,” the men coaxed. Reaching their bull hooks gently behind her ears, they tugged her along the gangplank and pulled and prodded until she boarded the circus train to her new American home.
“I can’t believe that my friend Karl would send me such an imbecile!” the American circus owner wailed a few days later. “He told me that he was sending his prize queen! But she doesn’t know any tricks, and she doesn’t obey a single command.” Angrily he placed a call to Germany.
“It is not possible,” said the shocked Karl. “Old Mom is the smartest elephant in the world. Only because we are friends have I sent her to you.”
“Perhaps she is deaf,” suggested her new owner.
“Nein, nein (No, no)!” insisted Karl. “Every morning I would say to her, ‘Wie geht’s Mama (How are you, Mama)?’ or ‘Vas ist los (What’s up)?’ and she would greet me like a child.”
As soon as he hung up, the circus owner hurried over to Old Mom. “Wie geht’s, Mama. Vas ist los?“ he asked.
The huge beast immediately fell to her knees, trumpeting happily. She rose to her feet and shimmied her huge backside in a frenzied dance. Then she curled her trunk around the owner in an elephantine hug. In a strange land, among strange people, finally something was familiar!
“I should have known,” the owner said, chuckling. “A German elephant doesn’t understand English. We’ll find someone to translate for her for a while. Then we will teach her English.”
It wasn’t long before the owner had to agree that Old Mom was one smart elephant! Still, a herd could have only one queen. What would happen when Old Mom met the young leader of their herd?
For three days Old Mom was “just another member of the herd.” Then things changed: All one night the circus train had traveled in a driving rain. When they reached their destination, the circus lot was far from the railway tracks. In between were several bridges that didn’t look quite safe.
“Belle!” the circus owner called to his young queen. “Come and test the bridge.”
The man waited and called again, but the young leader didn’t move. Then Old Mom stepped forward. Cautiously she laid one foot on the bridge and waited for a snap. Hearing none, she placed another foot on the span. Stepping daintily, she made her way across the bridge and trumpeted for the others to follow. Old Mom was now in command!
As a leader Old Mom was strict, but fair. She tenderly guarded the young punks (baby elephants) who came to the training lot for the first time. But she had no patience with lazy young bulls (male elephants). It was a favorite trick of some of them to put their heads within an eighth of an inch (3 mm) of the circus wagons and pretend to push. They could fool the roustabouts, but they couldn’t fool Old Mom. She would thump them with her trunk or seize them by an ear and squeeze it hard. If the bull were much bigger than Old Mom, she would whirl and butt the offender mightily in the midriff. One day a particularly ornery bull appeared in the lot acting meeker than all the rest. His rebelliousness was gone—and so were three inches of his tail!
Old Mom had one superior: Fred, the superintendent of the herd. Only he could punish her offenses.
One day a drifter wandered into the circus lot. For days he teased Old Mom. Bellowing with rage and thrashing her trunk, she tried to warn him. But he wouldn’t quit. One day his abuse was too much. Old Mom snatched him in her trunk and threw him against a wall. Then she seized a nearby bull hook (commonly used to punish disobedient elephants), handed it to Fred, and began to “talk” into his ear, pleading like a naughty child. She wrapped her trunk softly around his body, and Fred slowly dropped the bull hook. Perhaps Old Mom believed that she had talked him out of a spanking, but the truth was that Fred had seen the bully teasing his elephant all week. He ordered the man from the circus grounds and warned him to never return. Fred was Old Mom’s protector as well as her punisher.
Old Mom was smart about everything except what she ate. How she loved junk food! And after consuming great quantities of peanuts, popcorn, marshmallows, cotton candy, lollipops, watermelon, and chewing gum, she would lie on the ground, her huge belly swollen, whimpering and squealing and rolling her eyes. It took gallons of paregoric laced with Jamaican ginger to ease her agony.
If Mom’s sweet tooth was a problem, her real teeth gave her fits! She had one stubborn tooth that was constantly ragged and broken. Fred had tried hardening it, sawing it off, and filing it down. Nothing worked. It kept breaking and cutting her cheek. Finally, Old Mom took matters into her own hands. She found an old rag and packed the offending tooth. Then, apparently knowing that there was danger in swallowing the rag, she unpacked the tooth at mealtimes and laid the rag at her feet. After eating, she carefully repacked it. From then on, Fred always saw to it that Old Mom had a fresh supply of clean rags.
One hot summer day the circus pulled into a lot where there was no dust for the elephants to throw onto their backs to rid themselves of the flies that tormented them. Old Mom spied a gunnysack. Picking it up, she waved it around, and the flies flew away. Squealing with delight, Old Mom shimmied and swatted. Suddenly a young bull snatched the gunnysack from her. When Old Mom smacked him on the nose and he dropped it, a punk grabbed the treasure. Soon the sack was flying back and forth like a football. Fred heard the commotion and came running. He yelled for a boy to get each elephant a gunnysack. Within minutes the entire herd was squealing and swatting contentedly. Not one would give up his prize. Imagine the surprise of the circus crowd that night when Old Mom led the elephants into the ring, waving their limp brown flyswatters!