Gospel Story Finder

I once visited a family in Chile. One of the children was a boy named Benjamin. He was 10 years old. One night, Benjamin gave a home evening lesson. It was about the stripling warriors from the Book of Mormon (see Alma 53:16–21; 56:42–56). He talked about how brave they were and how they trusted God.
Sometime later, Benjamin’s dad died in an accident. When Benjamin’s mom heard about the accident, she thought of Benjamin’s lesson. She told her family, “We need to be brave like the stripling warriors. We have another battle to fight.”
It was hard for Benjamin’s family. It felt like their lives were turned upside down. They had to move to another house to live with their grandma. They really missed their dad. But they knew they would be together with him again someday. They decided to be a striplingwarrior family.
I walked into their house wanting to comfort them. But I was the one who left feeling blessed. Benjamin told us, “I’m being brave.” Benjamin and his family are fighting this battle so bravely. Their faith is inspiring to me.

When President Nelson invited the women of the Church in October 2018 general conference to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year, Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac, along with their father and younger brothers, decided to offer Mom their support. “We’ll read it with you!” they said. Every morning before seminary, they woke up to read together.
Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac are amazed that their family finished the Book of Mormon in just two months. “It usually takes us a year,” Isaac says. Together, they discovered the blessings of following the prophet’s invitation.
“If you do what you’re supposed to do,” Andrew says, “like building a relationship with Heavenly Father through prayer, scripture study, and staying fully active in the Church, life is so much better.”

“Three days!” Willis exclaimed. “They’ll be here for three whole days? But Alan wants me to go to the lake with him.”
“Willis,” Mom said sternly, “you knew last month that your cousins were coming. I expect you to be here and to show them a good time.”
“All right,” he said unhappily. At first he’d been pretty excited to learn that his cousins were coming. He hadn’t really cared that he would have to give up his room for the older girls to sleep in. But since then he had made other plans, and now he was going to have to give up a weekend at the lake too.
When his Uncle George stopped the car in front of the house, Willis couldn’t believe what he saw—a battered blue trailer hitched to an ancient station wagon. An unbelievable number of bags and boxes were haphazardly tied to the top of the rusted station wagon, and from every window appeared arms, legs, and smiling faces. The sagging vehicle seemed to sigh with relief as his aunt, uncle, and seven cousins tumbled from the car. Instantly the house and yard overflowed with people.
“How tall you’ve grown!” Uncle George cried, slapping Willis on the back.
Everybody’s grown, thought Willis as he looked up at fourteen-year-old Greg.
“Why don’t you show Joe and Greg your new game,” Mom suggested.
“Sure,” Willis said. “Come with me.”
The boys started to play, but Joe, who was the same age as Willis, lost interest after his older brother blew his star destroyer off the game board.
“How about a game of softball?” suggested Greg.
“Then everyone can play.”
“Even the girls?” Willis asked.
“Sure, Willie, it’ll be lots of fun,” said Greg.
“My name is Willis,” he said, thinking that Willie was a dumb name to call a person.
“You’d be surprised at how good Mary is at baseball,” Joe said as they collected a bat and ball and went outside.
There Willis was horrified to see one of his little cousins sitting on the tetherball and swinging around the pole. “Hey, get off there!” yelled Willis. “You’ll break the rope.”
“Oh, she’s not very heavy,” Mary said and swung her little sister off the tetherball and onto the ground. “C’mon Susan, you can be on my team. We’ll knock their socks off.”
The cousins divided into two fairly even teams of older and younger players. In spite of himself, Willis almost enjoyed the softball game. Almost.
“Let’s go, Willie,” yelled Joe. “Hit a homer!”
“Don’t call me Willie!” Willis shouted as the ball was pitched to him. SMACK! He hit a long, towering fly ball that sailed straight toward Greg.
“Run, Jennie,” Greg called to his little sister, who stood on first base. Willis watched in disgust as Greg fumbled his catch on purpose.
“Some baseball game,” he muttered as he jogged behind Jennie around their makeshift diamond.
“Safe,” Mary called as she dropped the ball Greg threw to her just as Jennie touched home plate. “Out!” she yelled, snatching the ball and tagging Willis about two feet from home plate.
“Lunch is ready, children,” Aunt Helen called from the patio.
That’s a relief, Willis thought.
“Great game, Willie.” Joe clapped him on the back.
“Don’t call me Willie,” he said again, shrugging the friendly hand off his shoulder.
After lunch Willis went upstairs to get away from all the people for a while. As he walked down the hall, he heard giggles coming from his room. He was about to stomp away, but he peeked inside, instead. Mary was sitting on his bed, surrounded by his little sisters and several young cousins.
“This poor fairy godmother was having some troubles.” Mary’s voice was woeful. “What would you do if you found Cinderella talking politics with the king instead of dancing with the prince?” Her question was greeted by more giggles. Willis smiled to himself and tiptoed away. When he walked downstairs, Joe saw him.
“Hey, Willie—sorry, Willis—I’ve been looking all over for you. Greg and our dads are unpacking the car. You and I have to sleep in the trailer tonight, but Greg has this terrific army hammock that you just have to see. It has a roof and everything!”
Willis followed the tug on his arm, curious about the hammock.
In the backyard they found Greg unrolling a dark, olive green roll. Uncle George and Dad showed the boys where to attach screw eyes on the corner of the garage and the trunk of the elm tree.
“This is neat!” Willis said with excitement as the double rope supports were tied securely in place. It looked like a small houseboat suspended between the garage and the tree. The sides were made out of green netting, and a sturdy canvas cover served as the roof.
“Try it.” Greg unzipped the netting and showed Willis where to climb in.
“It’s snug and warm, and the canvas roof keeps off the rain,” Joe explained enthusiastically.
“This is great!” Willis said, slipping into the hammock and zipping himself in. He looked out through the netting. “It must be fun sleeping in here.”
“Why don’t you find out,” Greg suggested. “Sleep in it tonight.”
“Really?” Willis couldn’t believe it. “Thanks!”
“It’s time to make ice cream,” Mom called, then came over and peeked through the netting. “Willis, come and help Joe and Greg crank the ice-cream freezer.”
“Crank?” asked Willis as he climbed out of the hammock. “Our ice-cream freezer’s electric.”
“Ours is,” Mom said, leading the way over to the patio. “Aunt Helen and I already have that one going. But we need more than two quarts of ice cream for this crew.”
“We take our hand-crank freezer when we go camping,” Joe said, “because you can’t plug a cord into a tree for electricity.”
Uncle George and Dad each took a turn cranking, but soon the three boys were competing to see who could crank the longest.
“Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine …” All the cousins gathered around the patio to watch the boys.
“Sixty!” yelled Greg, collapsing onto the grass.
“My turn,” said Joe. And he began counting. This time, though, the ice cream was thicker and the crank was harder to turn.
“Fif—teen, six—teen, …” Mary led the count.
“I can’t turn it much more,” Joe said, turning the crank with both hands.
“We need more muscle than that,” chided Aunt Helen with a smile. “It’s not ready yet.”
“Willis,” Joe said, “come and help me turn. We’ll show ‘em!”
Together the two boys turned the crank. “Fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one … eighty-nine, ninety …”
“Nobody will beat our record,” Willis puffed, out of breath.
“We’re almost there,” Joe gasped triumphantly.
“One hundred!” The cousins yelled together.
That night as Willis snuggled down into Greg’s army hammock, he grinned and thought, That was the best ice cream that I’ve ever eaten. And today has to be the best day of my summer vacation—the day the cousins came!

For Caitlin Carr of Utah, some of the admonitions in her patriarchal blessing weren’t immediately clear, but later study of her blessing yielded new insights.
“When I received my patriarchal blessing, I was warned about people who would try and sway me from the truth with pleasing talk. I didn’t think much of it; I had a firm belief in the doctrines I’d been taught.
“However, the following year I was confronted with ideas and philosophies that, on the surface, seemed rooted in fairness and love but were not. These messages seemed to be coming from everywhere: the media, school, even close friends. Even though I knew these philosophies were contrary to God’s plan, I found myself wanting to support both these new worldly ideas and the Church. I soon realized that ‘no man can serve two masters’ (Matthew 6:24) and that I shouldn’t rely on the wisdom of men. Heavenly Father resolved my doubts through the scriptures and spoke peace to my mind and heart. As a result, my testimony has been strengthened and I have become more firm in defending that which I know to be true.”

—Ted Parsons has been named as a new cadet squadron commander, leader of 105 men and women. Normally that’s quite an honor for any cadet, but for Ted it’s especially noteworthy. Ted is the first Latter-day Saint to successfully re-enter the academy after having resigned to serve as a full-time missionary. (Others have resigned from the academy to serve missions, but Ted was the first to be readmitted.)
“There was never any doubt for me that I would go on a mission,” Ted said. “When I got back, I called the admissions officer and told him I would like to return. Maybe it was because I was on the varsity basketball team when I left or because I was number ten overall in my class when I left, but after he checked my file, he got excited. The registrar sent me a packet of material, which I completed and returned. My congressman agreed to renominate me (all cadets must be nominated by a member of Congress, who is allowed to have only 10 nominees at the academy at any given time). I came back and they welcomed me.”
Captain Ray Longi, Ted’s A.O.C. (air officer commanding, a career officer in charge of a squadron of cadets), met Ted on his first day back at the academy and was so impressed with him that he assigned him to the top leadership position for a junior in his squadron.
“That caused some hard feelings at first,” Ted said. “Camaraderie and unity in each class are intense, and none of the other cadets even knew who I was. But I’ve tried to overcome it by working with people.” Ted, who is a pre-med student and hopes to become a doctor, is now one of the most popular cadets in Colorado Springs. “I’d rank Ted, and I mean this in all sincerity, as one of the top ten in his class of 1,000,” Captain Longi said.
Ted wears the superintendent’s pin, which means he has maintained a 3.0 or better average in both scholastic and military training (Ted’s grade point average is actually about 3.8—not bad at an institution where the mean I.Q. is 130—and his military performance average, comprised of evaluations by his A.O.C., his classmates, and his instructors, is usually about 3.6).
It used to be just about impossible for someone who resigned to return to the academy, but Ted’s example set a precedent. Officials began to realize that LDS cadets who resigned to go on missions did so out of conviction, not because they were no longer interested in the academy. While Ted was on his mission in the Arequipa Peru Mission, another cadet, Cody Carr, left the academy for the Switzerland Zurich Mission. He came back this year and is also excelling in his studies and training. Mike McDonald, another LDS cadet, is currently an elder in the New York City New York Spanish Speaking Mission and hopes to return to the academy. Todd and Jay Esplin plan to leave at the end of the summer on missions to Osorno, Chile, and Lima, Peru, then return to the academy. Guy Neddo will soon leave for the Hong Kong Mission but hopes to return to the academy after two years.
Chris Henderson took a different approach. For him, attending the academy had been a lifelong dream, but he decided to go on a mission first (see “A Question of Service,” New Era, April 1979). Barely meeting a deadline that requires cadets to be able to graduate before they turn 26, Chris was able to gain a renomination after his mission and is now completing his first year at the academy.
“The overall dream I have,” Ted said, “is that within a few years it will be the accepted norm for cadets to come here, be actively involved, go on a mission for two years, come back, and get right back into it again. My mission was an icebreaker that way.”

My mother was a young chemist who had to stay behind during two wars when she was between 18 and 22 years old. Others in her family were evacuated. She lived in a time of violence but always had that inner peace that passeth understanding (Philippians 4:7). She knew how to be still because the Lord was on her side. All she had to do was bear her cross patiently. She left it to God to order and provide in her life, remaining faithful in every change she encountered. She knew there would be a joyful end. And so it was when Elders Rex Call and Wayne Hassell brought the gospel of Jesus Christ to our home, and we chose to follow the Savior. Her joy was complete when she was sealed to my father who had died at the age of 32 and left her with two small children. Her eternal vision was clear, and she is enduring to the end.

Matt scowled into the mirror. The freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks looked bigger than ever. In fact, his whole face seemed to be one big freckle. “Mom,” he asked, “why do I have so many freckles? You and Dad don’t have any.”
“I did when I was your age. So did my father. And his father before him.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve seen pictures of them. Your great-grandfather had so many freckles that people called him ‘Red’ when he was your age. His name was Matthew too.”
“Oh, great,” Matt muttered.
“He was a great man,” Mother chided. “My father used to tell me wonderful stories about him.”
But Matt didn’t want to hear that. He just wanted to get rid of about fifty thousand freckles.
“Your great-great-aunt Emily is coming tomorrow. She could tell you a lot more about him. He was her brother.”
“Can she tell me how to get rid of freckles?”
Mom ruffled his hair. “Your freckles won’t last forever.”
Matt grumbled his way through breakfast. When he learned he’d have to give up ball practice to come home to meet his aunt, he grumbled even louder.
“Your aunt wants to see you,” his mother said in the tone she used when she wasn’t happy with him. “Besides, she has something special for you.”
Matt mumbled an apology and slid from his chair. He wanted to rub lemon juice over his face. He’d read in a magazine that lemon juice faded freckles.
Thirty minutes later, he looked in the mirror in disgust. His freckles were still there. If anything, they were more noticeable than ever.
His mood didn’t improve any when he got to school.
“Hey, Matt, you look like you were swallowed by a freckle,” his friend Josh teased.
“Yeah,” Sam added. “A big freckle!”
“Lay off,” Matt said.
By the time school was over, Matt was tired of being teased. He didn’t really feel like meeting Aunt Emily or anyone else, either. But she was there waiting when he walked into the kitchen.
“You look just like my brother Matthew did when he was eleven,” Aunt Emily said.
In spite of himself, Matt was curious. “I do?”
Aunt Emily’s lined face crinkled into a smile. “He had the same stubborn chin, the same blue eyes, and the same freckles.”
Matt scowled. “Did he hate them too?”
Her smile deepened. “He sure did—at first.”
Intrigued, Matt sat down at the kitchen table. He said “thanks” when his mother placed four peanut butter cookies in front of him, but he was more interested in what Aunt Emily had to say. “He didn’t always hate them?”
She shook her head. “No, he didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because they helped him get the lead in the school play. He tried out for the part of Tom Sawyer and got it because of his freckles.”
“But I don’t want to be Tom Sawyer,” Matt said.
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to be a professional ball player or president of a company or something.”
Aunt Emily shoved a package toward him. “Here.”
Eagerly Matt unwrapped the brown paper, then stared in disappointment at an old leather-bound book. “What’s this?”
“It’s your great-grandfather’s journal. He started keeping it when he was just about your age.”
Matt opened it. Pasted inside the front cover was an old-fashioned photograph of a young boy. Even the faded tones of the picture couldn’t hide the freckles scattered across his face. “This is my great-grandfather?” Matt asked.
Aunt Emily nodded. “Does he look familiar?”
Matt didn’t answer. His own face stared back at him.
That evening, he excused himself after dinner and went upstairs to his room. He started flipping through the journal. He stopped at an entry dated June 15, 1911: “Worked in the fields today. It was hot! Earned $1.50.”
Matt kept reading. His eyes drooped, but he couldn’t put the book down.
“Aunt Emily, do you have any more of my great-grandfather’s journals?” he asked the next morning.
“I sure do. I had a feeling that you might be interested in them.” She motioned to him to follow her to the bedroom, where she opened her suitcase. Inside were eight journals—seven brown and one black. She picked up the black one and handed it to Matt. “This one is very special,” she said.
Matt looked inside. The pages were blank. “It’s empty.”
She smiled. “I know. You get to fill them.”
He wanted to look through the other journals right away, but he had to hurry off to school. After gulping his juice, he folded a piece of toast and jammed it into a napkin and ran to catch the bus.
His fifth grade teacher assigned a report due the next day. “Choose someone you admire and tell us about him.”
The other kids started talking about whom they would choose. Josh chose Abraham Lincoln. Sam picked Thomas Edison. Mary chose Babe Didrikson Zaharias. Matt frowned. All the good names seemed to be taken. But by that evening, Matt knew whom he was going to give his report on.
As he stood before the class the following day, he rubbed his wet palms against his jeans and took a deep breath. “My great-grandfather was never president. He never invented anything. He never even finished school. But he was a great man. When he was twelve, his father died. So he dropped out of school to help support his family. He hoed beets for only a dollar-fifty a day. When he was nineteen, he went on a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
By the end of his report, Matt was flushed. “I’m proud that I look like my great-grandfather. I hope I can be the kind of man he was.”
The class applauded.
After school, Matt hurried to spend more time talking with Aunt Emily about his great-grandfather Matthew. He also wanted to write in his own journal about his class report. Before going to bed, he looked in the mirror. His customary scowl had been replaced by a smile as he studied his freckles. He decided he didn’t mind them so much, after all.

When I was seven years old, my parents asked me why I was limping. They took me to a doctor, who said I had an incurable hip disease. It had caused my right leg to almost stop growing. Without treatment, my right leg would be four to six inches shorter than my left leg as an adult. He sent me to a specialized doctor who told me to keep pressure off the hip until I was full grown. Even then, I would still have a four-inch difference in the length of my legs. I had two choices: stay in bed or wear a brace. I chose the brace. I didn’t feel afraid because I had faith that Heavenly Father would take care of me.
Wearing my new leg brace, I tried to do the same things other children did. I played baseball, even though I couldn’t run very fast. My left leg kept growing, but my right leg stayed the same.
Then my father received a work opportunity in northern California. In our new town, I started fourth grade. I soon learned that Heavenly Father watches over His children. My parents took me to see Dr. Chan. He had been studying my disease and had an idea for a new surgery. If I was willing to take the risk, he was willing to experiment on me. I agreed, even though I would be in a body cast for up to six months. We had very good home teachers who gave me a wonderful blessing.
With the surgery, a medical miracle happened. My right leg began to grow. The cast was removed in just two months, and I learned to walk on my right leg for the first time in two years. I was soon walking and running again! Within 11 months, my right leg was the same length as my left.
After fifth grade, my family moved back to Colorado. I know it was no coincidence that my family moved to the only place where a doctor could help me. Heavenly Father guided my parents so I could be healed.
Because of this experience, two verses in Alma 36 have special meaning to me. I remember how the Lord healed me to do His work:
“But behold, my limbs did receive their strength again, and I stood upon my feet, and did manifest unto the people that I had been born of God.
“Yea, and from that time even until now, I have labored without ceasing, that I might bring souls unto repentance; that I might bring them to taste of the exceeding joy of which I did taste; that they might also be born of God, and be filled with the Holy Ghost” (Alma 36:23–24).
I am grateful that Heavenly Father blessed me to have the use of my right leg. He knew the things that He had in store for me to do, and He blessed me with the health to be able to do them more easily. As a Seventy, I travel and testify of the Savior, bringing the joy of the gospel to others so that they can know and feel what I know and feel.

I will begin my message with a story about a friend from Boston, whom I will call Junior. His story, at least the part I will share today, is about three choices that have had a profound impact on his life. Junior was a teenager growing up in a rough part of the city. His parents were converts to the Church who had immigrated to the United States from the Dominican Republic-good people with strong testimonies of the restored Gospel. But Junior wasn't sure how he felt about his own testimony. He liked his non-member friends. He was considering joining a band, and he had the dread-lock hair style to fit the part. Junior was willing to attend Church, but he really went in support of his parents.

Six years ago Junior responded to an invitation to attend a youth conference. Unsure whether he wanted to spend an entire weekend with a group of religious people, he initially declined. The night before the conference, he felt a spiritual prompting. To the surprise of many of his leaders, Junior made the decision to attend. Something happened that weekend where, for the first time, Junior felt that God had spoken directly to him. The seeds of a personal testimony began to grow. A year later, and at the encouragement of his younger brother, Junior made the decision to attend BYU-Idaho. Leaving the familiar setting of Boston and moving to Rexburg, Idaho was a big change. But with the transition came many blessings. Junior was matched with great roommates, a strong spiritual environment, and caring faculty. One of his roommates was a returned missionary from New York who also shared a Dominican heritage. All Fall semester, Junior talked with his roommate about the impact a mission would have on in his life. No one in Junior's family had ever served a mission, but through the example of his roommate and direction from the Spirit, Junior made the decision to serve a mission.

Junior has become a powerful missionary and is a different young man than the boy I met six years ago. But while he always had divine potential, it was his decisions that shaped who he has become. In each of these decisions, Junior received encouragement from good shepherds-a young men's leader, a sibling, and a college roommate. But in each situation, all of the influence in the world would not have mattered if Junior, exercising his personal agency, had not made a decision and acted on it.

Others John has taught have also found ways to personalize their instruments. Freida Maize from Shiprock, New Mexico, carved an “S” on her flute to stand for her home town. Ray Delgarito of Crown Point, New Mexico, fashioned part of his in the shape of a quail. And Jackie Smith of Dustin, Oklahoma, carved a thunderbird and other tribal symbols of the Creeks and Seminoles on her flute.
“The thunderbird symbolizes power, and to me music is a powerful way to influence people. In my tribe and every tribe it plays a vital part because it is involved in everything—religion, everyday singing, powwows, war dances. Everything is tied in with some form of music or other.”
She explained that her mother, who is not a member of the Church, heard her playing the LDS hymn “I Need Thee Every Hour” on the flute and asked her about its meaning. “I was able to show her that she can kneel before God and meet him any time, every hour.”

One night when our children were younger, we were having family scripture time. We read about the Savior and talked about how He never made any mistakes.
Later that night my wife tucked our three-year-old daughter, Susie, into bed. Susie looked up at her mother and said, “Mummy, Jesus did make a mistake.”
“What do you mean?” her mother asked.
“He broke something,” Susie said.
Somewhat puzzled, her mother asked, “What did He break?”
“Jesus broke the bands of death,” Susie answered.
My wife realized that she and Susie had sung the Primary song “On a Golden Springtime” many times, and Susie had learned the words “On a golden springtime, Jesus Christ awoke and left the tomb where He had lain; the bands of death He broke.”1 Susie’s mother explained that breaking the bands of death means that Jesus was resurrected so that we can all live again after we die.
That conversation has given my wife and me many opportunities to teach our daughters, Lizzie, Susie, and Emma, about what the Atonement really means for each of us. Susie was right: Jesus did break the bands of death. But it wasn’t a mistake. It was the greatest gift He could give us! (See Doctrine and Covenants 14:7.)

To understand her influence, we need to look back to the refining, testing days of the pioneers, to her grandmothers.
Her paternal grandmother, Mary Goble, was thirteen years old when she came with her family to Utah from England. Her father drove a wagon which accompanied a pioneer handcart company.
Mary’s mother, sister, and brother all died on that terrible journey. Her feet were frozen, and later her toes were removed. Little Mary rode into the valley in the same wagon with the body of her mother.
Sister Hinckley’s maternal grandmother, Martha Elizabeth Evans, married George Paxman, the faithful son of a stake president. He knew carpentry, and they moved to Manti, Utah, where he worked on the temple there. They lived in a sod-roofed house and were happy companions sealed in the sacred covenants of the gospel.
Two months before their second child was born (Sister Hinckley’s mother), George Paxman was injured. He was setting in place the massive east doors of the temple. Perhaps one of the doors slipped a little and he strained to hold it in place.
Within the week he died an agonizing death as a result of internal injuries. Martha provided for her daughters by sewing for a living. She was a widow for sixty-two years, ever sweet, never losing faith. Her daughter’s daughter was to become the wife of an Apostle, a counselor to Presidents.
President Hinckley’s grandfather, Ira Nathanial Hinckley, lost his parents and was sent from Michigan to Springfield, Illinois, to live with his grandparents. As a teenager he walked to Nauvoo, Illinois, and met the Prophet Joseph Smith.
He traveled westward with the pioneers. During the U.S. Civil War he volunteered for service in the Union army guarding the transcontinental telegraph line. Later he was sent by Brigham Young to Cove Creek, Utah, where he built the fort that stands today.
On the trek west, Ira Hinckley stayed back for one season to plow the prairies and plant grain that he would not harvest. The harvest belonged to those who came afterward. The forebearers of Brother and Sister Hinckley planted fields of faith for those who followed them.
That spirit has come as a legacy to Brother Hinckley. He feels he does not own this legacy of faith but holds it in trust to protect and to increase for those who will come in the generations ahead. Worthy Saints would have it that way, earning blessings for their children and their children’s children. That “residual of faith,” as he calls it, is gathered from the influence of good people. It shows in both President and Sister Hinckley.
Brother Hinckley’s father, Bryant S. Hinckley, was one month old when Cove Fort was built. The family later moved to Fillmore, Utah, where Ira N. Hinckley was called to preside over the stake. Bryant S. Hinckley would follow in the footsteps of his father and preside over the Liberty Stake in Salt Lake City, then the largest stake in the Church with approximately fifteen thousand members. Gordon B. Hinckley would be the third generation to preside over a stake of Zion.
Bryant S. Hinckley received three gifts: a quick mind, a firm faith, and—something rare in those days—a good education.
He married and they had children. Then his wife died, leaving him with the little family to raise. At the time, he was president of Latter-day Saint Business College, and lovely Ada Bitner came to teach English and shorthand. She had gone to school in the east to learn a new type of shorthand and became the first in the area to teach the method. LeGrand Richards, a future Apostle, was one of her students. Another teacher at the school was young J. Reuben Clark, Jr., who would one day be counselor to Presidents.
Bryant and Ada were married, and the family increased. You do not say a “second” family or “another” family, for, as President Hinckley said, “We were all the same; it was one family.”
When Gordon was ordained a deacon and eligible to attend stake priesthood meeting, his father took the somewhat unwilling boy to his first meeting and, as a member of the stake presidency, went to the stand. Gordon stayed on the back row.
The congregation of men sang as the opening hymn “Praise to the Man.”
Praise to the man who communed with Jehovah
Jesus anointed that prophet and seer. …
Something happened! “There welled up in me an overwhelming conviction!” President Hinckley said later. A spirit of confirmation flowed into his heart, and a spirit of testimony affirmed to that boy deacon that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. He knew it! He knew it! He knew it as firmly as he knew that he lived! From that moment on he was armed with that “residual of faith.”
Later, when the faith of this bright university student was challenged by doubts (always a part of the education of the young members of the Church), the memory of that moment sustained him. Even today, more than sixty years later, he cannot tell of that experience without putting a finger under his glasses to prevent a tear from rolling down his cheek.
That is a lesson for the youth of the Church. If Brother Hinckley came from the university shaken a bit in faith, he reestablished it forever by responding to a call to serve a mission in England. He had plans to attend Columbia University, New York, for an advanced degree in journalism, for he had a talent with words. But that must wait.
It was during the Depression, and because of an unfavorable monetary exchange rate at that time, England was the most expensive mission in the world. He began his missionary work in Preston, where the early Apostles had opened the work. He served as assistant to Elder Joseph F. Merrill, a member of the Twelve and President of the European Missions. G. Homer Durham, who later was to be a President of the First Quorum of the Seventy, was one of Elder Hinckley’s companions.

During the message I delivered at general conference in October 1975, I felt prompted to direct my remarks to a little girl with long, blonde hair who was seated in the balcony of the Tabernacle. I called the attention of the audience to her and felt this small girl needed the message I had in mind.
At the conclusion of the session, I returned to my office and found waiting for me a young child by the name of Misti White, together with her grandparents and an aunt. As I greeted them, I recognized Misti as the one in the balcony to whom I had directed my remarks.
I learned that as her eighth birthday approached, she was in a quandary concerning whether or not to be baptized. She felt she would like to be baptized, and her grandparents, with whom she lived, wanted her to be baptized, but her less-active mother suggested she wait until she was 18 years of age to make the decision. Misti had told her grandparents, “If we go to conference, maybe Heavenly Father will let me know what I should do.”
As we continued our visit after the session, Misti’s grandmother said to me, “I think Misti has something she would like to tell you.” This sweet young girl said, “Brother Monson, while you were speaking in conference, you answered my question. I want to be baptized!”
The family returned to California, and Misti was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

My amazing mother has had dementia-Alzheimers for over 10 years now. My dad’s lovingly taken care of her and attended to her every need at home until the last four years, when she needed to go to a memory care facility. He feeds her every meal because her capacity is so diminished. But she’s been a bright, multi-talented woman all her life…and a wonderful mother. I want to tell you a little about her…

She was an incredible pianist and taught for just $2 a lesson…just so children who couldn’t really afford it could learn to play.
Mom was an awesome seamstress! She’d stay up late making something special for homecoming or other dances. By the time my sister Alicia came along 8 years later—our folks had some money to buy her clothes. But Mom sewed all of mine…through most of college. And she did a great job!
She drove us great distances to music lessons so we could develop our talents—and even joined me playing violin in the orchestra at a Catholic girls’ convent, which my violin teacher conducted.
Mom was such a good homemaker…she was a great cook…and so clean, you could lick her floors and think they tasted good!
As an adult, she was a substitute teacher, a volunteer, and she took voice lessons. She was a renowned choir director in our California stake for decades…and put on more beautiful programs than you can count—both religious and secular. And, after they retired and moved to Utah from California …Mom played the violin in a local symphony orchestra.
She would do anything to help anyone, always serving. And she and my dad served a senior couple mission to Ireland—even though she was a bit nervous. But she was faithful and found she could do that, too…and her sweet personality won many Irish hearts. I love her dearly…and that’s the way I always think of her in my mind. Gentle and fun…never overbearing. Always kind.
Even though Mom still looks much the same…her memory is gone…along with her recognition of most of her family members. She doesn’t speak and can’t really do anything for herself. It is so very sad—yet we are thrilled she is still with us…and she’s still wonderful, beautiful Renée. I often wonder—why her? And, sometimes, I think--why us? Or why me?
But maybe, instead, we should ask the question Elder Maxwell asked when he was diagnosed with leukemia: “Why not me?” And ask…What am I to do? What am I to learn? What am I to change? Whom am I to help?
In time, we all realize that “there are beautiful sunrises even after devastating sunsets.” Heavenly Father continues to pour down blessings, even when we’re in the midst of our trials. And we, too, have seen that in our family.

Professional life is another area which provides opportunities for friendships. Once when I was working in California, I was offered a job in New York City. My employers told me people didn’t care about each other there.
I couldn’t believe people could live the way they described. It made me want to go to New York City just to prove them wrong. But after six months working there, I was ready to concede my California friends were right. Then I decided I hadn’t made much of an effort myself.
So I started a program to find out if New York City workers were really human. I lived in Scarsdale, about a 45-minute train ride from New York. The train ran exactly on schedule. I started noticing the habits of the commuters. They would leave home at exactly the same minute each morning, walk to the station, buy a New York Times, walk to a certain board on the platform, fold their paper, stand on that board until the train arrived, get on the same car, find the same seat, and read their newspaper all the way into Grand Central Station. They would never speak as they traveled their various routes.
I decided the only way to get to know them was to break the routine. I selected a man I thought I would like to get acquainted with, and after observing his routine for a few days, I planned a counter-routine.
I arrived at the station at about the same time he did. As soon as he started to walk down to his favorite board on the platform, I broke into a run and just beat him there, firmly planting my two feet on his favorite spot. This unnerved him so that he didn’t even unfold his newspaper.
When the train arrived, I jumped on and took his favorite seat. He rode all the way into the city visibly disturbed. I believe I ruined the entire day for him. The next morning I repeated the same process.
Then the most remarkable thing happened the third morning. When I arrived at the train platform, he was already there, firmly planted on his favorite board, reading his newspaper. I couldn’t help but laugh. He gave me a scowl, and then he couldn’t hold back either. I introduced myself as a new arrival determined to break the routine of a commuter. We had an enjoyable visit. We got on the train and talked all the way into New York.
From then on, breaking each other’s routine became a game. We would race each morning for that favorite spot. Soon others noticed what we were doing, and before we knew it, there were three, then four, then five, then ten, all racing for that particular board each morning.
The great friendships made then have endured many years. The cold New Yorker was just as friendly as anyone else. All you had to do was break through that city shell.

One Sunday my granddaughter Diana, who is four years old, was sitting next to her father at church. Diana sat reverently, enjoying the comfort of her father’s arm holding her close to him. However, when the bishop stood up and announced the sacrament hymn, Diana gently lifted her father’s arm from her shoulder and placed it in his lap. Then she sat up straight and folded her arms. She looked over at her father and encouraged him to do the same.
Diana’s message to her father was perfectly clear. She was telling him to turn his complete and total attention to the Savior.

I stopped at the bottom of Sanford’s huge sycamore tree and looked up the ladder of wooden slats that led to the door of our clubhouse. I avoided looking at the sign that read, “FOR BOYS ONLY” nailed to the tree trunk.
I glanced back uneasily at Meg and Michelle, the two sisters who had moved in next door to us the day before.
“The clubhouse is way up there,” I muttered, nodding toward our hideout overhead. “It’s pretty high up—kind of scary too. There’s not much to see. Are you sure you want to go up?”
Meg, the older of the two, gazed up into the branches. “Looks like a pretty neat place. I’m not afraid of heights, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Who put that up?” Michelle asked, pointing to the sign.
“We did.”
“Well, it’s kind of dumb, if you ask me,” she muttered. “Why aren’t girls allowed?”
“We like it that way.”
“Your mom said you’d take us up,” Michelle reminded me. “I’d like to see what it’s like.”
When Mom asked me to show Meg and Michelle around the neighborhood, I told her that I wouldn’t. She just shrugged and said something about my not getting to do something the next time I wanted to. Well, I knew what she was thinking about: Garett Hadfield’s family was going to Disneyland in two weeks, and Garett had asked me to go with them.
Slowly I turned back to the ladder, grabbed the first slat, and started up. When I reached the trapdoor in the middle of the clubhouse floor, I could hear voices inside. I gulped and knocked softly.
“Who’s there?” a voice growled.
“Me, Jared,” I answered meekly.
The trapdoor opened. I pulled myself up through the opening and sat there with my legs dangling down. “Hi,” I greeted them sickly. I looked around. Sanford was there. Garett too. Then I saw Will, Andrew, and Mark in the dim light. The whole club was there, except Paul. “I brought some … uh … some visitors,” I explained. “They’re our new neighbors.”
“Let’s have a look,” Sanford said.
I gulped again, pulled my feet up, and slid across the floor to sit against the wall. Then Meg’s head poked up through the trapdoor. She looked around and grinned. “Hi. I’m Meg.”
“A girl!” all the guys gasped, jumping to their feet. They stared at Meg as she climbed into the clubhouse, then glared at me.
Before the guys had a chance to get over their shock, Michelle poked her head up through the hole.
“Another girl!” the guys groaned.
“What’s wrong with girls?” Michelle challenged them.
“You brought girls into the clubhouse?” Andrew asked, pointing at me. He turned to the girls. “Didn’t you read the sign?”
“Sure,” Michelle retorted before I had a chance to open my mouth. “But we figured anybody dumb enough to put up a sign like that didn’t know what he was doing anyway.”
“It’s just for today,” I put in. “I’m just showing them around. Mom made me.”
“I haven’t even let my mom come up here,” Sanford protested. He glowered at the girls. “I say they leave right now.”
I looked at Garett. He looked back at me and shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me,” he said. “They look all right.”
Well, as long as Garett was with me, I still had a shot at Disneyland, so I didn’t much care what the others thought. “I say they stay,” I said, standing up. “The clubhouse is part mine.”
“My dad built it!” Sanford shouted.
“He couldn’t have built it without my dad’s lumber,” I reminded him. “I say they stay.”
For a few minutes we all just sat there glaring at each other. Then Mark spluttered, “Listen, guys, we have a bigger problem than these girls to worry about—remember? Today’s the day we’re supposed to play the Highland Heights team.”
Then all of us boys groaned. We had been bragging to the Highland Heights team that we could beat them. All that they had to do was name the time and place. Well, they’d named the city park as the place, and this morning as the time. But our best pitcher had the chicken pox!
“We just can’t play them today,” Will croaked. “We don’t stand a chance without Paul pitching.”
“I can pitch,” Sanford volunteered.
“And we can help out,” Meg said.
“We let you come into our clubhouse just this once,” Sanford growled, “but that doesn’t mean we’re going to let you play baseball with us. Those guys would laugh us clear out of the park.”
“We’re going to need all the help we can get,” Garett said uneasily.
“Are you saying that we should let girls play ball with us?” Sanford yelped.
Garett shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe they can fall down in front of a ball. At least we can cover the field that way.”
“I say girls don’t play on our team,” Sanford insisted, folding his arms across his chest defiantly. “If they want to come, they can cheer for us.”
“We’re not cheerleaders,” Michelle protested. “We know how to play ball. Meg and I were in a league where we used to live.”
“I say we let them play,” I said, starting for the door. “If we lose, we’ll just say it was the girls’ fault.”
Michelle grabbed my arm and turned me around. “We don’t play on a losing team. We play to win.”
When we reached the city park, the Highland Heights team was there waiting for us. “We thought you got scared and decided not to show up,” TJ Blake called out as we walked up. TJ was the leader of his team and their best player. He could hit a home run almost every time. He started to grin. “No wonder you’re late. You had to find some girls to help you out. That’s OK with us—you’ll need all the help you can get.”
Well, the Highland Heights team batted first. We put Meg and Michelle in the outfield, where there’s a little less action. Sanford pitched, but he pitched everything that the other team wanted. The first three batters got hits and loaded the bases. Then TJ came to bat, grinning.
“I thought you said you could pitch,” I shouted at Sanford as I covered first base. “Now they’ll have four runs and no outs.”
“Well, you haven’t done anything to help,” he growled back at me. “The only thing you’ve done is drag those two girls along.”
“Michelle can pitch,” Meg called from center field. “She’s a good pitcher. She pitched for our old team.”
I looked at Garett, who was playing second. He shrugged. “She can’t be much worse than Sanford,” he muttered.
TJ laughed as Michelle came in to pitch. “Oh, I love it! I get to bat against a girl.” Then he frowned. “Just make sure you get it this far,” he grumbled at Michelle.
Michelle ignored him. She turned to me. “Meg plays shortstop better than any guy I know.”
I looked over at Mark, who was playing shortstop. “Mark, why don’t you trade places with Meg?”
“With a girl?” he protested.
“It’s just for a little while,” Garett explained. “Besides, we’re going to need three good outfielders while TJ bats.”
“Come on, little girl, throw it here,” TJ taunted when Michelle was ready to pitch.
Michelle just glared at TJ, then wound up and let the ball fly. It zoomed right across the plate, and TJ swung hard enough to knock it clear over Mark’s head. But he missed the ball! Instead, he spun around and fell on the ground. Everybody on our team laughed as TJ stood up, brushed himself off, and got ready to bat again.
“Don’t let a little girl strike you out!” chortled Jason, who was catching.
TJ glared at him, then turned back to Michelle, who was already winding up. Again she let the ball fly across the plate. TJ swung and got just a piece of it. Foul ball. The next time, Michelle wound up and looked like she was going to throw that ball clear into next week. But it was a slow one. TJ swung and missed the ball completely.
We all cheered as TJ stomped away from the plate. Clay Barnes came up to bat next. He missed the first two pitches, but on the third pitch, he hit a line drive—straight for Meg! I thought for sure that it was going to knock her right off her feet, but she snagged the ball and burned it over to me for a double play.
TJ pitched for his team. Boy, was he mad! And the first one to go to bat was Michelle. The fielders came in, since it was just a girl batting, and on the first pitch Michelle got a piece of that ball and knocked it over Clay Barnes’s head into right field.
We beat the Highland Heights team that afternoon ten to eight. And we were sure glad that Meg and Michelle had refused to cheerlead for us.
When we got back to Sanford’s backyard, his mom called from the back porch, “Sanford, there are some cookies and punch in your clubhouse.”
“How’d they get up there?” Sanford asked, surprised.
“You’ve never invited me up, so I decided I’d use the cookies and punch as an excuse to take a look around.”
“You went into our clubhouse?” Sanford gasped. “But it’s just for boys!”
“Don’t worry about it, Sister Nichols,” I called to Sanford’s mom. “You’re not the first girl that’s ever been there.”
“And you won’t be the last,” Michelle added, grinning.
As we were about to climb the tree, I looked at the FOR BOYS ONLY sign. I shook my head and turned to Garett. “There’s a pencil up in the clubhouse. Would you go get it?”
When Garett came back down with the pencil, I grabbed it and scribbled on the sign, “(AND A FEW GOOD GIRLS).”
We all looked at the sign and grinned, then climbed up for cookies and punch.

Daniel Schlegel looks at the reflection of the Detroit Michigan Temple in the stake center window. The window is dirty, covered with water stains, and dimly mirrors the temple just across the parking lot. He sprays the window with cleaner, and the image disappears in streaks of blue liquid. As his hand moves in circular motions, the image slowly reappears. When he’s finished, the reflection of the temple is bright, and he moves on. There are plenty of windows to clean and not much time.
Before Mutual starts and before anyone signs up for specific cleaning responsibilities, Bishop Kunz asks the youth to especially make sure the windows and doors are washed. He says the glass doors are the first thing people notice when they walk into the building, and nothing is worse than water stains and fingerprints on glass.
Daniel, a teacher, is one of many who help fill the bishop’s request. Like the other youth, he wants the building to look good for Sunday. Even though the windows become spotted and require plenty of polishing, Daniel is up for the task. The crisp reflection of the temple in the spotless window is the reward he gets from his work.

Finally, the scriptures saved my life and renewed my own hope and joy in the truth that my Redeemer lives.

In the fall of 2015, on the first day of the semester, I woke up with a searing pain through my chest to my back. After teaching my classes, the pain intensified. A battery of tests determined I had experienced a spontaneous pneumothorax, or a partial lung collapse.

After some consultation, my doctor and the pulmonary specialist decided not to operate to inflate my lung. They were hopeful--as was I--that it would heal with rest and deep breathing. Wow. Rest. That turned out to be a challenge.

My lung eventually began to improve, but I was not prepared for the emotional turmoil that followed. I had a sudden onset of fear. In addition to the collapsed lung, there were other events in my family which I began to focus on, and this misguided focus threw me into a pit of discouragement and deep despair. My faith was tested, and my hope was fading.

I felt broken. It was more than just being anxious or downhearted. I lost my appetite. I no longer wanted to participate in daily activities. The depression finally became so debilitating I had to take medical leave from work. Sleep escaped me and magnified the intensity of the darkness. I began to worry for my life as I lost almost 30 pounds in one month.

In addition to seeking medical help, I started searching the scriptures and general conference talks for answers. I had to know if I was going to make it through this.

Where was my Heavenly Father? I felt alone and hopeless. I thought I had faith. Did I? As I kept searching and pleading for guidance, I found Elder Richard G. Scott's talk "Make the Exercise of Faith Your First Priority."[6]

Elder Scott and his sweet Jeanene had lost two young children early in their marriage. Later in life, Sister Scott's untimely death left him to serve alone. If anyone knew about faith, he would. In his talk he encouraged me to make the exercise of faith a priority. He described exactly what this looks like. He invited me to study the scriptures every day, go to the Lord in heartfelt prayer, attend the temple, and hold family home evening. These were four things I could do. They were not out of reach. In fact, they were so simple I had been looking past them.

In Matthew 14:26-31 the Lord teaches us what happens when we lose focus on Him.
And when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were troubled, saying, It is a spirit; and they cried out for fear.
But straightway Jesus spake unto them, saying, Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid.
And Peter answered him and said, Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water.
And he said, Come. And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he walked on the water, to go to Jesus.
But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me.
And immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught him, and said unto him, O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?
I had become like Peter and taken my focus off the Lord. I too had started to sink. I had let daily demands of life become more important than my daily scripture study, and I had allowed the focus of my family's turmoil to take my eyes off of Christ. I needed a realignment. It was time to refocus and use this time to find my Savior.

In addition to general conference talks, I found comfort in the Book of Mormon. One morning while home alone and struggling to start my day, I received a phone call from a dear friend. She had been studying the scriptures and found one she was prompted to share with me. It was in 1 Nephi 21:16: "Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands: thy walls are continually before me." Wow. That was a good one. To know that He had already graven me upon the palms of His hands helped me see that I was not forgotten. He knew me. Christ had already carried this burden for me. This truth seared deep into my soul.

Then I found Mormon 5:23: "Know ye not that ye are in the hands of God?" Yes, I was in God's hands. My very life depended on Him every day. He was in charge. I could let it go. He had this. What a great place to put our lives--in His able and loving hands. "
I posted Elder Jeffrey R. Holland's words on our family white board: "Don't you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead.... You keep your chin up. It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come."[7]

The scriptures became my friends. I started to text my favorite ones to myself. I put them on notifications to arrive later in the day. I posted them around my home. I started memorizing them. Because I had committed a few to memory, I could call them up whenever I needed a friend to encourage me or a friend to comfort me. They became my lifelines.

Finally, Psalms 46:10 spoke to me: "Be still and know that I am God." We need a time each day to be still and remember. My medical leave turned out to be an unplanned blessing for me to refocus and remember what is truly important. The Lord needed to get my attention. As difficult as it was, I learned to be still--like the Sea of Galilee after a storm. Now that I am back into life, with deadlines and competing demands, it takes commitment and prioritizing every day to spend time in prayer and in the scriptures. We all have 24 hours. What we do with that 24 hours shows Heavenly Father and ourselves what is truly important to us.

Kate looked at the kitchen table covered with dirty supper dishes, trying to decide where to start. “It’s hard to believe that summer’s almost over,” she sighed as she started to stack the plates.
“I know what you mean,” Becky said. “It’s our last week of summer vacation, and we still haven’t gone to the new water park. Do you think Mom will take us there if we ask?”
“Maybe,” Kate said as she carried the plates to the sink. “But I know that Mom’s really busy this week. And we did a lot of fun things this summer. We just didn’t go to the water park.”
Becky followed Kate back into the dining room. She leaned against the table while her sister gathered up the glasses and utensils. “Yes—if you call driving all day to get to a family reunion fun,” she muttered.
“It was fun,” said Kate. “You’re just being ornery.” She picked up four glasses and headed back to the kitchen. Becky followed.
“It was all right,” Becky agreed, “but I’ll bet we’re the only two kids in our whole school who haven’t gone to the water park.”
Losing patience, Kate turned to Becky. “Will you please stop complaining and help me with the dishes?”
Rolling her eyes, Becky opened the dishwasher and was starting to load the dirty dishes, when their mom came in.
“Thank you for doing the dishes,” Mom said. “I appreciate all the work the two of you do.”
“No problem, Mom.” Kate smiled.
“Yeah,” Becky agreed. “We were just saying that it’s too bad that the summer’s almost over and we never made it to the new water park.”
“That is a shame,” Mom said. She thought for a moment, then said, “I’ll make you a deal. I have some errands to run tomorrow morning. If you two will clean the garage while I’m gone, I’ll stop and buy tickets to the water park, and we can go when I get home.”
“That would be great!” Becky exclaimed.
“It’s a deal,” Kate said.
“Cleaning the garage is a big job. Do you think you can do it without me?”
“No problem,” Becky said.
The next morning Kate jumped out of bed and ran downstairs. Mom had already left. “Good morning,” Kate greeted her grandmother.
“Good morning, dear. Are you ready for your breakfast?”
Kate nodded and followed her grandmother into the kitchen. “Becky and I are going to clean the garage. Then Mom is going to take us to the new water park.”
“That’s what your mother told me,” said Grandma. “Would you please go wake Becky.”
“Sure.”
“What’s the big hurry?” Becky grumped when Kate tried to talk her into getting up.
“We need to eat breakfast and start cleaning the garage.”
“No, we don’t. You heard what Mom said. She’s picking up the tickets while she’s out. She’s not going to tell us that we can’t go after she’s already bought the tickets.”
Kate frowned. “But we made a deal.”
“If you’re so worried, you go clean the garage. Tell Grandma that I’ll have breakfast later. Right now I need to figure out which swimming suit I want to wear.”
Kate trudged back down the stairs.
“What’s wrong?” Grandma asked.
“Becky says she’s not going to help. She thinks Mom will let us go even if we don’t clean the garage.”
“What do you think?” Grandma asked.
“We said we would clean the garage,” said Kate, “so that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Well,” said Grandma, “you’ve made your decision, and you’ll have to let Becky make hers. Sometimes we want to make other people’s decisions for them, but we can’t.”
After breakfast, Kate marched out to the garage and looked around, trying to figure out where to start. She decided to start by moving everything she needed to so that she could sweep out the leaves that had collected around the edges. At first she was angry at Becky for not helping, but soon her thoughts turned to the job that she was doing.
When Mom arrived home, Kate was organizing cans of food storage on a shelf.
“Where’s your sister?” Mom asked.
“In the house,” Kate answered.
“Isn’t she helping?”
Kate shook her head.
Just then Becky appeared in the doorway. “Hi, Mom,” she said cheerfully. “Did you get the tickets?”
“Yes I did,” said Mom. “Did you help clean the garage?”
“I was just coming to help.”
Mom shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.”
Becky looked over at Kate and smiled an I-told-you-so smile. Her smile disappeared fast when Mom added, “You can finish cleaning it while Kate and I are at the water park.”
Becky’s mouth dropped open. “What do you mean?”
“You didn’t keep your end of the bargain, so you may not come with us.”
Becky couldn’t believe her ears. “But didn’t you already buy me a ticket?”
“I bought tickets for the girls who kept their promises and cleaned the garage. Did you keep your promise?”
Becky hung her head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I thought that you’d let me go anyway.”
“You made a choice. You’ll have to live with the consequences.”
Tears streamed down Becky’s face. “That’s not fair.”
Mom put her arms around Becky. “I know it isn’t what you want,” Mom said, “but it is fair.”
Becky watched out the living room window as the car pulled away from the house. “I blew it, Grandma,” she said.
Grandma nodded. “You made a bad choice. What you need to do now is learn from your mistake. If your mom had taken you to the water park, you would have thought that it’s all right to make promises that you don’t intend to keep. And it isn’t. Does that make sense?”
“I guess so.”
“Now, I have a deal for you, if you are interested.”
Becky looked up. “What is it?”
“If you’ll go finish up the garage, when you’re done, we’ll bake some cookies for the family.”
“Chocolate chip?”
Grandma smiled. “Chocolate chip.”
“It’s a deal,” Becky said, heading toward the garage. “And this time I mean it.”