Gospel Story Finder

by Devin Durrant
The letter said, “Devin, you ought to start a journal. The prophet has counseled us to do it. I have been writing regularly in one and it has helped me a great deal. My journal is something that I will treasure forever.”
That was the essence of the only part I remember from a letter that my older brother Matt wrote to me in October of 1976. At that time he was serving a mission in Tokyo, Japan. I loved my brother. He was everything that I wanted to be. I thought, if he writes in a journal and thinks it’s a good thing, then I’m going to do the same.
I turned 16 years old shortly after I received his letter advising me to record the events of my life. For my birthday that year my parents gave me a $50.00 gift certificate. The following day I went to the store and spent five dollars of that gift certificate to buy my first journal.
On November 1, 1976, I made my first entry, and since then every day of my life has been recorded.

The first occurred at that educational institution north of here by some forty-five miles—Brigham Young established that school also, I hasten to add. Jim was student body president there; and, because there are so many there that do not believe or do not understand, he searched for a way to teach the gospel of Jesus Christ. The idea came to Jim to honor President David O. McKay as one of their great graduates. He shared that with other student leaders, many of whom were not members of the Church, and they too became enthusiastic. So for one week, the life of David O. McKay, the things that he had taught, and the things that he knew to be true were written in the student newspaper, theDaily Chronicle. In a mass teaching effort, thousands learned something about the gospel of Jesus Christ because of the courage of Jim Moss, whose imaginative mind wanted to teach the gospel to others.

I will tell you another story about Jim. After a marvelous mission, he finished an outstanding career as an undergraduate. From there he went to Stanford, graduated in law, and received many fine offers to labor in top law firms. But Jim wanted to teach young people, and so from law school he became a seminary teacher. Now, of course, he is blessing us by his time here.

I recently received an email from a young man I know and love who has humbled himself before the Lord and exercised his faith to be obedient to His will. With his permission, I share a portion of his letter. As I read this, see if you can detect the very principles I have mentioned today:
Years and years of trying to overcome my challenges, only to be beaten down again had taken its toll on me, mentally, spiritually and even physically...I had tried everything to get over my problems. It wasn't as simple as repenting anymore, it was an addiction...I knew I needed God's help, but sometimes felt forsaken in my depressed state...I heeded as best I could your counsels and inspired words...It took more faith [and humility] than I have ever mustered before in my life. Faith in God and the Atonement and earnest prayer...And so I tried, I took it a half a day at a time. Then a day at a time, and so on - And now I am here in the MTC about to serve a mission for the Lord.[29]
While I wish he had never touched the unclean thing,[30] I am profoundly grateful for our Savior who has all power in heaven and earth to miraculously cleanse, strengthen, heal, and make my friend--and you and me--whole.[31]

I have been remembering a question I was asked once or twice by my parents. It is a question I have had occasion to ask my own children. Maybe you have heard this from your parents as well. This is the question: "What were you thinking?"
I remember a specific incident in which I needed to find an answer to that question for my Dad. I had driven the family car to mutual one night. On the 9-mile drive home afterward, I got into a little race with one of my friends. As I sped beyond 100 miles per hour to get around her, I heard a little pop on the right side of my car. It drew my attention to the side mirror on the passenger side, but I could see nothing in that mirror. It was pitch black. I knew I should be seeing my friend's car in that side mirror as I passed and pulled over in front of her. I checked the rearview mirror. There she was! But the side mirror was still pitch black.
Just then I heard a pop on the left side of my car. I looked to that mirror, to my astonishment, to find it was also pitch black!
To make a long story short, the next day I needed to come up with an explanation for the two missing mirrors. I thought my Dad probably knew at what speed side mirrors pop out of their frames, so without going into detail I spoke of the response of our Ford's V-8 engine when I needed speed to win the race and said, "Those mirrors must have been loose." My Dad's response was the question: "What were you thinking?"
I don't remember clearly my reply, but in my experience, the best answer to that question has usually been: "I was only thinking about the fun. The excitement of the moment controlled my selfish desires for a thrill and a triumphant win!"
What I couldn't see through the excitement was the danger, not just to the car, but to myself and others. It is an example of how losing control of clear thinking can cause us to act in ways that put us in harm's way physically.

President Susan Tanner of the Young Women organization told a story that took place when her family was in Brazil. The family had recently left sacrament meeting. A careless driver pulled out into the street without looking and broadsided the Tanner family car. Fortunately no one was injured. Sister Tanner said:

As my husband John [and I] got out to discuss our plight with the other driver, I kept reminding him that it was not our fault. Soon he returned to the car and slowly drove back to the little farmhouse where we were living, with metal grinding against the tires on every rotation. The other car followed. All John said was, “I’ll explain later.”

When we got home, John found our little envelope of emergency cash, and he paid the family to get their car repaired. They happily left. I was astonished. Then John gathered our family together. He was somewhat apologetic as he explained his actions. “I know this accident was not our fault, but as I was negotiating with this family, the only thought in my head was that only a little over an hour ago I had covenanted with Heavenly Father to always act as He would. I knew that if He were standing in my position, He would have had compassion on this family and would have done all He could to help them.”

When I was about your age, I learned the importance of a straight and narrow path and how difficult it was to be focused and stay on it. I grew up in a very small town in the foothills of the Canadian Rockies. My dad was a farmer, and I learned to work! Every summer I drove the tractor for him, mowing and raking hay, hauling hay bales, and plowing fields. I remember when I first started to learn to plow and cultivate a field. Dad explained the importance of plowing a straight furrow or a straight line. If you went crooked, there would be spots missed in the field and the weeds would take over. He said: “If you will keep your eye focused on the fence post across the field and let that be your goal, you will plow a straight furrow. Don’t let the bumpy terrain throw you off. It’s when you start looking at the end of the tractor that the holes and bumps take you off course and you begin to go crooked.” Then he left me to do the job.
I remembered about the fence post across the field for several rounds, then I started singing songs to make the time pass. I sang every song and hymn I knew, and those I didn’t know I made up. I was singing at the top of my lungs and having a good time when I noticed my dad walking through the field towards me. I stopped the tractor and he said, “Can you tell what has happened to the straight lines?”
I said, “What do you mean?”
He said: “Look at the line. Your first few rounds are straight, but evidently you quit paying attention to where you were plowing. You must have quit looking at the fence post across the field—your goal. Can you see that gradually each time you’ve gone around, you’ve just gone a little crooked until now there are big spots in the field?” He got on the tractor and drove a few rotations to straighten out the lines. As he got off to let me try again, he said, “Sharon, always pay attention to where you are going.”

I recall how much, as a youngster, I liked dogs. One day I took my wagon and placed a wooden orange crate in it and went looking for dogs. At that time dogs were everywhere to be found: at school, walking along the sidewalks, or exploring vacant lots, of which there were many. As I would find a dog and capture it, I placed it in the crate, took it home, locked it in the coal shed, and turned the latch on the door. That day I think I brought home six dogs of varying sizes and made them my prisoners after this fashion. I had no idea what I would do with all those dogs, so I didn’t reveal my deed to anyone.
Dad came home from work and, as was his custom, took the coal bucket and went to the coal shed to fill it. Can you imagine his shock and utter consternation as he opened the door and immediately faced six dogs, all attempting to escape at once? As I recall, Dad flushed a little bit, and then he calmed down and quietly told me, “Tommy, coal sheds are for coal. Other people’s dogs rightfully belong to them.” By observing him, I learned a lesson in patience and calmness.

The Utah Bonneville Stake’s pioneer experience wasn’t just a trek through some of the same territory pioneers settled in after they arrived in Utah; it was also a trek through time. Many of the youth read their pioneer ancestors’ journals before going on the trek, to give them a very personal idea of what the exodus west meant to the pioneers.

“One of my ancestors came from Nauvoo to Utah,” says Candice McConkie, 17. “She had to travel alone because her husband had died. I really admire her courage and sacrifice. And because of her, I felt I could face any of the hard experiences of our trek and even some of the real hardships I might have to face later in my life.”

The stake’s Youth Pioneer Trek Council wanted their trek to be unforgettable for everyone, even those without pioneer ancestors, so they made a few rules about modern conveniences being left behind. Who would have thought that bar soap would fall into that category?

“After a while, it didn’t seem to matter if you were dirty or clean, because everyone else was the same way. You began to notice people for what they were inside instead of outside,” says Patrick Moench, 17.

And the food wasn’t much like what the youth were used to either. But that didn’t seem to matter much to anyone, especially 17-year-old Ryan Parker.

“I don’t care how the food tastes ,” he says. “I just hope there’s lots of it.”

It has been a most important influence also in missionary work. For example: When I was a young missionary, I had as a companion a wonderful man from Rupert, Idaho. His name was Elder Henry L. Baker. We tracted together in a city in eastern Canada.
As we came to one door, a woman responded to our knock and immediately invited us in—before we had a chance to give the usual door approach! Hardly had we entered the house when she said, “Where is the book you were to bring me?”
Naturally we were astonished. But she quickly explained. She said that during the previous night she had had a dream in which she saw us come to her home. It was so vivid, she said, that when she saw us approaching her door, she recognized us instantly. She was told in the dream that we had a book that would lead her entire family to salvation.
Immediately we gave her the Book of Mormon and discussed it at some length with her. She invited us to return that same evening to meet her family, which we did. After an appropriate period of study, the family joined the Church and all are still faithful and true.

Dana was born with a hole in her lips and inside her mouth. She had already had four operations to try to fix it. Today Dana and her parents had an appointment with the doctor to talk about another operation.
During the operation, we will take part of the bone from your hip to use in your mouth.
Dana was worried about what would happen after the operation.
Can I still drink chocolate milk?
When your mouth heals, you can have all the chocolate milk you want.
The night before the operation, Dana’s dad and uncle gave her a priesthood blessing. Uncle Hyrum anointed Dana with consecrated oil. Then Daddy said the blessing.
The next morning Mommy and Daddy took Dana to the hospital.
The nurse came to take Dana to the operating room. Dana gave Mommy a hug.
I love you, Dana.
Don’t worry, Mommy. I’m not afraid. Daddy gave me a blessing.
After the operation Dana was all right. She was glad that Daddy gave her a special blessing to help her feel better.

Importantly, forming these critical relationships is often not connected to highly successful activities. When I was 13 or 14, my own Young Men group was bonded together with our leader on a California snow campout. As we slept in the very first snow that most of us had ever touched, it started to rain in the middle of the night, seeping into our tents, saturating our sleeping bags and clothes, leaving us all miserably freezing. Drenched and nearly hypothermic, after building a pathetic fire from wet wood that would not melt a snowflake, we eventually huddled together into a drafty crew-cab pickup truck and barely escaped with our lives as we headed home before the sun had even fully risen.
The activity was a disaster—except that the most important things that could have happened did happen. We came to know we could do hard things and that we could trust each other and our leaders. As time went on, these leaders helped us along the covenant path. When they said, “Missions matter,” missions came to matter more to us, to me.

Andrei has loved airplanes since he was little. But while there are many who dream of flying, Andrei’s head isn’t in the clouds; his interest is in the nuts and bolts. This 16-year-old from Romania is studying to be an aircraft mechanic.
In Romania teens can choose to attend a high school to prepare for college or a trade school. Because of Andrei’s love for airplanes, his decision to attend the aviation trade school was easy.
Aircraft mechanics don’t just fix airplanes that are broken. One of the most important things they do is inspect and maintain airplanes so they don’t break down. They regularly inspect everything on a plane, from propellers to landing gear and each piece in between.
“It can be hard to find the tiny problem that could cause a plane to crash,” Andrei says. “But finding it is easier than trying to put the whole plane back together again.”
Keeping a regular maintenance schedule and refusing to skip it are important—both for airplanes and for Church members—in order to identify and correct problems before they become either mechanically or spiritually life threatening.
Andrei lives in Bucharest, a city of nearly two million people. However, the Church is relatively young in Romania, and there are only enough members in Bucharest for two branches. Andrei and his family live far from other members of their branch. Andrei feels the pull of the world all around him at school and among his friends. He knows how easy it would be to crash—spiritually speaking—if he doesn’t keep up regular spiritual maintenance.
Life can be hectic. Along with the time Andrei spends on his school studies, football, and the computer, he makes time for praying, fasting, studying the scriptures, and fulfilling his responsibilities as a priest. He also makes sure he “goes” to seminary, which he does online because of distance.
Doing those things is part of the regular spiritual maintenance that helps identify and correct weaknesses before they lead to a life-threatening crash of a spiritual nature.
“There are some things you just have to do regularly—creating a habit,” he says. “You can’t let life take over.”
Andrei has learned that if we do not perform spiritual maintenance regularly, forces such as stress or peer pressure can overcome our resistance to temptation. When that happens, it isn’t long before we lose our direction, our control, and ultimately our spiritual power.
Just as a plane without power will lose altitude, when we sin, we lose spiritual power and altitude, distancing ourselves from heaven and leading sooner or later to a spiritual crash.
While it is possible for the Savior’s Atonement to put us back together again after we crash, it is so much better to rely on His power to help us fix the problem when it is small—before it causes a spiritual catastrophe.
That’s why God has given us laws about regular spiritual maintenance too. “Meet together [at church] oft” (3 Nephi 18:22; emphasis added). Pray always (see 3 Nephi 18:19). Search the scriptures diligently (see 3 Nephi 23:1–5). “Let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly” (D&C 121:45; emphasis added). Visit the temple regularly.1
Keeping those laws and performing regular spiritual maintenance will keep us flying right.
“A plane is built to get off the ground, to leave the world,” Andrei says. “That is what Heavenly Father wants for us. With regular maintenance, we’ll safely get where we want to go—back to heaven.”

What helped you decide to pursue art in school? I realized that God gave me a gift, and in praying and asking Him, I realized that art was what He wanted me to pursue. I started drawing more and doing more pieces, and when I auditioned for my school, they accepted me. I saw how direct the hand of the Lord is in people’s lives when you are trying your best to follow the commandments and read your scriptures and pray every day.

“Mrs. Tillman lives right down the road. Maybe we could visit her for a minute before we go milk Betsy,” suggested Sister Allred.
“At six o’clock in the morning?” burst out Tony.
“Mrs. Tillman used to go to work at four in the morning,” replied Sister Allred. “She still likes getting up early. Besides, I want to drop her off some homemade breakfast rolls. And … well … I’d like to give her a Book of Mormon, too, and maybe share my testimony of it with her.”
“A Book of Mormon?” screeched Tony.
“She’s the last person I’d give a Book of Mormon to,” I said.
“She’s the meanest lady in town!” exclaimed Jimmy.
Sister Allred smiled. “Is that so? Well, I’m sure she would love to meet you.”
All five of us boys gave each other worried looks. Even “Sweet” Emily Clawson looked troubled.
“I’ll tell you what,” said Sister Allred. “This time I’ll drop you off to milk Betsy. You’ve milked her enough now that you don’t need my help. Today’s kind of a special day for me, and I really do want to give Mrs. Tillman this Book of Mormon.”
I didn’t have time to wonder why today was Sister Allred’s special day. She’d already come to a stop in front of the Millers’ snowy mailbox. We piled out—all except redheaded Brian. He wanted to meet the meanest lady in town.
Pulling my parka hood closer around my face, I trudged through the snow. In my mind, I pictured Mr. and Mrs. Miller strolling down a warm beach in Hawaii. I was beginning to wish our Primary class had never volunteered to milk their cow while they were on vacation.
Suddenly, an icy hand stole inside my hood and smashed a snowball against my neck.
“How about a snowball fight, Phillip?” Tony proposed mischievously.
“We have to milk Betsy,” I retorted, trying to brush the dripping snow from my neck.
“Aw, it’s too cold for cow milking,” said Tony. “Why don’t you and Emily take care of it.” He grinned at the other boys.
The snowball fight was soon in full swing. Tony and his gang didn’t care where they aimed—or maybe they did. Most of the snowballs sailed at us. When one splattered on Betsy’s nose, she jerked up her head and trotted away.
“That’s not fair,” shouted Emily. “We can fight back, but Betsy can’t.”
I was surprised to hear her talk so sharply. I was even more surprised to see Emily let loose with a snowball that landed smack on Tony’s head.
Tony only laughed.
I grimaced. Tony had calmed down since Sister Allred had become our Primary teacher. But now and then he forgot that he was no longer the terror of the Primary. Today I wanted no part of his pranks. For one thing, I was in a hurry to get Betsy milked. Mom had promised me waffles, bacon, and hot chocolate when I got home.
With all the snowballs flying around us, it was all Emily and I could do to get poor Betsy into the barn. Even then, she kept stamping her feet and eyeing us uneasily.
“You give her some grain,” I told Emily. “I’ll start milking.”
“Don’t you think you’d better let her eat a little and give her time to settle down?” suggested Emily.
“No time today,” I snapped, still thinking about the breakfast my mother had waiting for me, and wishing my feet were not so numb.
I put a bucket under Betsy and pulled up a stool. I purposely “forgot” to wash and dry her udder first. I began to milk, but hardly a trickle fell into the bucket. I sat there for a long time, squeezing and squeezing. There was still only a dribble. Exasperated, I stood up. “Well, you’ve had your chance. If that’s all the milk you’re giving today, I’m done with you.”
Betsy rolled her eyes toward me, but I didn’t pay any attention. Yanking up the bucket, I marched around behind her—smack into Sister Allred! The bucket slipped from my cold fingers, and milk spilled over Sister Allred’s boots.
My Primary teacher looked at the bucket. “Well, it doesn’t look like you had much milk to spill. Are you having problems this morning?”
“Oh,” I answered, “Betsy just didn’t have much milk to give this morning.”
Sister Allred smiled. “Maybe we should give Betsy another chance.” Stroking Betsy gently, she spoke to the cow. “What’s the matter, old girl? Don’t you want to give your milk this morning?”
Soon Sister Allred was sitting beside Betsy. Still talking soothingly, she carefully washed Betsy’s udder in warm water. Milk started streaming thick and warm into the bucket. By then Tony and the other boys had crept in from their snowball fight.
Sister Allred was smiling wistfully when I looked at her again.
“What are you thinking about, Sister Allred?” I asked.
“Oh, I was just thinking about my son, Todd. When we had our farm, he was the best milker of all. I always told him that he’d grow up to be a great missionary.”
“What’s milking got to do with missionary work?” I asked.
“Milking a cow is pretty impossible unless she’s ready to let down her milk. Usually a cow will let down her milk when she’s contented and calm—maybe after a little grain feeding or someone washing her udder or when there’s a little soft music in the barn. Todd was gentle and patient not only with the cows but with everybody. I knew that he would be such a gentle, loving missionary that people would naturally let down their barriers against believing the gospel. Todd was gaining a strong testimony of the gospel too.”
“So where did Todd go on his mission?” I asked.
Sister Allred replied quietly. “One day when Todd was just about your age, he and his dad were delivering a load of cattle to a farmer. On a steep grade, the cattle suddenly shifted to one side, and the truck veered on the icy road and rolled into a ravine. Todd and my husband both died.”
“Oh!” we said together. Then we were silent, listening to the soft sounds of the last of Betsy’s milk filling the bucket.
“When I started teaching you,” Sister Allred continued, “I thought that maybe I’d be helping prepare some missionaries, after all.”
No one said a word until I asked, “Sister Allred, why did you say today was a special day for you?”
She smiled. “Today is Todd’s birthday. He would have been nineteen.”
“So that’s why you wanted to be a good missionary to that mean old lady?” asked Tony.
Brian burst out, “Mrs. Tillman isn’t mean. She sat and talked to us and gave me hot biscuits and honey.”
My stomach growled.
“Best of all,” he added, “she’s going to church with us this Sunday.”
“She is?” we chorused.
Sister Allred chuckled. “I tried to give her the Book of Mormon, but I was too late. She read it a long time ago. She’s thought about going to church but has never wanted to go by herself.”
“So how did she get a Book of Mormon?” I said.
Sister Allred got a strange misty look in her eyes. “All these years, I didn’t know—Todd gave her one when he was only nine years old.”
My breath caught in my throat. I patted Betsy and looked down at her fresh, warm milk brimming in the bucket. I wondered if I could learn to milk as well as Todd. Most of all, I wanted to gain a strong testimony of the Church so that I could be a good missionary too.

Another dream of Joseph, again carrying a plea responsive to the special needs of the time, came to Brigham over a year later in Winter Quarters, as he was preparing for the great trek west:
“I dreamed that I saw Joseph sitting in a room in the South-West corner near a bright window and he sat in a chair with his feet both on the lower round. I took him by the hand and kissed him on both cheeks and wanted to know why we could not be together as we once were.
“He said that it was all right that we should not be together yet. We must be separated for a season. … Joseph said, do you be sure and tell the people one thing … that it is all important for them to keep the Spirit of the Lord, to keep the quiet Spirit of Jesus.”31

“Before I was a member, I’d always notice Belle. She wasn’t lazy. Every Sunday she’d get up and go to church,” says Simon, who was baptized in 1992. “When Belle was a missionary, she was a good example to my family and she helped us.”
Rambo also talked about the gospel with Simon and helped him with his decision to be baptized. Simon’s now a priest in the Tuen Mun Second Ward.
Simon likes to think back to the time when he began seriously investigating the gospel. He remembers praying for the first time. “I really didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to pray or what I should say,” he remembers. “But I always felt good when I prayed.”
Before Simon joined the Church, Sundays were reserved for rest and relaxation. He would generally sleep in, then get up and play soccer with his friends. These days, his friends don’t even bother asking him to play games on the Sabbath. “They know now that I won’t play on Sunday. I’ve already told them I don’t do that, and they understand why I don’t and what I do instead,” he says. Sundays for Simon generally consist of church meetings and scripture reading. “I love studying in the Book of Mormon—especially about Lehi and the faith he had. My own faith isn’t great so it’s good for me to read about someone who was so strong.”

When I was a little girl I assumed that when I grew up I would become a mother. Shortly before Chad and I were married he bought a used Volvo station wagon, buying it not only because its price fit our very limited budget but also because we anticipated filling it with a baby and baby paraphernalia. However, that used car died a miserable death years before we ever had a baby. For thirteen years we could not get pregnant. Chad and I decided early on that we weren't going to let that get in the way of our happiness, and it didn't.

However, it did change things. For example, I found myself struggling with who I was. If I wasn't a mother, what did it mean to be a woman? One day when I felt particularly identity-challenged, Chad suggested that I go back to school and study the history of women. I loved that idea, and so embarked on three years of studying the lives of women from the past. While I focused on women in American history, my studies gave me an increased appreciation for women in the ancient scriptures.

One of the women that I most connect to in this ancient record of wrestling with weaknesses is Sarah. Like many of the women in ancient scriptures, her life is recorded primarily in relationship to her husband Abraham. In particular, I can relate to her laughter after years of waiting when she found out she was pregnant in her old age. Like Sarah, we prayed for many years to have children sent to our home. Still, Chad was incredulous when I told him I thought was pregnant. After I "passed" the store-bought pregnancy test, Chad insisted that I look on the package to find its reliability. When I couldn't find it, we rushed over to Safeway to buy a new test to confirm what the first test had hinted at.

In my own case, at the very time I found I was pregnant I had recently graduated with my Masters Degree and was planning on embarking on a Ph.D. I found myself wanting both an education and motherhood but I wasn't sure I could do both without hurting the child I was expecting. My feelings were not monolithic but full of layers and complexity.

Honesty begins when we are young. When I was 11 years old, I looked forward eagerly to my magical 12th birthday when I could become a deacon and a Scout. My mother helped me learn the Articles of Faith, the Scout Law and Motto, and other requirements so that I would have a good start when that special birthday arrived.
Since I had no sisters, my brothers and I were given some of the inside chores as well as outside ones, such as milking and taking care of the animals. One day Mother left me to wash the dishes and clean the kitchen while she attended to a sick neighbor. I agreed to do these duties but put off doing the dishes. Time ran out and they didn’t get done. In fact, they didn’t even get started. When Mother came home and saw the kitchen, she put on her apron and went to the sink. She spoke only three words, which stung worse than the sting of a dozen hornets. They were the first three words of the Scout Oath: “On my honor.” That day I resolved that I would never give my mother cause to repeat those words to me again.

Through a rather amazing series of circumstances, Elder Backman was soon transferred from the infantry to the Signal Corps and raised to the rank of staff sergeant. At the end of the war he went into Japan with General Douglas MacArthur as the code clerk for all the 11th Corps. It was his responsibility to provide the codes used by all the army units in the area.
“We lasted through the war, leading to another great day coming home. We landed at San Pedro, California, and as soon as we hit the shore, I got down on my hands and knees and kissed the earth. It was so good to be back.”

Emma could hardly wait for Suzan’s birthday party.
“The party will be even more fun because Michaela will be there,” Emma said to Mother on the way to Suzan’s house.
“I know,” said Mother. “It’s always fun to be with your best friend.”
When they got to Suzan’s house, Suzan’s mother invited all the children into the playroom.
“Let’s play dolls,” Suzan said.
Everyone ran to get a doll. Emma picked up two dolls and gave the prettiest one to Michaela.
After that they played with teddy bears. Michaela picked out two teddy bears and let Emma choose one to play with.
Next, all the children played house. Suzan got to be the mother because it was her birthday. The other children sat around the table and pretended to eat.
“Would you like some of my cookies?” Emma asked Michaela, offering her some pretend cookies.
“Oh, thank you,” said Michaela. “May I pour you some more milk?” She poured pretend milk into Emma’s glass.
Then they played musical chairs. One by one, Suzan’s mother removed the chairs until only one chair remained. Emma and Michaela were the last two players.
Emma knew only one of them could win the game by sitting on the chair when the music stopped. Emma didn’t want Michaela to lose the game. But she knew Michaela would want her to try to win too.
When the music stopped, Emma just stood there, looking at Michaela. Then Michaela smiled. Emma smiled back at her and knew just what to do. They both sat down and shared the chair!