Gospel Story Finder

So is his sense of humor. There is usually a smile on Si’s face, and he loves a good practical joke. When his mother went to the hospital recently for her daily visit, she was in for a shock. Two orderlies were sitting grim faced near Si’s room, and his door was closed. She opened the door and went in.
Si’s room was darkened, and he was covered with a white sheet. Anita’s heart faltered. She walked over and pulled back the sheet. Si was laughing! Then the orderlies came in, and they were laughing too.
Si had struck again! No one is safe from his jokes, and no one would want to be, because they are as full of fun and laughter as he is himself.

Recently, Sharon Eubank, the director of Humanitarian Services and LDS Charities, told of an experience shared by Elder Glenn L. Pace. There was widespread drought and extreme famine in Ethiopia in the mid-1980s. To provide relief, feeding stations with water and food were created for those who could get to them. An old man who was starving was walking a long distance to get to a feeding station. He was passing a village when he heard the cry of a baby. He searched until he found the baby sitting on the ground next to his dead mother. Picking up the baby, the man continued to walk 25 miles (40 km) to the feeding station. When he arrived, his first words were not “I’m hungry” or “Help me.” They were “What can be done for this baby?”11

I was born of goodly parents. My father and mother held to the values of honesty and integrity that the Church teaches, but they were not active in the Church. Still, my friends went to Primary, so I did too. I felt happy there and never wanted to miss it.
The Primary became my Church family. I went to sacrament meeting each week and sat with my Primary friends. I did not fully understand the meaning of the sacrament, but I knew that I felt something special when I partook of it. I understood the feeling of a covenant before I ever learned that word.
When I turned 12, my Aaronic Priesthood quorum became my second Church family. I felt a great love and reverence for the priesthood. As a deacons quorum president, I conducted quorum meetings, and when a new deacon was ordained, I welcomed him with a little speech. I remember saying, “This is the priesthood of God. You need to honor it.”
After high school I joined the army reserve. My commanding officer gave me the opportunity of becoming a commissioned officer in the U.S. Army. He was very gracious but also very large and imposing. People didn’t turn him down. I asked if I could go home and think it over.
I prayed that night, and into my mind came the baptism prayer found in Doctrine and Covenants 20:73: “Having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”
I went back the next morning and told my commanding officer that I had decided to accept a commission—but that I would be commissioned by Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. I explained that I was going to serve a mission for my church.
The feeling of having that prayer answered was wonderful, and I have felt it again and again as I have prayed about important decisions. I seem to have always known that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ know me and love me. My conversion must have begun when I first attended Primary and felt the Spirit there. It continued in my Aaronic Priesthood quorums and in the mission field. It still continues today.
We are all sons and daughters of Heavenly Father. He never forgets this, but we sometimes do. So He has given us the principle of faith to help us remember. To help us develop faith in Him, Heavenly Father gives us the gift of experience. As I look back over my life, I’m grateful for the experiences that have helped increase my faith.
Enjoy the experiences that Heavenly Father will give you. Learn from them the things that He wants you to learn. Heavenly Father gives each of us experiences that will help increase our faith in Him and in His Son.
If some of your experiences are sad, please remember that you are a son or daughter of your Father in Heaven and that He loves you. This is a sure anchor that will never be removed. Ever! It is eternal and rooted in the plan of salvation. You must hold fast to it no matter what.

My first acquaintance with this prophet leader was 24 years ago when I served as a young bishop here in Salt Lake City. One morning, upon answering my telephone, a voice said, “This is Elder Spencer W. Kimball. I have a favor to ask of you. In your ward, hidden away behind a large building on Fifth South Street, is a tiny trailer home. Living there is Margaret Bird, a Navajo widow. She feels unwanted, unneeded, and lost. Could you and the Relief Society presidency seek her out, extend to her the hand of fellowship, and provide for her a special welcome?” This we did.
A miracle resulted. Margaret Bird blossomed in her newly found environment. Despair disappeared. The widow in her affliction had been visited. The lost sheep had been found. Each who participated in the simple human drama emerged a better person.
In reality, the true shepherd was the concerned apostle who, leaving the ninety and nine of his ministry, went in search of the precious soul who was lost. Spencer W. Kimball had walked the pathway Jesus walked. He did so then. He does so now.

After graduation from college, my wife and I moved to Samoa, where we raised our children and worked to strengthen the Church and the community. My father, not a member of the Church, was actively involved in local business and community affairs. His motto was “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right.” As my siblings and I discovered the gospel and lived it to the best of our abilities, he noticed the changes for good in our lives. In 1999, President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) stayed in my father’s home on his return from the groundbreaking of the Suva Fiji Temple. During that visit, the Spirit touched my father’s heart, and I was privileged to baptize him when he was 80 years old. He found great joy in the gospel and was unashamed and bold in sharing it with others during the last days of his life.

Carlos Aguero, of Mendoza, Argentina, was called to go to Paris, France for his mission. He had seldom been out of his own city. He knew no French. But like Nephi, he did not murmur and he went. When he arrived in France, he found that his mission president did not speak Spanish. In fact, none of the other missionaries spoke Spanish; they only spoke English and French. Elder Aguero could not speak English. All the zone conferences and instructions were given in English. All other speaking was in French. Carlos studied, he prayed, he cried, he pleaded with the Lord and asked for help from his mission president and his companions. It took months, but he learned French and English. He served an honorable mission. Now living in Mendoza, Argentina, he often uses his English in Church service and in his profession.

Allan sat on a bench outside his house. The sun was setting. Palm trees stood against the pink and orange sky.
He turned the page of the book he was reading. It didn’t have any pictures. But Allan didn’t mind. He loved reading this book!
His eyes skimmed across Papa’s neat writing. He remembered this part! It always made him laugh.
Just then, Papa came outside. “What’s so funny?”
“I’m reading one of your books.” Allan grinned. “I like the part about the coconut.”
“Oh, you mean my journals.” Papa sat beside Allan. “They tell the story of my life. But they are not just about me. You are in them too. And so is Mama, and your brothers and sister.”
“Like Nephi!” Allan said. “He wrote stories about his life, and he wrote about his family too.”
“Right!” Papa said.
“I like the parts about you best,” Allan said. “Like when you were a missionary here in Tahiti.”
“I like the stories about you best,” Papa said. “Did you know that we named you after Elder Bednar’s middle name?”
“You never told me that! I can’t wait to read that part.”
Papa smiled. “There are lots of stories in my journals. I’ve been writing in journals since I was eight.”
“Since you were eight?” Allan asked. “That’s a really, really long time.”
Papa laughed. “I’m not that old.”
Allan thought for a bit. “I’m turning eight soon,” he said. “Could I get a journal for my birthday?”
“Of course!” Papa said.
“Then I can write my stories so that someday my kids can read them.”
“That sounds like a great family tradition!” Papa said.

I was over in Samoa. I couldn’t sleep for worrying about the centipedes and so forth, so I got up. It was three o’clock in the morning. I went in the room where they had the radio. I started turning the dials, and all of a sudden I heard a voice say, “Station KSL, Salt Lake City. Songs of Harry Clark.” I sat there and listened to Harry Clark sing for fifteen minutes. Then I had to get up the next morning at three o’clock because I’d sent him a wire and I wanted to see if he got it. He did. He mentioned it over the air. So I listened to him sing for another fifteen minutes.

You know, the strange thing about it was, I was hearing him sing four hours before he actually sang. And you talk about miracles.

The LDS juniors and seniors at Marshfield High had a few suggestions on what it takes to make high school great. The freshmen and sophomores were eager to listen. So during a ward service project to help paint an elderly lady’s house (they were using green paint, not gold or purple), the young people got a chance to talk in between brush strokes.
The girls were using their cheerleading skills in painting the trim around the windows on the house. They were leading the others in songs and cheers as they worked. And if they were short a ladder to two, they would improvise a human pyramid to reach the topmost spots.
Butch Parker, a star football player and senior class president, agreed with Eva about the importance of grades. He’s going through the process of applying to colleges and is keenly aware of what they look for on transcripts. His advice: “Take good, hard classes. Colleges look at grades, but they also look at what kinds of classes you take. I can’t slack off. I’m still taking hard classes. I almost like taking classes with people I don’t know very well instead of my friends because I get a lot more done.”
This group of upperclassmen seem to have it made, but they now know that the years of sitting on the bench and hanging in there are paying off. When Butch’s family first moved to Coos Bay, Butch was afraid he wasn’t going to make any team. He kept trying until he made the starting lineups in both football and basketball.
Angie Miller is on the volleyball and softball teams. She can encourage the younger students to keep trying even though it can get discouraging. “When I started playing volleyball, I wasn’t very good. I sat on the bench a lot. Then things started clicking. I wouldn’t have the good friends I have now if I had quit. I used to be so shy. People in church helped me a lot. I’m not so self-conscious about what everyone thinks of me now.”
This new self-confidence has carried over into spreading the gospel among their friends. Eva explains how they have gone about it. “The number one thing you have to do is pray about it. I pray for the strength to be able to tell other people about the Church and be able to help my friends. I didn’t realize how I acted was an example to other people until last year when Sabrina and Naomi were baptized.”
Sabrina Echols, a senior who was introduced to the Church by her friends Darilyn and Eva, said, “Don’t be afraid to try out for something just because you might not make it. Don’t get discouraged. It’s better to try.” Sabrina knows what she says is true from personal experience. She tried out several times to be a cheerleader on the rally squad but didn’t make it. Then she tried out for school mascot and was successful. Now she wears the gold and purple that represent her school.
When Sabrina was a freshman, Eva gave her a Book of Mormon with her testimony written in the front. As Sabrina read, she and Eva would talk about it. But another friend saw her reading it and persuaded her not to finish her reading. It took two years of talking with her LDS friends and taking the missionary discussions before Sabrina was ready for baptism. She said, “I prayed one day and I got part of my answer. I felt I was doing the right thing. Everything seemed to be right. The more I prayed, the stronger I felt it was right.”
Sabrina’s baptism affected her life in many ways. “My dad was glad because he’s seen a big change in me.” When asked how she has changed, Sabrina is a little at a loss for words. Her friends chime in with a list. “She’s a lot happier, getting better grades, involved in a lot more things, more self-confident.” Then Sabrina added a few more. “I was kind of shy, but now I’m not as much. It has changed how I feel about my friends and my family, my brothers and sisters.”
Sabrina’s friends and family aren’t the only ones who have noticed a change for the better. Sabrina says that before she joined the Church, she barely made passing grades. She will be the first one of her brothers and sisters to finish high school and the first to go on to college. “My teachers and counselors have all seen this big change. They look back at records and say, ‘What happened? What did she do that is so different?’ I was nowhere, and now I set goals.”
Eva and Darilyn and Sabrina have introduced the gospel to some of their other friends. Naomi Diven is on the rally squad with them, and Quinn Rogers is a school mascot with Sabrina. Naomi was given a copy of a videotape, “Our Heavenly Father’s Plan.” She was intrigued by what she heard. For Naomi, her answer came quickly, “It was quite sudden. During the first discussion we all knew that I would be baptized.” Her decision was reinforced as she heard the missionary discussions several more times with their friend Quinn.
The freshmen in the Coos Bay Ward are quick to see the advantages of having older brothers and sisters and friends who are active and successful in high school. Sean Michael says, “We feel safer. They tell us what is going on. We’re in seminary and have longer hours. It’s kind of intense, but they help us.”
Michael Higgins says, “They give us rides. They put in a good word for us in a sense. We have more confidence. They tell us not to be scared and what to do if we’re late. They try to keep us in line so we won’t embarrass them, and they make sure we’re not having a horrible time in school.”
Christa says, “If you talk to them, they’ll say their freshman year was one of their best years. It’s a time you can really be yourself.”
For the bishop of the Coos Bay Ward, Giles Parker, it is particularly exciting to see the LDS students doing so well at school, because he is also the district school superintendent. He says that these students have proven to a large high school that even while in the minority, they can be “with it” and still keep Church standards.
Whenever the young people of Coos Bay see gold and purple together, they’ll remember their high school days. Because of the good ways they chose to live and the activities they became involved in, high school will remain with them as good memories.
1. Get involved. Join clubs, sports teams, musical groups, or student government. Take your friends along. If they don’t want to participate, go alone. You’ll meet new friends at these activities.
2. Don’t give up. If you are on a team or in a musical or dramatic group, keep practicing. You’ll improve.
3. Keep your grades up. Don’t postpone homework. Learn how to study effectively.
4. Take seminary and attend Church meetings.
5. Live gospel standards and set a good example.
6. Share the gospel with your friends.

The Young Men, Young Women, and youth leaders of the Rigby Second Ward, Rigby East Idaho Stake, managed to read the entire Book of Mormon in 45 minutes during an activity night!
Well, they did divide it up a bit. Each one took the responsibility for reading several chapters. Everyone took a colored leaf with a reading assignment on it, and on the back they wrote what they had learned from it. The leaves were then put together to make a tree representing the one in Lehi’s dream.
Comments included things like “God will show you miracles after you show him your faith” and “I learned the righteous are blessed and helped by the Lord.”

You can’t help but like Andrea* when you meet her. She’s warm and friendly and fun, and she knows how to make you feel good about yourself.

But she wasn’t always like that.

For a long time, she carried around a dark and tragic secret that she could confess to no one. She cried a lot. She was usually depressed. She withdrew from people—wasn’t close to anyone, and didn’t have the self-confidence to excel in school or anything else. Andrea had been sexually abused when she was younger.

“I thought I had committed a terrible sin,” she said. “I thought it was too gross to tell anyone. I felt disgusting and totally worthless, until a very understanding bishop explained to me that it wasn’t my fault, that the Lord still loved me, and that I could get help.”

The help Andrea got, which included professional and spiritual counseling, is enabling her to put those traumatic experiences in the past and become emotionally and spiritually healthy again.

Going through these stages has helped Andrea begin to lead a happier, more fulfilling life. Others like her who have experienced sexual abuse can also begin to recover. It is important for them to realize that they have a right not to be abused, and that they need to get help if it happens. They need to know that they are not at fault, that they are not impure, nor are they any less chaste. And most of all, they need to know that Heavenly Father still loves them, has great hope for them, and has provided ways for them to recover.

The Christmas season often reminds me of my childhood and the feelings of beauty, joy and peace during this special time of the year. My grandmother, a devoted Catholic, taught me to enjoy this wonderful season of the year. Usually every Saturday I would go with her to the local Catholic church, where we would clean the building and then decorate the stand with natural flowers in preparation for the Sunday worship service.
I remember we once had to decorate the chapel for a Christmas Eve celebration. We picked flowers and entered the church, but before we started decorating, she softly and convincingly told me, “Today’s decoration is special because tomorrow, we celebrate the birth of the baby Jesus, the Son of God.” I had a special feeling. I had just learned from my family that Jesus is our Savior.
Realizing that I had the privilege to prepare to celebrate His coming gave me a special feeling that I have not forgotten. That Christmas had a deeper meaning for me. The Christmas song we sang that day—“Faraway, I hear angels of heaven singing glory to God in heaven and peace on earth to men of good will”—still echoes in my mind. Looking at the Nativity scene, I felt like I was part of the event of the birth of Christ. The Nativity scene was often decorated with candles that illuminated our eyes and our hearts. It was not adorned with decorations that we have today, but its simplicity and natural beauty gave true meaning to Christmas. I felt that someone special had been born—He was my friend, my Savior and the Light of the World. I felt an unusual peace in my heart and, being a child, I could not quite yet understand where that feeling came from, nor could I explain it. I am grateful today for my grandmother, Geneviève Nkulu Yohari, who understood and put into practice the Savior’s call, “Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 19:14).

I am a second-grade teacher in a community where Latter-day Saints are well known. So I was surprised one day when a peer told me of another teacher’s remark about me. The teacher had said, “Did you know that Mrs. Craig is not a Christian?”
I was torn inside. I had just lost my husband of 28 years, and I had been closer to the Savior and my Heavenly Father than at any other time in my life. I knew that I would have to bear my testimony to this teacher, but I wasn’t sure how to do it. I did not want to offend her, but I also wanted her to know that Latter-day Saints are Christians.
The next morning the Holy Ghost whispered to me what I should say. As I lay in bed, I thought of all the paintings I had in my home of the life of Jesus Christ. Each painting had a special place in my heart and was connected to a special time in my life. Thinking of those paintings brought many tender feelings about the love I have for the Savior.
One painting in particular shows the Savior calming the stormy sea. It reminds me that He conquers all and that I, through Him, can also overcome all things, including the heartbreak of losing my husband.
As I continued to reflect on the paintings, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude for the blessings that had come to me because I belong to the Savior’s Church.
That morning at school I went into my colleague’s room and told her I wanted her to know I am a Christian. I asked her, “How many paintings of the Savior do you have in your home?” She told me that instead of paintings, she had two crosses in her home.
I told her about the paintings of the Savior in my home and what the scenes depicted in the paintings meant to me. I then bore my testimony of Jesus Christ and His Atonement.
I also told my co-worker that it was only through my knowledge of Jesus Christ that I had been able to survive the past year. I told her how His tender mercies had helped my children and me get through the difficult time of losing a father and husband.
I hugged her as I left, and she offered a sincere apology. There was no doubt in my heart that she knew that I, a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, am a Christian.

In Wisconsin it gets so cold that you can drive to an island. And that’s exactly what some young people from the Duluth District of the Minneapolis Minnesota Mission did. The “Isle of Happy Days,” Birchwood, Wisconsin, was the site of a Super Saturday for 150 home-study seminary students, leaders, and nonmember friends.
The 21-acre island boasts a 17-bedroom home that was built in the early 1900s, complete with a wood-burning stove and a one-lane bowling alley. In the recreation hall of the home, old and new friends joined in for pool, Ping-Pong, a ski movie, and lots of conversation. Dinner consisted of tacos and watching the flickering shadows from the huge fireplace jump on carved overhead beams.
The next day brought with it a scripture chase and gospel discussion. There were also more activities, long talks, and good food. For the young people from Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Canada, it was better than they’d hoped for and something for them to live up to next year.

Church attendance for my folks was very infrequent, but every Sunday Mom prodded me out the door. After she buttoned me into a crisp, ironed, white shirt, she lounged about while my dad watched TV.
That second Sunday of September should have been no different from any other. The first counselor in the bishopric had just finished the announcements as I slipped in the door. I noticed my usual seat on the front row was already occupied, and the only spot left was in the middle of the second row. I tried to wiggle past Tom Bennington’s long legs, but he pinned me against the pew. As I struggled harder to get past, we both giggled quietly. Suddenly a dark hand rested on Tom’s shoulder. That’s when I noticed him, the man sitting in the third row.
He was old, judging by the wrinkles lining his face and the amount of white in his hair. However, his eyes were what froze my levity—a deep blue that bored right into me. A cold chill ran through my body. Tom straightened up as if shocked by electricity. Quickly freeing myself, I sat down.
When the opening song started, I slouched as usual. I hated singing of any kind, but as the congregation sang the first few words the hairs on the back of my neck bristled. From behind, the stranger’s deep, resonant voice intoned the first verse of the song. I was hypnotized by that voice. Many men croaked off key, but he hit every note with a bass clarity that was beautiful. Then, as the second verse began, a rough, sunburned hand reached past my shoulder with a hymnal turned to the proper page. Out of surprise I took the book and mumbled through the song.
“I’d like to take care of one piece of business at this time,” the first counselor announced following the invocation. “Brother Carswell, would you please stand?”
I heard a rustling noise directly behind me and saw those rough hands grip the back of my seat.
“We have extended a call to Brother Merle Carswell to be our Scoutmaster, and he has accepted. All those who can sustain Brother Carswell in this calling signify by the uplifted hand. Any opposed by the same sign. Thank you.”
What? I thought to myself. This man? Our Scoutmaster? Bishop, you’ve got to be kidding! That’s a young man’s job.
Early the following Thursday while shuffling down the sidewalk delivering newspapers, I spotted Brother Carswell walking briskly in my direction.
“Good morning,” he said in a voice that garnered instant attention.
It was disgusting how some people could be so cheerful at 5:30 in the morning.
“You walk like a man heading for the gallows.”
I had been staring at my feet but glanced at him to answer. “Yeah, sort of.”
“Let me guess. It’s the widow lady at the end of the street.”
“How’d you know?” I shot back, startled.
“I heard her scold you yesterday morning.”
“Oh. I’d sure like to know what her problem is. It’s like that every day. I just can’t do anything right.”
So why was I suddenly baring my burdens to a complete stranger? What was it about this man that prodded me to open up? He was old. He was all wrinkled and harsh looking. His eyes pierced through body and soul like Superman’s X-ray vision, yet, there was something, an invisible feeling of … I didn’t know what.
“Let’s walk,” he suggested, turning around. “You know anything about her?”
“No, except she hates kids and can’t seem to get along with grownups either.”
“Husband died about 11 years ago. Hasn’t had much contact with her children. Feels sort of, well, abandoned. Just kind of bitter at the hand dealt her.”
“That’s no reason to take it out on me.”
“Oh, you’re not the only one to catch her wrath, just the handiest this time of day.”
Brother Carswell stopped in front of a house several doors down from Mrs. Webster’s. Pulling out a well-worn pocket knife, he cut off a beautiful rose bud.
“Gee!” I whispered in panic, looking up at the house, fully expecting the owner to come flying out, shotgun in hand. “You’re gonna get us in—”
“Nah. Burt won’t mind. We go way back. Now, take this,” Brother Carswell replied with a chuckle. “Remember, you can drag a mule to water, but just out of orneriness it isn’t going to drink unless you sweeten the pond. Why don’t you slip this in her newspaper?”
Brother Carswell trimmed off the thorns and placed the rose in my hand. Without further comment he strolled away whistling a merry tune. I couldn’t believe it. This man snips off a flower, tells me to give it to one of the crankiest people in town, and walks away—in the opposite direction. The whole idea seemed so stupid that I was about to chuck the flower into the thick bushes surrounding her yard.
“Oh, why not?” I snorted to myself and tucked it carefully under the rubber band as I laid the paper on the brick ledge next to her door, just where she demanded.
That afternoon, as I rode my skateboard down the street, I saw Mrs. Webster standing on the front porch. I could tell she was gunning for me, and there was no way to ignore that screeching voice calling my name.
Everything in my being prompted me to keep going, but I slipped off the board with a stop that flipped it into my hands. Taking a deep breath, I shuffled toward her.
“My, my, you seem quite good at riding that, that thing. What do you call it?”
“A skateboard.”
“Oh, yes, a skateboard. It’s terribly hot today. Would you like some lemonade?”
One minute I hated everything about this house. Now I was sitting in the cool shade of its porch sipping fresh lemonade and munching the best cookies ever. The most puzzling thing was the fact that this grouchy woman and I were amiably talking about nothing really important. But we were talking. Soon I was fixing her stubborn lawnmower.
Brother Carswell was a rarity at 67. His wisdom and the way he taught precepts were remarkable. My first lesson had been to never give up on people just because they were different or seemingly unapproachable. With simple kindness people can open the lines of communication and begin to understand the “hand” others have been dealt.
Mrs. Webster really was a sweet lady. And I didn’t mind putting the paper on the window ledge. Arthritis made it difficult for her to bend over. Maybe that’s why I spent a lot of time weeding her flower garden and mowing the grass. Then it could have been the pay—the best cookies, cakes, and pies ever. And the friendship.

I stopped going to church when my grandfather passed away. His passing was one of the hardest trials that has ever happened to me. During that time I sort of doubted the Lord. Things weren’t very clear to me; it was a depressing time.
After some time had passed, my aunt and mom spoke with me. I came to realize that the time will come when I can see my grandfather again. This realization was a slow and complicated process. My grandfather’s death challenged my faith—and helped me find it. My faith in Jesus Christ has been strengthened as I’ve thought about gospel truths and returned to church!

I was flying to Iowa a year ago and sat down by the side of a young college student who had been going to Utah State University. I asked him how he liked it and he said, “I just love it.” I asked him why, and he said it was because of the people there. I got his name and address and asked him if it would be okay for two young missionaries to come by to see him. Six months later, I got a letter from the missionaries saying that they were baptizing him, his three brothers and sisters, and his parents that week.

Jody had come up to Raven’s Roost nearly every week since he had moved with his family to Tucker Springs, and he’d gotten to know Sir Lancelot quite well, at least from a distance. “If you want this button to add to your collection of shiny things, you’ll have to take it from my hand!” he told the bird.
The huge bird alighted on a limb of the scrub oak. He cocked his glossy black head and eyed the lustrous object. “Come on,” Jody encouraged.
The raven cawed noisily, his high, harsh cry echoing off the red rocks. At length, he hopped to the ground, advanced a step or two, and came to a stop.
“That’s the best you can do?” Jody questioned. “All right, but next time it’s all the way or nothing, understand?” He tossed the button a few feet in front of him. The raven, cawing at Jody and eyeing the treasure, stretched forward and plucked the button up in his long bill. Then he flew back to the limb.
He regarded the boy a moment, as if saying thanks. Then, just as Sir Lancelot was about to fly off with the precious gift, Jody heard a whizzing sound, followed by a soft thud. The raven toppled lifeless to the ground, the brass button rolling from his slack bill and disappearing into a crevice in the rocks.
For an instant Jody just stared, disbelieving. “Sir Lancelot!” he choked out. Then his attention turned to the direction of the sound.
Hollis Fletcher stepped out of the brushwood about a hundred yards away, a rock flipper in his hands. “I told you I’d get even, Farnsworth,” he sneered. “You should have dropped out of that spelling contest, like I told you. Outside of the Fourth of July and the county fair, it’s the biggest thing that happens around here. And I would have won.
“I’ve lived in Tucker Springs all my life,” Hollis went on. “Every time I earned a hundred on spelling at school, I rewarded myself with getting a new marble for my collection. I probably have the best marble collection in the whole state, but there aren’t any trophies for that, like there is for the spelling contest. I worked hard to win it—it wasn’t right for some nobody from nowhere to come into town and take the trophy that should have been mine. Especially some kid two years younger than I am.”
“I won fair and square,” Jody retorted through his tears, dropping to his knees beside the dead bird and touching its blood-spattered plumage. “Besides, you won the trophy in last year’s contest.”
“I could have had two, Farnsworth!” Hollis growled. “Around here, two is better than one, especially at my house. With one, it can be just luck. Nobody questions or forgets a two-time winner—especially my father! He would have given me a horse, Farnsworth, just like he did my brother for his two-year win at the county fair for his Jersey cows!”
Hollis turned and started down the path, then paused and burned a look over his shoulder at Jody. “Maybe now you’ll know how it feels to lose something.”
Jody scooped up a rock, jumped to his feet, and hurled it at Hollis’s retreating shape. “I hate you!” he screamed, his face twisting with grief and rage. “I hate you!”
Hollis turned back toward the screaming youth and smiled. “That’s good, Farnsworth. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
At home, Jody poured out the story to his father. “He killed Sir Lancelot to get back at me!” he sobbed. “Sir Lancelot was just a good old bird who didn’t do anything except make music.” Jody wiped at the tears that burned his eyes. “It wasn’t the prettiest sound I’ve ever heard, but it was music to me. I hate Hollis for what he did.”
His father sighed. “It was wrong what he did, Son, no doubt about it. But you can’t go around with all that hate in your heart. For one thing, it isn’t healthy; for another, it’s—”
Jody pulled away from his father. “I hate Hollis Fletcher, Dad. I wish he’d move away!”
In the weeks that followed, the resentment and bitterness in Jody Farnsworth’s heart grew.
“You can’t tell me that you’re happy, Jody,” his father commented one day as they walked down the dirt road toward Hennesey Lake, their fishing poles over their shoulders.
Jody didn’t look at his father. “Is it wrong for a kid not to be happy all the time?” he blurted, kicking at a pebble in the road. “Even Jesus got mad at the moneychangers in the temple. And when Lazarus died, He wept. Is it wrong to be like Him?”
“No,” his father returned, “but this is the first time we’ve gone fishing that you haven’t been happy.” After a long silence, his father continued. “You know, Jody, if harboring all that spite for Hollis was right and proper, you’d be feeling pretty good inside. But I’ve never seen you look so poorly.”
Jody’s eyes fired up like smoldering coals rekindled. “I’m just supposed to forget about what he did, is that it?”
“It would be hard to forget what happened,” Jody’s father admitted. “But you can forgive him for what he did.”
Jody’s eyes widened. “What? Forgive Hollis Fletcher for shooting Sir Lancelot? How am I supposed to do that?”
His father stopped and eyed the boy. “You have to want to. That makes it a whole lot easier.”
“Well, I don’t want to.”
Jody’s father set his fishing pole aside and squatted down to the boy’s level. “There are a lot of things in this life we don’t like doing that need doing. Your mother dreads wash day, especially in the middle of July. It’s a hot, exhausting, all-day job. But what do you think would happen if our clothes didn’t get cleaned on a regular basis? We’d go around looking and smelling like Amos Twigg’s cow barn. And last fall I dreaded having to shoot Jack. That old horse was in constant great pain, and nothing more could be done except put him out of his misery. It was the hardest thing I had to do in my life. But it needed doing. And that brings me to you, Jody.”
“Me?”
“For the past month you’ve been carrying around such poisonous thoughts that I worry about your soul.”
“I just can’t forgive him, Dad,” Jody said angrily.
Later that morning, as they sat fishing, Jody accidently snagged his finger on his hook while baiting his line. “Shall we leave that hook in your finger?” Jody’s father questioned.
“Of course not!” Jody winced, at the smart.
“Why not?”
“I want to get the hurt out so it will heal, of course.”
“It might be a good idea to let that other, bigger, hurt out, too, Jody.” His father helped dislodge the small hook from the boy’s finger, then dug in his fishing box for some ointment and applied it to Jody’s finger. “The best medicine for resentment is forgiveness. It lets out the poison so that the wound can heal.
“You know,” he added, “I was thinking about what you said earlier today about being like the Savior. There’s a lot to that. He loved everybody, didn’t He? Even His enemies. Don’t you suppose He was the best example of forgiveness, too, Jody?”
Jody’s eyes fell, then lifted. “You mean, while He hung suffering on the cross He forgave the soldiers who crucified Him?”
“Yes. And in Gethsemane He suffered for all our sins.”
Jody was silent a long spell. Then he stood up. “Can we go home now, Dad? There’s something I need to do. Something I want to do.”
Jody was halfway up the little rutted lane that led to the Fletcher farmhouse, when Hollis spotted him. Jody’s heart was pounding. He never imagined that something he wanted to do could be so hard.
Hollis met Jody a short distance from the house, his countenance as dark as a storm over the tablelands. “You came to tell my father what I did, didn’t you, Farnsworth?”
“No,” Jody answered. “I just came to tell you that I forgive you for what you did. I’m not saying it was right; I’m just saying that I don’t hate you.”
“What?”
“Staying mad isn’t going to change anything,” Jody said. “It just makes things worse.”
After an awkward silence, Hollis wondered aloud, “Why are you doing this?”
“It was just something that needed doing. Well,” Jody concluded after another uncomfortable silence, “I still have a few chores to finish up at home, so I guess I’d better be going. See you later.”
A few days later he returned to the mesa and searched the skies for another raven. “I know there are more of you up there somewhere,” he said out loud. “I don’t have any shiny stuff to give you—I’m all out—but—”
“I do,” a voice behind Jody said. Hollis stepped out of the brushwood. He pulled out a leather pouch he’d brought with him and displayed its contents to Jody. “Now we have a lot of shiny things to give those ravens!”
Jody stared at the multitude of shiny aggies, taws, glassies, cat’s eyes, and other bright-colored marbles. “Why are you doing this, Hollis?”
The older boy’s smile grew as big as Jody’s wonder. “It was just something that needed doing.”
Hollis set a bright yellow glassie on a rock, then sat next to Jody beneath the scrub oak, where the two boys waited and watched.

In World War II, I was in a military hospital in Africa for a few days with a respiratory infection. The hospital was staffed with native orderlies who were to keep the hospital clean, change the beds, and generally be of help to the patients. Because of the prevalence of malaria and its carrier, the mosquito, we slept under large mosquito nets that hung from the ceiling and covered the whole bed. One night as I went to bed, I slipped my wallet under my pillow and drifted off to sleep.
Some time later in the night I was awakened and startled to feel some hands slipping under my bedclothes. I suspected that a thief was after my wallet. I instinctively grabbed one of the hands and switched on the light. My wallet slipped out from under the pillow. To my surprise, I held the arm of the native boy who was the orderly assigned to clean my room. All he said in defense of his action was, “Don’t worry. I am a disciple.” He could tell from the look on my face that I did not understand. In further explanation, he said simply, “I am a disciple. I am a Christian. I do not want your purse. I was only tucking the mosquito netting around your bed to protect you from the mosquitoes while you slept.” I came to know that this young man was not only a Christian, he was a disciple.

I had a really rough time when I didn’t have as strong a testimony as I wanted to. I was scared that I would fall away from the Church, and it sent me into a pattern where I did not want to come to church. However, at a baptism, somebody bore their testimony that they had followed the path that Church leaders and their parents had set out for them, and they eventually gained a testimony of their own. This helped me a lot, and now I love to go to church.
Kaden W., age, Utah, USA