Gospel Story Finder

I had been feeling upset after getting into an argument with my mom. Dealing with the divorce of my LDS parents and my mom’s new husband really has hit me hard. One night while watching TV, I decided to read the magazine. Once I opened it to the first page, tears filled my eyes. Real stories and people fill this magazine. I can’t thank you enough for the knowledge, comfort, and the spirit it brought to me.
Name WithheldTexas

Seven-year-old Craig Parker of Spanish Fork, Utah, gained a testimony of the role of prayer in the repentance process. One day while he was playing, he said a word that he knew was wrong. He felt very bad afterward. “In our home and at church I have learned about Jesus, and I know that He would not want me to say that word.”
Craig decided to kneel and pray for forgiveness. “I folded my arms and told Heavenly Father I was sorry for saying that word. I felt better after praying. I knew that Heavenly Father forgave me, and I have never said that word again.”

Lindsay felt nervous as she looked around the hospital room. She knew that soon someone would come to take her to the operating room for surgery. Mom and Dad stood close to her bed.
A few days before, Lindsay’s family had had a special family home evening. Mom gave a lesson about priesthood blessings. Then each member of the family told about a time when he or she was blessed by the power of the priesthood. Lindsay felt peaceful and happy as she listened to their testimonies. Mom explained that the peaceful feeling was the Holy Ghost telling Lindsay that what she was hearing was true.
At the end of the lesson, Lindsay’s older brother, who held the Melchizedek Priesthood, put a drop of consecrated oil on her head and said a prayer. Then Dad gave her a wonderful blessing. He said that Heavenly Father knew and loved her. He said that the doctors would be blessed in their work and that the surgery would go well. He also promised that Lindsay would have a special feeling of comfort and peace that would replace her fears.
Waiting in the hospital, Lindsay tried to be brave, but tears slowly leaked from the corners of her eyes. Two men in hospital clothes came into her room and said it was time for the surgery. They were kind as they tried to cheer her up, but still Lindsay’s fear did not go away.
Lindsay hugged Mom and Dad from her bed. Then one of the men pulled up the railing on her bed so she would be safe as they wheeled her down the hall. As Lindsay turned to see what he was doing, she saw a familiar silver ring on his finger. A warm, peaceful feeling filled her heart as she saw the letters CTR on the ring. Lindsay smiled as her fears slipped away. She knew that everything was going to be fine.

The Church’s enemies, upon seeing all the activity at the temple, tried to have Brigham Young arrested. On December 23, government officials waited outside the temple to arrest him. Learning that they were there, Brigham prayed for guidance and protection so that he could “live to prove advantageous to the Saints.” Then he saw William Miller, a man his same height, nearby.
Brother Miller agreed to act as a decoy. He wore Brigham’s cloak and climbed into Brigham’s carriage. The officers arrested him and took him to the Mansion House, where the Church members also pretended that he was Brigham Young. It wasn’t till his captors had taken him to Carthage that someone identified him! Meanwhile, Brigham Young and the other Apostles had gone into hiding.

Twelve-year-old Kenneth L. Bradford of Rocky River, Ohio, prevented a man from jumping off a bridge in a suicide attempt.
Kenneth was on an errand when his bicycle was stolen. While he was searching for the bicycle, a man asked him to call the police and tell them that someone was going to jump from the bridge. Ken did as he was asked, and then he returned to the bridge. There he saw the man straddling a fence on top of the bridge. Ken grabbed his foot and held on until the police arrived. “He was kicking and yelling at me to let go,” said Kenneth. “He just told me to go away. He was real mad because he wanted to jump over.”

Consider the experience of Admiral Chester W. Nimitz. When he graduated as an ensign, he was given an old, decrepit destroyer as his first command. It was named the Decatur. It was all he could do to put the old destroyer in shape, and on one of its maiden voyages, Ensign Nimitz ran the ship aground. It resulted in a summary court martial. Had Chester Nimitz not been made of the stuff he was, that defeat could have ruined his career. But what did he do? He put that defeat behind him and went on to become the commanding admiral of the greatest sea force ever assembled in this world—the Pacific Fleet. He showed one and all that one defeat could not keep a good man down.

Luis also shares an experience that shows how service and missionary work are combined in the minds of Chilean youth: “I was working with my brother on the construction of our chapel when a young man came by and stopped and watched us. Finally he approached and asked us why we weren’t out somewhere having a good time. He pointed out that it was a beautiful summer day and we could have gone to the beach or just rested somewhere in the shade. We told him that our spirits were very joyous to have this opportunity to work for the Lord and that we would have been ashamed to think that our brothers and sisters were having to do our work for us. We explained that this was a chapel for the Lord, a house of worship, and that we were eager to see it completed. That young man is now an active member of the Church.”

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 attention to the Savior.

Once I had to choose between attending a Church activity and going to a friend’s party. It was a difficult decision. I didn’t want to disappoint my friend, but I felt that attending the Church activity was more important. I prayed about it, and I felt peace about choosing the Church activity.
My friend was disappointed at first, but she understood my decision when I explained my reasons. My experience showed me that when I put God first, everything else falls into place. It also strengthened my belief that God will guide me when I seek His help through prayer.

Illustrated by Mike Eagle
During general conference in 1906, David took his wife and two young sons to visit cousins in Salt Lake City. Between sessions they sat down to lunch.
Cousin: David, there’s an urgent phone call for you.
David: I’ve been summoned to the Office of the First Presidency.
David met Elder George Albert Smith, an Apostle, on Temple Square. Elder Smith escorted him to the office of the President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. As they walked David thought about how he had performed his stake calling in the Sunday School.
David: I wonder if I’ll be called to the Church Board of Education.
President Francis M. Lyman invited David to sit down. What he said next left David speechless.
President Lyman: So you’re David O. McKay. Well, the Lord wants you to be an Apostle … What’s the matter? Haven’t you anything to say?
David: I’m not worthy of such a call!
President Lyman: Not worthy? Not worthy?! What have you been doing?
David: Nothing of which I’m ashamed.
President Lyman: Then do you have faith that the Lord will make you able to fulfill this calling?
On the way back to his relatives’ apartment, David saw his father.
Father: So, Son, were you called to the Church Board of Education?
David: I’ve been asked not to say anything about my new calling yet.
David and his wife, Emma Ray, attended the afternoon session of conference together. Right before the session ended, a special announcement was made. Emma Ray burst into tears from surprise and joy when David’s name was read. At only 32 years old, David O. McKay was sustained a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

Silver Packages Each Christmastime, the poor children in Appalachia were given silver packages by the man on the Christmas Train. Frankie prayed for a toy doctor’s kit. He was given needed clothes and toys, but not the kit. When he grew up, he became a doctor—and knew then that he’d been given something more valuable than toys in the silver packages: an understanding of the real meaning of Christmas.Cynthia Rylant5–8 years

Uncertainty can be frustrating and scary. Some of the people I talked with in my job couldn’t stand uncertainty. They wouldn’t allow themselves to even contemplate the possibility of the existence of God or life after death. They’d made up their minds before they even asked me questions, and they only heard what they wanted to hear.
I remember one man who said, “You can’t show me the golden plates, so I can’t believe they ever existed.” To which I responded, “Suppose I could show you the plates—would that be enough for you?” And he replied, “No, because I would be looking at forgery.”
No matter what I said, he had already made up his mind that “no” was the right answer—because “no” could eliminate his uncertainty.

“Hi, honey.” Mom smiled as Keri hopped into the car.
“How was activity day?”
“Terrible,” Keri mumbled.
Mom pulled out of the parking lot and headed down the street. “What happened?” she asked.
“We planted flowers in Sister Jackson’s front yard.”
“That was nice of you.”
“Sister Jackson didn’t think so. She got mad at us.”
“Really? Why?”
“She said that petunias were her favorite flower, and we planted mostly marigolds.”
“That’s too bad.”
“It gets worse. She said we have to come back later and do it right. Mom, we can’t spend all of our activity days at her house. We’ve got other plans. All the girls want to learn how to knit so we can have matching scarves this winter.”
Mom patted Keri’s knee. “Tell you what—for family home evening we can plant petunias at Sister Jackson’s house. How would that be?”
Keri frowned. “All right, but it won’t be any fun. She’s grumpy and mean and demanding. We’d better have great refreshments so the night won’t be a total loss.”
The next Monday night Keri, Mom, Dad, and Keri’s little brother, Cole, arrived at Sister Jackson’s house with a box full of petunias. When Sister Jackson answered the door, she wasn’t smiling. “Plant them in the front,” she ordered, pointing with her cane. “And not too close together. Petunias need space to grow.”
As Keri and her family worked, Sister Jackson came out onto her porch. “You’ll need mulch,” she said. “I want the fine, red kind—none of that chunky gray stuff. Make sure you get enough.” She turned and hobbled back into the house, letting the screen door slam shut behind her.
“See what I mean?” Keri growled. “She’s never satisfied. There’s always one more thing to do. This service project is going to go on and on for eternity.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Mom asked, pulling off her gardening gloves. “The commandment to love our neighbors doesn’t have an expiration date. And eternal projects might just bring eternal blessings. Now, let’s go get the mulch while Dad and Cole finish planting the flowers.”
But all the way to the store, Keri kept grumbling. “What’s wrong with her, anyway? Why can’t she be grateful for what we’ve done? Why does she have to be so critical all the time?”
“I’ve been thinking about Sister Jackson,” Mom said. “She lives alone with no family nearby. She hasn’t been able to go to church for months because of her poor health. She must be lonely. Her home teachers and visiting teachers come, but the only time anyone else visits is when there’s a service project.”
“You mean, she’s stretching out this job so we’ll keep coming to see her?”
Mom nodded. “I think so.”
Keri shook her head in wonder. “Well, if she weren’t so grumpy, maybe people would want to visit her more often.”
“No one likes to always be asking for help,” Mom explained. “And no one likes to be seen as a ‘project’ to be finished and forgotten. Maybe that’s what makes her feel grumpy. Perhaps she wants to be viewed as a real person with something to give. Maybe she needs to serve, not just be served.”
“How?”
Mom shrugged. “I don’t really know. I guess we need to find out more about Sister Jackson.”
When they got back from the store, Sister Jackson was sitting on her front porch doing some kind of handicraft. As Dad and Cole helped lift the large bags of mulch from the back of the car, she squinted at them over her eyeglasses. “I also want that plastic edging around the flowers replaced with brick. You can bring the bricks next week.”
Mom winked at Keri, and Keri rolled her eyes. Then Keri noticed what Sister Jackson was doing. She was knitting! Suddenly Keri knew exactly what to do—if she dared. Wiping her hands on her jeans and saying a little prayer for courage, she stepped toward the porch. “Uh, Sister Jackson,” she said, “do you know how to knit?”
Sister Jackson leaned back in her chair and frowned. “Of course I do, child. Don’t you have eyes?”
“Ah, yes, well, we—that is, the girls who planted the marigolds and I—we’d like to learn how to knit scarves. Do you think you could teach us?”
Sister Jackson’s eyes lit up for just a moment. “But I can’t get out to the church, honey,” she said softly.
“That’s OK. We’ll come here, if that’s all right. It might take us a lot of lessons, though. We’re pretty slow learners.”
Sister Jackson nodded, and a faint smile crossed her lips. “I guess I could find the time somehow. Get a paper and pencil from my kitchen table, and write down what I tell you to bring. We’ve got to decide on colors and patterns, too. Go on now—it’s right inside the door.”
Keri looked at her mother and grinned. She knew that this was just the beginning of an activity that could go on for a long, long time. Maybe even for eternity. But that was OK with her.

“Because a temple is sacred, the Lord asks that it be protected from desecration. Anyone may enter who is willing to prepare well for that privilege. The concept of preparation prevails in other fields of endeavor. I remember when I was but a young boy, I told my parents I wanted to attend the university. They said I could, but only if I worked hard in preliminary schooling and met all the requirements for admission to the university. Similarly, we must qualify for admission to the temple. We prepare physically, intellectually, and spiritually.”—Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “Prepare for Blessings of the Temple,” Ensign, Mar. 2002, 18–19.

The discipline of daily immersion in the scriptures paid off in my last year of seminary, which was also my 12th and final year of school.
My seminary study habits allowed me to be better organized. While I’m not a fan of reading, I strove to read daily. It allowed me to maintain my relationship—even a fragile one—with Heavenly Father.
That year, I passed my bachelor diploma with honors. I got my driver’s license on my first try. I received my call to serve a mission in Paris. All in all, the hand of God was in my life the whole time I was in seminary and at school.

I was baptized in 2012 and attended a branch in the Ipoméia Brazil District. Since 2014, I have been really engaged in family history. It started with the invitation from Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles at RootsTech to do baptisms for my own family names. I felt really committed to do family history, knowing that if I “knocked,” it would be “opened” (see Matthew 7:7).
Now I have many more generations, pictures, documents, and, most important, more family stories, which is awesome. Having this information, I wrote a book with pictures and dates from my family history. This project helped me contact my nonmember family members and gave me the opportunity to share my testimony that families can be eternal.
This work has helped me stand in holy places, stay active in the Church, and accept the calling to serve the Lord on a mission.
I have a testimony that the work of salvation done by this Church on both sides of the veil is true and inspired by our Heavenly Father. Before my mission, I had the opportunity to do baptisms for my ancestors, and now as a missionary I have the opportunity to baptize people who are alive and want to change their lives forever.
Elder Claudio Klaus Jr., Arizona Mesa Mission

It was hard for the youth of the Jonesboro Arkansas Ward to leave the residents of the local Children’s Colony when their service project was over. It was the first time many of the LDS youth had contact with the mentally or physically impaired, and their evening of games touched them in ways they’d never felt before.
They played basketball, softball, croquet and other games with the residents of the children’s home, and decided that it was one of the best activities they’d ever had. Many outside community members were also impressed with the efforts of the LDS youth. Now that they have had a taste of this kind of service, you can bet they’ll be back for more.

As a radio reporter Richard worked under considerable pressure covering a wide variety of topics on short deadlines. He soon learned that social drinking was an important way many reporters obtained information. Work became increasingly difficult because he refused to participate in the drinking.
The thought of finding a new job eased his conscience but not his challenges. His radio job had helped pacify his parents after he joined the Church. So when he left the high-paying, prestigious, full-time job for part-time contract work as a guide, his parents were disappointed for a time.
It was another difficult path to choose, but he doesn’t regret taking it because he knows that to be “exalted on high” (see D&C 121:7–8), we must first experience the lows (see D&C 122:5–7).
“We sometimes limit what God can make of us because we don’t want to experience the bad with the good,” he says.
Following the Lord led him to a job he enjoyed. It led him to serve a mission. It introduced him to his future wife, with whom he now has four beautiful children. Despite the trials, there has been no end to the blessings.

The youth and adults of the Farmington Utah Stake presented an original musical production about the exasperation leading to the organization of the Primary. Entitled “Oh, Those Boys!”, the musical showed boys killing bats during Sunday School in the attic of the Church. A chorus of young girls sang the pleasures and responsibilities of being “at the end of the row.” (In early Primaries, older, well-behaved children were placed at the end of the row to set an example and control the other children.)

“Oh, Those Boys!” played two nights, and most of the audience went away informed, entertained, and amazed at the job the young people had done.

After sixty-six days at sea aboard the Mayflower, Ellen Howard is as excited as any of the ship’s passengers to see America for the first time. Her longing for her brother and sister, Roger and Sarah, still living in Holland, and her memory of the near-disastrous ocean voyage are temporarily forgotten as the travelers approach the New World—and a new life.
The long weary journey of the Pilgrims was almost ended. The vast ocean lay behind them, and beckoning ahead stretched a thin strip of land. The Mayflower, as though eager to reach harbor, skimmed along in the spanking breeze.
But as the land loomed larger, Captain Jones made the disappointing announcement, “We’ve sighted the clay highlands of Cape Cod. We’re a three weeks’ sail northeast of Jamestown.”
Ellen looked up at her father with troubled eyes. “Oh, Papa! Does that mean we have to sail on?”
“Perhaps, darling. Perhaps,” he replied.
Both strangers and Pilgrims debated and decided they should head south for the mouth of the Hudson River. But within a few hours the Mayflower tangled with the dangerous shoals and roaring breakers known as “Tucker’s Terrors,” and they were forced to turn back. Winds that had blown them off course and tumultuous waters had decided their destiny.
So, on a Saturday afternoon, November 21, the Mayflower dropped anchor in a Cape Cod harbor too far north to be governed by the laws of the Virginia colony.
“Aye, when we go ashore we’ll use our own liberty,” boasted one of the strangers. “King James’s patent is of no effect here.”
But the Pilgrims and strangers both realized that to keep their freedom they must have rules. Forty-one men aboard gathered in the ship’s cabin, drew up the Mayflower Compact, and signed it. John Carver was unanimously chosen to be governor of the new colony.
When the council meeting was over, several armed men went ashore, staying just long enough to look around quickly and to collect a load of firewood. The next day was Sunday, and everyone stayed on board in Sabbath worship.
On Monday the overjoyed passengers were rowed ashore.
Ellen knelt in the sand and, sifting it through her fingers, exclaimed, “Oh, sand, how good you feel!” Flinging her arms wide, she cried, “Oh, earth, I love you and wish I could hug you!”
Her feelings reflected those of all the passengers, for they fell upon their knees and blessed the God of heaven who had brought them over the vast and furious ocean. Nevertheless, each night was spent aboard ship for safety reasons.
While the men worked on a shallop (small open boat) from the ship, hauling it up onto the beach for repairs, the women went ashore to wash clothes. After the shallop was repaired, Miles Standish, the military captain of the colony, with Captain Jones and a group of men, most of them Pilgrims, set out to explore. Daily they prayed for guidance.
On December 21, the travelers stepped ashore at the site of a deserted Indian village. Old and weathered cornstalks rattled in the breeze where land had been cleared. A brook sparkled and babbled down a hillside. Nearby was an excellent harbor. In one field was a great hill that commanded a view of the sea and land roundabout. Why the place had been deserted was a mystery.
“We’ll build our new Plymouth here,” Captain Standish announced.
When they returned to the Mayflower, William White looked anxiously about the deck for his wife, Susanna. Then he saw her coming toward him. Placing a tiny bundle in his arms, she said, “My husband, our little son was born while you were gone.”
Tenderly, William uncovered the tiny pink face. “So our little traveler has arrived,” he said, beaming.
Standing by, Governor Carver exclaimed, “Aye, William, your little son is the first white child we know of to be born in New England. He should be called Peregrine (traveler).”
“Peregrine White,” William mused. “That is what he shall be called.” Then noticing Ellen’s eager upturned face, he asked, “Do you want to hold the baby?”
“Oh, yes!” she exclaimed. Gently he laid the bundle in her arms, and Ellen smiled with pleasure.
The Mayflower sailed across the bay and cast anchor in Plymouth Harbor on December 26. Work on the new settlement was immediately begun. The lookout hill became Fort Hill, with the cannon mounted on its top. On the sunny side of the hill, they dug shelters and built pens for the chickens, goats, and pigs, which cackled, bleated, and grunted their appreciation. Timber was hewn from the forest, and a common house was built. Then came the bitter cold and snow. Since there was not sufficient shelter for all the families, they remained on the Mayflower, and the men rowed back and forth each day. Many times the stormy waters dashed over them, freezing upon them like coats of iron. Many caught colds that turned into pneumonia. Sickness spread like an epidemic, and almost half the people aboard the Mayflower died. Sailors who had sneered at the praying church folks, and strangers who had quarreled with them, now grew close in their mutual suffering and grief.
Warm weather came at last, and birds sang in the forest. A half dozen cabins were completed, and by the end of March the last of the Mayflower passengers went ashore.
Friendly Indians came—Samoset, Squanto, and Hobomack, all of whom knew some English. Chief Massasoit also came to make a peace treaty with the colonists.
Squanto and Hobomack remained in Plymouth. Squanto went to live with William Bradford, who was now governor. (John Carver had suddenly become ill and died.) Hobomack went to live with Miles Standish.
One day Squanto was visiting with Ellen and John Howland. “This was once my home,” he explained. “Plymouth, as you call it, was a Pawtuxet village. When I was a papoose like you, Ellen, I played in the meadows. When I was a young brave like you, John Howland, Captain Hunt invited me and some other braves to go aboard his trading ship. When we were at sea, strange sailors boarded our ship and tied us up. They took us to Spain and sold us as slaves. I later escaped to England and lived there a long time with good people. Finally, I became a seaman for Captain Dermar. He brought me back to America. At Pawtuxet Harbor, I ran swiftly to see my people, but they were gone—no braves, no women, no papooses! I was sad and alone; my eyes filled with tears. I went to the Sowams, and Chief Massasoit took me in. He said all my people died in a smallpox plague. You came, and my village has people once more. I will be your son. You will be my people. I will teach you Indian ways, and you will become strong.”
Squanto taught the people how to plant corn, and everyone helped with the planting. “If you want to get crops from these old grounds,” Squanto advised, “you must fertilize the fields with fish.” When the herring began their spring run, he showed the settlers how to trap them. Then the men spaded holes in the hillocks, and the boys dropped in three herring, spokewise, with their heads toward the center. Ellen and the other little girls put four kernels of corn into each hill, then covered them. Squanto told the settlers to guard the crops against animals. The children kept watch by day and the grownups by night.
Squanto also showed the villagers how to tap maple trees for the sweet sap, how to trap deer and other game, and where to find eels. Thanks to him, the colony began to thrive.
The six acres of wheat, barley, and peas the settlers had planted with seed brought from England scarcely produced seed enough for the next year. But with the pumpkin and corn from the Indians, the harvest was bounteous far beyond their expectations. And because of the peace treaty with the Indians, the children could gather wild plums, berries, and grapes in the woods as safely as they could have walked the sidewalks of Holland.
One autumn morning as Ellen and the other children had gone to the woods to gather nuts, they were startled by the booming of the cannon from the top of Fort Hill. Kathrine Howard came racing across the meadow, calling and beckoning to them.
“What is it, Mama?” cried Ellen, running to meet her.
“A tall white sail has been sighted off Cape Cod. It’s heading for Plymouth. Governor Bradford fears it may be a French vessel coming to raid us.”
“Where’s Papa?”
“Captain Standish has marshaled every man and boy who can handle a gun,” Kathrine panted.
The vessel, when she hove into sight, ran up a white flag bearing the red cross of the English. A cry of joy went up from the anxiously watching crowd, and everyone raced for the shore. When the first little boat with its passengers ran aground, Ellen rushed into the shallow water.
“Sarah! Roger!” she cried as her sister and brother alighted.
The tears, laughter, and hugging at this joyous reunion were quite a contrast to the sadness at the time of their parting.
The ship, Fortune, with the thirty-five men, women, and children who had come to live in Plymouth, dropped anchor in her harbor just a little less than a year after the Mayflower had anchored at Cape Cod. One of the first to come ashore was Deacon Robert Cushman, who brought with him formal legal rights to the land the settlers now occupied.
When the pumpkins and corn had been harvested, Governor Bradford declared, “We will hold a harvest feast of thanksgiving so we might all rejoice together!”
The colony bustled in preparation. An invitation was sent to the friendly Indians. Chief Massasoit and ninety braves came, bearing five deer to be barbecued. Hunters returned from the forest laden with wild turkeys, geese, and ducks. The women busied themselves with baking, while the children tended the roasts on the spits over open fires. Long tables were spread outdoors, and everyone sat down together. Besides the game from the forest, the table was spread with fish, clams and other shellfish, succulent eels, journeycake, corn bread with nuts, succotash, pumpkin stewed in maple sap, dried berries, plums, grapes, leeks, watercress, and various other herbs.
The celebration lasted three days. Elder Brewster gave a prayer of thanksgiving, and Captain Standish staged a military review. There were games of chance—the Pilgrims competing with flintlocks, the Indians with bows and arrows. There were songs and expressions of worship and praise. After the celebration, the Indians returned to the woods and the Pilgrims to their duties of enlarging the colony and making it snug for winter.
Contentedly, Ellen watched the dancing lights cast by the flickering fire upon the cabin walls. A steady wind whistled outside in the starlit darkness. Sighing softly, Ellen said, “The celebration is over now, but thanksgiving goes on and on. I’m thankful that I’m a Pilgrim and live in America and that Sarah and Roger came so we can all be together.”
Her father patted her hand. “The Lord is good. America is good. She is our sweet land of promise.”