Gospel Story Finder

A couple of weeks later, our branch was visited by a beloved member of our stake presidency. He gave a talk in the sacrament meeting and invited everyone to remain faithful in their trials and to prepare for the temple. He asked all the members to pray for us to go to the temple again. His talk was comforting to our wounded hearts and gave us hope that one day we will be able to attend the temple.

When Sister Pieper and I were raising our family, we wanted to teach them good nutrition. We planned nutritionally balanced meals and encouraged our children to try eating each food served. As an incentive, we created a rule that only those who took at least one bite of each food served would be able to have sweets that day. One evening at dinner, our son Chris said that he did not want to eat his peas. We encouraged him to try at least one bite and reminded him of the rule that if he did, he would be able to have ice cream for dessert. Chris said that he wanted ice cream. We reminded him that if he wanted ice cream, he would first have to take a bite of his peas. He continued to insist that he wanted ice cream but refused to eat his peas. As a result, he watched while his brothers and sisters ate ice cream for dessert, complained the rule wasn’t fair.

The next day in family scripture study we were reading Alma’s teachings to his son Corianton about laws and punishments. We read that there are always consequences when laws are broken. Suddenly, Chris blurted out, “that’s peas and ice cream.” We had a good discussion of how we have agency to choose what we will do but we cannot choose the consequences of our actions. This helped us all learn important principles and apply them in our lives.

Frank Calio is a band teacher now. He lives in Idaho. When I called him to let him know I’d written his story he laughed. “Call the story ‘Fish Sticks,’” he said. “The kids at my school call me Old Fish Sticks. Every year I play a little at our school recital. I’m better than I was in college, but I still make mistakes and the kids get a good laugh. But they all know in my class it’s okay to mess up while they’re learning. I just want them to play music and to try hard. That’s all.”

You take these pumpkin seeds, Brose. Plant them and take good care of them. Who knows—when pumpkin pie time comes this fall, your pumpkins might be just what we need!”
It seemed to Brose that even her eyes smiled as Granny handed him the little bag of seeds. The seeds were his! Not Jeremy’s, not Willie’s, but his, his very own! He was pleased that Granny had given them to him instead of to his older brother.
Brose took care of the pumpkin patch, all right. In fact, he did it so well that it began to bother Pa. “Every time I need you, Brose,” he complained, “you’re in that pumpkin patch. Why, the weeds in the rest of the garden could grow as high as cornstalks, and you’d be out there lifting up pumpkin vines, trying to find another weed to pull. Well, at least I always know where to find you.”
This second year in the Salt Lake Valley was proving to be about like the rest of his nine years, Brose decided. Being in the middle, a boy could scarcely move either way. No one paid him the attention that they did Willie, who was only two and a half and who had hair the color of the brightest sunset over Great Salt Lake. Why, even strangers would stop Willie and ask his name. All they ever said to Brose was, “Is he your brother?”
When Willie did something wrong, no one made a big fuss because Willie was still so young. But when Brose did something that Pa didn’t like, Pa would say, “Brose, you’re big enough to know better!” And whenever it came to deciding which boy would get the best jobs—like riding the pony and herding the cows on the east bench—Pa would say, “Wait up a spell, Brose. You’d best help Ma with the wash and let Jeremy do the herding this year. You’re still a mite small for that job, and Ma can use a little more help than Trudy can give her.”
Brose didn’t give up, though. He wanted Pa to know that there were lots of the good jobs that didn’t have to be left for his older brother to do.
One day the three of them took Old Brownie and Belle and went up City Creek Canyon for a jag of firewood. As soon as they’d found a good place to stop and load up, Pa had Jeremy unhitch the team so that they could graze while the wagon was loaded.
“There,” said Pa, when the wagon was full. “That’ll do it for this trip. Hitch the horses back to the wagon, Jeremy, while Brose and I fasten the chain around the load to keep any logs from falling off.”
“Let me hook up the horses, Pa!” cried Brose. “I can do it, honest! I watched you and Jere do it every day, coming across the plains! Let me hook ‘em up, Pa!”
Pa hesitated, then said, “All right, Brose. Don’t forget to fasten the crosslines, so you can drive the team together without their trying to go off in all directions.”
“So you can drive them!” That’s what Pa said! Maybe, if I hook ‘em up just right, thought Brose, Pa’ll let me drive all the way home!
Brose didn’t have any trouble leading the horses into place. Brownie stepped right over the wagon tongue into her place while Belle stood quietly waiting on the other side. Then, just as Pa had cautioned, Brose fastened the crosslines, snapping the one from Belle’s harness onto the ring on Brownie’s bit, and the other onto the ring on Belle’s bridle.
Next he took the wide leather strap on the front of Brownie’s harness, slipped it through the big ring on the end of the yoke, and fastened the snap to the ring on the other side of the harness. “There! That was just the way Jeremy would have done it,” Brose murmured, pleased. He fastened the strap on Belle’s harness to the yoke the same way. Then he took the driving line from where Jeremy had hung it on Brownie’s hame and threw it ever so gently over Belle’s back, just the way Pa would have done it—quiet, easy, so as not to frighten the team.
When he walked around to put Belle’s line with the other, Brose heard a bird call. It was a new sound, something like a meadowlark’s, yet different. It was more like that little brown bird he used to hear back in Connecticut before the family had come west. Maybe it was! Maybe that very same little brown bird had followed him, Ambrose Dodd, all the way to the Valley!
Brose didn’t know how long he had listened to the bird before he saw Pa and Jeremy. They had walked a little way down the canyon and had stopped, waiting for him.
Brose was to bring the team and wagon! He was going to drive! He climbed up onto the seat, picked up both of the lines, and slapped them against Brownie’s side, just as Pa would have done.
“Giddap!” he cried, loud enough for Pa and Jeremy and the horses to hear. The horses stepped forward. But the wagon did not move. Only the yoke went with the team, the ring on it sliding off the end of the wagon tongue and the lines slipping through Brose’s hands.
Jeremy ran toward him just as the wagon tongue banged to the ground. “Brose!” he called. “Hey, Brose! You forgot the wagon! It won’t move unless you hitch the tugs!”
Brose couldn’t move. How could he have been so dumb! How could he possibly have forgotten about the tugs?
Jeremy reached out and took the lines and drove the team around in a little circle, putting the team right in place. Brose came out of his daze and scurried around to pick up the end of the tongue and slip it through the ring of the yoke, which was still fastened to the horses.
Jeremy was just hooking the last tug to the doubletree when Pa came. Brose watched Pa climb over the front wheel and take his place on the front of the load. Pa reached for the lines, and Jeremy handed them up to him. Pa took them without a word, and Brose knew that he had lost another chance.
There wasn’t much talking during chores that night. When supper was over, Brose sat on the little stool beside the fire, listening to the crackling and hissing of the pine knot and watching the sparks it sometimes sent up with the smoke.
Jeremy took Pa’s fiddle from its case, and music began to fill the little cabin, then float away on the night air. Brose leaned back against the warm cabin wall near the fireplace and listened. He wished—oh, how he wished!—that he could play like Jere. Pa had been fair about it, though. He had tried to teach both of them. Brose still remembered Pa’s words: “Seems as though you’ve got ten thumbs, Brose, and they all want to go in different directions.”
Pa had quit trying to teach him soon after that, and at the time Brose had been relieved. But now every time he listened to the fiddle singing under Jere’s fingers, Brose wished Pa hadn’t given up quite so quickly.
He’d much rather be standing there by Pa’s chair, playing the fiddle, with Ma and Trudy and Willie giving him all the smiles Jeremy was getting, than do the job he was supposed to be doing. He saw Ma looking at him from time to time, but she didn’t interrupt the music with talking, and after a bit Brose made himself get started.
He knew someone had to straighten out the kinks in the wool so that Ma and Trudy could knit it into socks for winter. Brose hated to card. Mostly women and girls did it, but Ma said that Trudy was as fast at knitting as she was, herself. With both of them knitting, they could have twice as many socks ready when winter came. They could, that is, if Brose would just keep ahead of them with the carding.
Brose had his problems with this job too. Sometimes he got the wool so tangled up that Ma said it was worse for knitting when he got through with it than before he started. But she had more patience than Pa. Or maybe she needed the wool carded more than Pa needed another boy to play the fiddle.
Across the firelight Brose saw both Ma and Trudy knitting, each tapping a foot in time to the music. The only time either of them stopped was if one of them happened to drop a stitch. Then the stitch-dropper would move closer to the fire so that she could see to pick it up. Brose sighed as he pulled the big basket of wool closer to him and reached for the cards.
He laid one card close to the fire so that the wire brush would warm. He picked up a handful of wool and drew it across the other card. Then he took the card he had warmed and pulled it carefully across the wool, trying to get the strands straight.
“Learned that fiddle quicker’n I did,” said Pa, as Jeremy stopped for a moment. “Never did see a boy pick it up as fast as that.”
Pa will never be that proud of me, thought Brose, even if I did the carding perfectly! Ma would be pleased, but Pa and Jere wouldn’t care about it at all. Maybe … just maybe someday I’ll do something that they’ll think is important …
“Brose!” He was startled from his daydream by Ma’s voice. “The wool, Brose! I can smell it! You’ve got it too close to the fire!”
Brose jumped and snatched the card away from the flames. “Sorry, Ma.”
Ma reached over and took the wool from him. “You’d better let me finish that,” she said kindly. “You can help Trudy with the knitting.”
Brose nodded and moved over to Trudy. He watched her fingers go quickly over the needles.
“Show me,” he said.
Trudy smiled. “I’ll try, Brose. But don’t blame me if you get ten thumbs in the way again.”
Brose grinned, and the knot inside him began to loosen a little. Maybe he couldn’t drive the team or play the fiddle, but there were other things he could do. And maybe, if he kept trying, someday he’d find one that was just right for him.
(To be concluded.)

During the spring, my husband and I attended our four-year-old grandson’s soccer game. Excitement was in the air as children ran in every direction chasing the ball. When the final whistle blew, the players didn’t know who won or who lost. They had simply played the game.
The coaches asked the players to shake hands with the other team. Then we saw something quite remarkable. One coach called for a victory tunnel.
Parents, grandparents, and anybody who came to see the game stood up and formed two lines facing each other. Then they raised their arms and created an arch. The children squealed as they ran under the arms of the cheering adults and down the path.
Soon the children from the other team decided to join in the fun. All of the players were cheered on by the adults as they ran through the victory tunnel.
In my mind I could see another picture. I had the feeling I was seeing these children living the plan Heavenly Father created for every child. They were running on the strait and narrow path, under the arms of the people who loved them. Each child felt the joy of being on the path.
Jesus Christ has “marked the path and led the way” for each of us.* If we follow His lead, we will all return to our heavenly home and be safe in Heavenly Father’s arms.

While living in Germany, Sister Condie and I became acquainted with a marvelous couple from Switzerland, Brother Georg and Sister Annaroesli Birsfelder, who were serving in the Frankfurt Germany Temple.* In February 1991, at the end of their temple shift, Brother and Sister Birsfelder were taking a stroll together down one of the little Friedrichsdorf streets near the temple. Suddenly a car driven by an elderly man swerved around the corner, over the curb, and onto the sidewalk. The car struck Sister Birsfelder and hurled her through the thick, plate-glass door of a store. She was rushed to the hospital, where she was treated for a double skull fracture, a concussion, and a severely injured eye.
For seven weeks she lay in a coma, unaware of her surroundings. Georg stayed at her bedside as much as possible, patting her hand gently and speaking to her in tones of love and encouragement. Finally she opened her eyes. Two months after the accident, she began to speak and to eat solid food. Later she was able to stand up and take a few steps and converse once again in English, German, and French. It was a miracle! Our prayers had been answered.
She still experienced considerable pain, and it was apparent that she had permanently lost the sight of her right eye. Three months after the accident, the driver of the car visited her in the hospital. Filled with anxiety and fear of legal reprisals, he asked, “Do you hate me for what I have done to you?”
He was not prepared for her reply: “Do you know who I am? I am a Mormon. In our religion we learn to love and forgive one another. No,” she said, “I don’t hate you. I love you and forgive you.” The elderly man had a heavy burden lifted that day.

It was a hot day. I was excited and a little nervous. Today was a big day for me and other members of the Royal Canadian Military Force. It was the day of the endurance test.
We’d heard a lot about this test. It was tough. Sixty-pound packs would be strapped on our backs; then we would have to run five miles without stopping! And that wasn’t all. Next, we would have to turn around and walk/run five more miles back to camp.
But I was in good shape. I had been a starter on the high school basketball team. I also enjoyed many other sports. I had grown up active and healthy. But the best thing that I had done to prepare for this big test was to obey the Word of Wisdom.
The officers conducting the test signaled the beginning of the run, and we were off. Several men dropped out before we had gone two miles. As I ran on, I saw many of my friends quit. Some even passed out. They all had to be taken back to camp in a truck. But I was determined to do my best. I was tired, but I ran on.
When I reached the five-mile mark, I was exhausted. Sweat dripped down my face and drenched my clothes. Then I had to turn around and head back to camp. Even though those of us remaining were allowed to walk occasionally, it was arduous!
I had always tried to do what was right. I tried to listen to and obey my parents and Primary teachers as I grew up. They taught me that smoking, drinking, and drugs would hurt my body, and I believed them. (See D&C 89.)
I know that the Lord blessed me with the health and strength to pass that test because I kept the Word of Wisdom. Obeying the Word of Wisdom—and all the Lord’s commandments—is important for everyone. If we are obedient, the Lord will bless us.

Rebecca opened the book, and on page 133 she found the name of Gideon Burdick and began to read:
“Gideon Burdick possessed qualities which endeared him to his family and friends. It is told of him that one day he went into the fields to labor and hung his coat upon a fence post. By night he found a little bird had built its nest in the sleeve. Rather than disturb the nest he left the coat there until the young were hatched and able to leave.”

One day when they had very little to eat, Agnes’s mother sold a quilt and a bedspread and used the money to buy food. She often traded trinkets and gifts to the Native Americans for dried meat, which proved to be a great help, especially when the cold wind was blowing and they couldn’t build a fire to cook food. On such days, she would give each of her children a piece of dried meat and some bread. Sometimes she took a small piece of meat and made a stew, thickening it with a little flour and some salt. It tasted so good on a cold night!
Agnes marveled as she watched her mother find a way to bake food out on the prairie. Mother dug a hole in the ground, placed the food in a heavy iron kettle with a tight lid, then set it in the hole and covered it with burning buffalo chips or small pieces of wood. She prepared many meals in this way.

One day I received a party invitation from one of my best friends, Joshua. The only problem was that his party was going to be on Sunday. I told him that I really wanted to be with him on his birthday but that Sunday was the Sabbath Day and not a day for me to go to parties. I asked him if he could change it to Saturday so that I could go. I learned that since he is Jewish, his Sabbath Day is on Saturday. Joshua understood why I couldn’t come to his party. Instead, I took a present to his house on Tuesday after school and shared leftover cake from his party. Tuesday even turned out to be his real birthday, and it was fun to share it together. He had even saved a party bag and treats for me!

When I was 12, I introduced the missionaries to my family. I had met them on the street, and they were friendly to me. They were helping the Church build a chapel in my city in Brazil, and they invited me to help them, which I began to do in my free time. I had never heard of young men who would choose to spend their time building a church.
I was so impressed with them that I decided to introduce them to my parents, and we invited them to come to our home. The missionaries gave our family the first discussion. We hadn’t ever smoked, so our family was already keeping that part of the Word of Wisdom, and we had family home evening every night in our home. We didn’t call it family home evening, but that’s what we were doing. We were Catholics, and we attended our church regularly, so my father told them we felt comfortable with our religion.
The missionaries left, but they wrote about our family in the missionaries’ area book that remained in the missionary apartment, including their impression that we would join the Church.
Ten years later I was living in another city when new missionaries arrived in the area where my family lived. They didn’t have a single person to teach and decided to look in the area book. They found the name of my parents and decided to visit. The missionaries prayed before they went, and the Lord inspired them. Despite being very faithful in his religion, my father had a question. He couldn’t believe that after death his wife would not still be his wife. He really felt that family ties needed to continue after death. He had asked ministers from different churches about this, and everybody explained to him, “No, after death your wife will be like your sister, and your son will be like your brother.”
When these missionaries knocked on my parents’ door, my father opened it and told them he had heard their message previously and was not interested. But the missionaries said, “We have another message for you. Do you know that your family can be together forever?” Those words inspired him. My father invited them to come in and teach him. Guided by the Spirit, the missionaries told my family about eternal marriage and eternal families. With this introduction to the gospel, my family continued to meet with the missionaries until they gained a testimony and decided to be baptized and confirmed.

His daughter Claudia says that dedication is another of Elder Abrea’s great strengths. She and Cynthia tell the same story to illustrate the point. Elder Abrea was scheduled to fill a Church assignment out of town the day after his father was buried, and he had to catch a flight out of Buenos Aires shortly after the burial. He was deeply grieved at his father’s passing, and Cynthia asked him why he was going ahead with the trip. He gently reminded her of his father’s admonition always to do his best in Church commitments (an admonition he has passed on to his daughters), and commented that he would be honoring his father by obeying that counsel.

I shall never forget one night almost four decades ago. My bride, Patricia, and I had been married for two years. We lived in a small duplex on Oahu’s north shore. I was an army infantry officer assigned to a unit at Schofield Barracks, Hawaii. Our brigade had been ordered to war in Vietnam. My plane was scheduled for departure after midnight, and a good Latter-day Saint friend had agreed to take me to the airfield at 11:00 p.m.
All through that long evening, Pat and I sat on the sofa in our tiny living room with our fingers intertwined, watching the hands of the clock approach the fateful hour and listening to the soft lapping of the surf against the shore. The ticking of the clock seemed a metronome of mortality in painful contrast to the muffled rushing of the eternal sea. At last the hour of parting arrived. Inside the doorway to our little home, I clutched my bride to my bosom and kissed her one last time, and then I was gone. As I closed the door, I wondered if I had seen my sweetheart for the last time in mortality. It was truly night.
My friend and I drove silently in the darkness through the sugar cane and pineapple fields of Oahu. My heart felt as though it would break. Then as we passed Schofield, an unseen infantry unit on night maneuvers fired a flare. Its brilliance momentarily lit the inky darkness and seemed to ignite a spiritual flame in the blackness that invested my soul. My thoughts were drawn away from this saddest of days to the very happiest: back to that beautiful December day when Pat and I had entered the holy temple and there were sealed to each other, not just for this life only but for all eternity. I thought of the eternal covenants we had made. Like the sunrise, it dawned on me that no matter what happened in the uncertain future just ahead, Pat would always be mine. When I reached the air base, I telephoned her. In the spirit of a renewed hope and peace born of faith and understanding, we talked and laughed softly before once more bidding each other good-bye. It was only midnight, but for me the sun was already rising.

This past March, our second daughter, Emma, like many missionaries in the Church, went into mandatory isolation. Many missionaries came home. Many missionaries awaited reassignment. Many did not receive their temple blessings before departing to a field of labor. Thank you, elders and sisters. We love you.
Emma and her companion in the Netherlands were stretched in those first several weeks—stretched to tears in many instances. With only brief opportunities for in-person interaction and limited outdoor exposure, Emma’s reliance on God increased. We prayed with her online and asked how we could help. She asked us to connect with friends she was teaching online!
Our family began to connect online, one by one, with Emma’s friends in the Netherlands. We invited them to join our weekly, online, extended-family Come, Follow Me study. Floor, Laura, Renske, Freek, Benjamin, Stal, and Muhammad all have become our friends. Some of our friends from the Netherlands have entered “in at the strait gate” (3 Nephi 14:13). Others are being shown “the straitness of the path, and the narrowness of the gate, by which they should enter” (2 Nephi 31:9). They are our brothers and sisters in Christ. Each week we “count it all joy” as we work together in our progress on the covenant path.

One sister, shortly after moving to a new ward, suffered a devastating illness that left her nearly bedridden for almost two years. She describes how the sisters of her new ward, working through the Relief Society organization, blessed her life:
“A loving and sensitive Relief Society president visited often, and other sisters checked on me every day of the week. I forged bonds of friendship with each one as we shared feelings of the heart, discussed current affairs, laughed at the small indignities of illness, and generally enjoyed each other’s company. One sister quietly did my laundry, freshened my dogs’ food and water, and brought her grandchildren to visit. Another … made delicious custard for me when I could eat no other food. …
“I rarely was able to attend church during my illness, but I still felt right at home in the ward family” (JoAnn Jolley, Ensign, September 1994, 51–52).

After opening her brownie shop in the fall of 2018, Molly quickly discovered that running a business takes more time than she had imagined. But a principle she remembers from her self-reliance class continues to bless her.
“We discussed how we’re going to have extreme demands on our time, but it will make a difference if we set aside time for the Spirit,” she says. “I have found that to be true. If I am suddenly feeling overwhelmed and stressed, I listen to the scriptures or a general conference talk while I’m working alone in the morning, and it eases my mind and gives me peace.”
That sense of peace, coupled with excited, happy, satisfied customers, keeps Molly going—even after long workdays.

Many years ago, my ministering brothers invited me to seriously study the Book of Mormon. When they gave me this invitation, I realized that, although I read a little from the Book of Mormon each day, I wasn’t seriously studying it.
They shared a promise with me that was based on words from President Ezra Taft Benson: “There is a power in the [Book of Mormon] which will begin to flow into your lives the moment you begin a serious study of the book. You will find greater power to resist temptation … to avoid deception … to stay on the strait and narrow path” (Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Ezra Taft Benson [2014], 141).
I accepted their invitation, and in the following months I saw that their promise was fulfilled. It has changed my life.

About a month later, my crew made another perilous medical evacuation, this time on the side of a 60-degree mountain slope under a double canopy of foliage. This meant that we had to maneuver our helicopter down through the first cover of branches and leaves and over to an opening in the lower canopy of foliage where a hoist could lower a litter for the wounded soldier. Our rotor blades were literally inches from the branches, and the rotor wash of air bouncing off the foliage made hovering critically unstable. Despite these obstacles, the mission was successful, and the crew felt it deserved special recognition. We were once again recommended for the DFC, but again it was lessened to an Air Medal.
I was furious! “Do those people know what it’s like to put your life on the line every day?” I fumed. “They must be crazy to think this kind of flying is part of normal duty!” But in the quietness of my quarters, I remembered the words of my patriarchal blessing, which reminded me that the Holy Ghost would guide me. I thought, “That’s right. The Spirit made this mission and all the other missions, as hazardous as they may have been, possible for me.” And I knew Heavenly Father had protected me. No crew members who had flown with me had ever been harmed. I realized I had a great deal to be thankful for.

1 George was only five years old, but he loved to help his mother. He often ran errands for her. One morning his mother dressed him in his best velvet suit and asked him to take a message to President Brigham Young.
2 George was nervous as he walked the two blocks to the Prophet’s office. He was even more nervous as he pushed open the big wrought-iron gate and looked around for the prophet.
3 A guard stopped the young boy and gruffly asked what he wanted. When George replied that he had a message for President Young, the guard said that the prophet was too busy to see him.
4 George was frightened. While he was trying to decide what to do, a door opened and President Young walked out.
5 Laughing, the guard told the prophet that little George wanted to see him. Imagine how surprised George was when President Young asked him to come in!
6 President Young sat down at his desk, lifted the boy onto his knee, and began to visit with him. George was very impressed with the respect and love that President Young showed him.
7 Throughout his life George Albert Smith always tried to treat people as kindly and respectfully as he had been treated by President Young. When he became the eighth President of the Church, he was already well known for his love and charity toward all people.

“Why won’t Grandma come to my baptism tonight?” Mark asked for the umpteenth time.
Mom wiped her floured hands on her apron and handed him a still-warm gingerbread man.
“Grandma’s not a member of our Church. She wouldn’t feel comfortable.”
“But why?” Mark persisted, plucking the raisin buttons off his cookie.
“I already asked her to come, Mark. She said no. That’s all we can do.”
Mark ate the raisins, then bit into his cookie.
“Maybe if I ask her, she’ll come.”
“Perhaps. But don’t get your hopes up.”
Mark dashed out the door and across the yard to his father’s woodworking shop. It was his favorite thinking place. Things were always happening there. The sound that the saw made meant that a new creation was beginning to take shape. The smell of varnish meant the completion of a new table or rocking horse.
Today the shop was empty of projects except for a small chair that his father was building for baby Emily. All that was left to do on it was to engrave her name and birthdate on the back. Mark had one just like it with his name and birthdate engraved on the back.
“Engraved! That’s it!” he shouted. His mother was always teasing him about needing to send him an engraved invitation to get him to the dinner table on time. He would give Grandma an engraved invitation to his baptism! Mark hurriedly examined his father’s scrap pile. He pulled out a block of wood, found the tools that he would need, and set to work.
Two hours later Mark got on his bike and raced the seven blocks to Grandma’s house. He hid his bike behind her neighbor’s tall hedge and crept around to her back door. He carefully placed the wood block on the stoop, knocked on the screen door, and darted back behind the hedge. He watched from there as Grandma opened the door and looked around the yard.
“Hello?” she called loudly. When no one answered, she turned to go back inside. Then she noticed the block. Mark watched anxiously as she picked it up, placed her reading glasses on her nose, and read the uneven gouges: “Grandma, Please come to my baptism. Love, Mark”
Grandma looked around the yard once more, then walked back into the house.
Mark hurried home, his heart beating in time with his frantic pedaling. He put his bike in the garage, then ran into the house.
“Mark, where have you been?” his mother scolded. “We have to be at the church in forty minutes.”
Mark bathed and dressed in record time. Before going downstairs, he got down on his knees and prayed: “Please, Heavenly Father, help Grandma to come to my baptism.”
“Time to go,” his father called.
Mark bounded down the stairs. Mother met him at the bottom and gave him a big hug. Just then the doorbell rang. When Dad opened the door, there was Grandma, standing stiffly in the doorway.
“I thought it would be easier if we all rode together,” she said.
“I knew you’d come!” Mark cried, throwing his arms around her.
“Well, I couldn’t ignore an engraved invitation,” she said with a wink.