Gospel Story Finder

When I was growing up I had a real fear of standing up and talking in front of people. I was so frightened, I would get ill thinking about it.
During the time I was Primary and Young Men age, we had opening exercises in Sunday School, where we were asked to give two-and-a-half-minute talks in front of the whole congregation. One time when I was assigned a talk, my father had me memorize the story of the First Vision, and then he stood in the back of the chapel with the talk in his hands. I was at the pulpit, but I was so nervous that I froze up and couldn’t remember what I had memorized. My father tried mouthing the words for me, but because I wasn’t a very good lip reader I finally said, “What are you trying to say, Dad?” He marched up to the front of the chapel, put the paper on the pulpit, and I read my talk.
On another occasion my father told the missionary class he was teaching that anyone could give the first discussion that was about the Godhead. He said, “To prove it, I’m going to have my 10-year-old son give you the first lesson next week.” All that week he gave me the opportunity to learn the lesson, and I successfully taught the discussion to his class. When I became a missionary I knew well the story of the First Vision and I knew how to talk about the Godhead.
Those little experiences and many others like them changed me, and I was gradually able to overcome my fears. I am grateful for my father, who gave me opportunities to grow and who helped me learn how to do hard things. When we overcome our fears and step outside of our comfort zones, we can progress and become what the Lord would have us be (see D&C 6:34, 36; 35:17; 38:15).

That is a question that a lot of us would like to know the answer to. Scientists also are searching for the answer to such a strange phenomenon. To find out what they are learning, two of my sons and I took a trip to Scripps Institution of Oceanography last March. While visiting the aquarium there, we picked up a pamphlet that listed the times of high and low tides for the area around San Diego. Sandwiched in the center of the booklet was an article called “The Grunion Story.” It described the strange habits of a small silvery fish called the grunion that beaches itself upon the sand in very large numbers about twice each month at certain times of the year. These “runs,” as they are called, can be predicted fairly accurately from a knowledge of the tides. The booklet indicated that a grunion run was expected to begin about one o’clock the following morning. Well, you can probably guess what happened when my boys read that!

In the dead of night, Keith’s wristwatch alarm rang to wake us up. We got dressed and headed outside, where we were greeted by a fog so thick that we could only see a few feet in front of us. Undaunted, we climbed into our car and inched our way down the winding street to the ocean’s edge.

Except for us and a couple of sleepy-looking birds, the beach was deserted. Where is everyone? we wondered. We watched wave after wave roll in and break upon the sand and then recede, but no grunion appeared. I stood watch on a rock a little farther out, where a large wave broke over my feet and filled my shoes with water. But still no grunion. After an hour of fruitless waiting, we gave up and wended our way through the heavy fog back to the motel, where we lapsed into sleep.

Suddenly Keith’s alarm rang again, and we saw that it was light outside. It was almost time for the aquarium to open, so we hustled off without eating breakfast. When we got there, however, the aquarium was still closed. Puzzled, we peered through the glass door to see a large clock on the wall with its big hand on six and its little hand between seven and eight. Keith’s watch also had its big hand on six, but its little hand was between eight and nine. Then we realized the reason for the absence of people and grunion at the beach that night. Keith’s watch was an hour fast. We had arrived an hour early and left just before the grunion run was supposed to start!

Standing as a witness for the truth of the gospel and the Church can be a challenge. I once felt forced into a situation that was against Heavenly Father’s commandments. I now know why teenagers’ dating relationships should be kept on a just-friends basis.
There was a young man I cared about very much, but he felt that the ways of the world were more important than God’s ways. I was faced with the statement, “If you love me, you’ll do it.” How cold. How cruel. How different that trap of Satan sounds when compared to the statement of One who really loves us: “If ye love me, keep my commandments” (John 14:15).
So, like Joseph of old, I ran away from the situation, never to return (see Gen. 39:7–13). Even though I know I contributed to that situation, I am so thankful I decided to stand as a witness for what I know is right, true, and good.

High school was hard because of the language and behavior of my classmates. I would often go out into the hall so I wouldn’t have to hear inappropriate conversations. I fasted and asked Heavenly Father to touch their hearts so my classmates would respect me. And eventually that is what happened. When somebody would talk about inappropriate things, my friends would say, “Hey, Jezabel’s here.” They began to respect my standards, and I was able to give a copy of the Book of Mormon to two of them.
Jezabel Dana Álvarez,Mayoraz Ward, Santa Fe Argentina North Stake

As their family grew and matured in the gospel, they taught their two sons about the importance of going to the temple. (Their youngest son is currently serving a mission.) The Powells were thrilled that when their oldest son, Barat, got engaged, temple marriage was immediately part of the plan. Ishla, his fiancée, was a new member of the Church. “From the first day I met with the missionaries, I knew the gospel was true, and I loved it,” she says. She grew close to the current branch president’s family, the Isaacs, who had been introduced to the Church by the Powells.
At the time of her baptism, Barat had four months remaining on his mission. “The Isaacs kept saying he would be the right match for me, but I wanted to postpone marriage and serve a mission myself,” Ishla says. Even though the branch and mission presidents approved her missionary application, Ishla explains, “Suddenly and unexpectedly my mind was completely changed. I wanted to pray for marriage.”
When he returned from his mission, Barat was surprised when several people told him that Ishla would be right for him. A short time later they met briefly at the wedding of President Isaac’s daughter but never talked much. Indian society is quite formal about men and women getting acquainted, and both Barat and Ishla wanted to behave appropriately.
Three weeks later Ishla was praying and wondering what to do, and so was Barat. “The Lord showed me through so many ways that Barat was the right one,” Ishla says. “But I was very reserved. I prayed, ‘Lord, if this is the way, then show me how I can speak to him.’”
Barat says, “I had talked to several people about her, and they all had nothing but good to say. Suddenly I thought, ‘I need to talk to her right now,’ but I didn’t know how. I called President Isaac’s sister and asked if she thought it was all right to call.”
Ishla continues, “As I was praying, the branch president’s sister telephoned and said, ‘Barat wants to talk to you. Can I give him your number?’” Half an hour later they were talking. Barat says, “It was as if we had known each other for years.”
Ishla had learned about temple marriage at institute and knew she wouldn’t settle for anything less. Barat felt the same way. But they would have to save money to travel to the temple, and it meant many friends and family members, including Barat’s mother and father, wouldn’t have enough money to travel with them.
“It’s a long way to go, and traveling is very expensive, but we all agreed they should go,” Sathiadhas recalls. “We told them we would celebrate with them at the legal ceremony before they left, and we asked them to take lots of pictures after they were sealed. Then we would celebrate again when they returned.
“We are teaching the younger generation the importance of the temple,” Sathiadhas explains. “We encourage all people to go to the temple, and we wanted our children to go there too.” He says he is particularly pleased with the way Barat and Ishla respected their parents, the customs of their people, and their own agency.
“In India people refer to ‘arranged marriages’ and ‘love marriages,’” Barat says. “We feel we have both.” In fact, Barat and Ishla prefer to call their marriage a “guided marriage.” “We were brought together by our families and friends but also by the Spirit,” he says. “We hope the Spirit will always guide our marriage.”

As a boy, David O. McKay wanted to know for himself that Joseph Smith was a prophet. One day while looking for cattle, he got off his horse and knelt under a serviceberry bush.
He asked Heavenly Father for a spiritual witness, then waited for something wonderful to happen. Nothing did.
David: If I am true to myself, I must say I am just the same “old boy” that I was before I prayed.
Disappointed, he got back on his horse and rode away.

As he grew older Wilford continued doing the things he loved as a child—fishing and praying. While traveling across the plains with Brigham Young, Wilford fished at every possible spot.
Brigham: You sure love to fish, don’t you, Brother Wilford?
Wilford: It gives me time to meditate. Sometimes it gives me dinner too!
These prayers helped Wilford become a very faithful man and a Church leader. Other people noticed his good example and gave him the nickname “Wilford the Faithful.”

The following experience was posted on a Christian website by a physician in Colorado, USA, who coasted into a gas station after his car had sputtered and died. As he prepared to call a tow truck, he saw a woman, whose old car was parked by a gas pump, slip and fall down.
“I got out to see if she was okay. When I got there, it looked more like she had been overcome by sobs than that she had fallen; she was [a] young woman who looked really haggard with dark circles under her eyes. She dropped something as I helped her up, and I picked it up to give it to her. It was a nickel.
“At that moment, everything came into focus for me: the crying woman, the ancient [car] crammed full of stuff with three kids in the back (one in a car seat), and the gas pump reading [U.S.] $4.95. I asked her if she was okay and if she needed help, and she just kept saying, ‘I don’t want my kids to see me crying.’”
Understanding her situation, the physician took out his credit card, filled up her car with gas, and then bought two big bags of food and some gift certificates for her and her children at a fast-food restaurant next to the gas station.
“She told me her name, and that she lived in Kansas City [Missouri, USA],” he said. “Her boyfriend [had] left two months ago, and she had not been able to make ends meet. … In desperation [she] had finally called her parents, with whom she had not spoken in about five years. They lived in California and said she could come live with them and try to get on her feet there. So she packed up everything she owned in the car.”
The doctor gave her a hug and offered a prayer for her safety on the road. As he walked to his car, the woman asked, “Are you like an angel or something?”
The doctor replied, “Sometimes God uses regular people.”
Then he observed: “It was so incredible to be a part of someone else’s miracle. And of course, … when I got in my car it started right away and got me home with no problem. I’ll put it in the shop tomorrow to check, but I suspect the mechanic won’t find anything wrong.”3

I have just entered room 3021 and plopped my books down, preparing for my Family Relations 101 class. Why, you might wonder, does a guy studying to be a construction engineer want to learn about nonverbal communication with babies and how to deal with a teenager who has an attitude?
The answer is simple. I took this course because I am loaded down with pre-engineering classes. I want a change of pace, something where I don’t have to figure out structural stress coefficients. The fact that the female to male ratio is 7:1 has nothing to do with it.
Well, maybe a little.
The early indications are it is a wise choice. A blonde-haired girl with a trace of freckles across her nose just sat down a row in front of me. She looked around the class, smiled when she saw me, and said, “Hello.”
This is a most excellent sign. I sort of smile back at her and nod, trying to be very cool. I started to say something really original like “How ya’ doin’?” but decide not to rush things.
I am feeling good about this relationship. It is at least 20 seconds old and going well. Why not rush things a bit? What should I do next? Change seats? Ask her what her major is? Tell her she looks like she is from California? I’m feeling slightly euphoric.
But the enchantment vanishes seconds later when a woman in her early 50s briskly walks into the room and sits down beside me.
“I had no idea that we were is this class together,” she says pleasantly.
“Neither did I, Mom.”
I love my mother. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her. But I see my chances of getting to know the blonde-haired girl in the next row slipping through my grasp. Let’s face it. It’s very difficult to display your charm, wit, and intelligence to a woman when your mother—who knows what you’re really like—is only inches away.
“This will be a great experience for us,” Mom says enthusiastically. “Maybe we can study together for tests.”
I glance at the girl and think about what might have been as the professor clears her throat and begins to lecture.

Many years ago when I served as a bishop, I presided over a large ward with over 1,000 members, including 87 widows. On one occasion, I was visiting, along with one of my counselors, a widow and her mature handicapped daughter. As we left their apartment, a lady from the apartment across the hall was standing outside her door and stopped us. She spoke with a foreign accent and asked if I were a bishop; I replied that I was. She told me that she noticed I often visited with others. Then she said, “No one visits me or my bedfast husband. Do you have time to come in and visit with us, even though we are not members of your church?”
As we entered her apartment, we noticed that she and her husband were listening to the Tabernacle Choir on the radio. We talked with the couple for a while, then provided a blessing to the husband.
Following that initial visit, I stopped by as often as I could. The couple eventually met with the missionaries, and the wife, Angela Anastor, was baptized. Sometime later, her husband passed away, and I had the privilege of conducting and speaking at his funeral services. Sister Anastor, with her knowledge of the Greek language, later was to translate the widely used pamphlet Joseph Smith Tells His Own Story into the Greek language.

On the first day of fifth grade I met a new boy in my class. During lunch recess we were playing in the field when he started to use bad language. So I went to get a drink and I thought of what to say. I also said a prayer that I would know what to say to him. When I was done I walked up to him and said, “If you keep on using bad language I can’t play with you anymore.” He said he would stop, gave me a high five, and now we are good friends. Because I talked to him, now he doesn’t use bad language. I’m thankful that Heavenly Father and Jesus helped me and gave me the courage to stand up for what’s right.

Under the direction of Bishop Stephen Gregory and ward JustServe specialist, Brother Anson Bentley, the members of the Bridlington Ward in the York Stake, have all worked together in setting up a soup kitchen for the homeless at the chapel. The soup kitchen runs every Thursday evening. Bishop Gregory said, “It’s been quite an experience really, we have got the attention of local councillors who come and help us, we have members who have not been active for many years, who have decided that would like to come and help at the soup kitchen and they haven’t been near the building in years. Because of the current COVID-19 restrictions we have had to turn offers of help away and limit it to five volunteers each week, otherwise we would have the chapel full of people wanting to help.”
Brother Bentley said, “We have had pretty much the whole of the ward’s active membership participate in the soup kitchen in one way or another. Thanks to the Bridlington Ward membership, the soup kitchen has been very well supported.”
Brother Joshua Dixon-Harrison, assistant to Brother Bentley, has been key in getting members organised, communicating to many other volunteer organisations, making lots of phone calls and reminding everyone what’s happening each week. Joshua was himself homeless for a time and so knows firsthand the needs of someone who is homeless. Joshua has also been encouraging the ward members to register with JustServe, and to regularly check what are the service opportunities, and get involved in them. Joshua said, “The idea of JustServe is to work with others in our community and to serve our local community.”
The ward has had tremendous support from Bridlington town councillor Andy Walker, who was really excited about the service being offered by ward members. He comes to the soup kitchen most Thursdays to help and has promoted the project in council meetings, helped put ward members in contact with other organisations in the area, and has become a good friend to Brother Bentley. Most of the members of Bridlington Ward have been able to meet and get to know Councillor Walker and to become friends with him.
The Kingfisher Cafe, a local group which looks after the homeless in Bridlington, has been a great help in getting the word out to those in need, and has also mentioned JustServe and the Church on its Facebook page, which has resulted in a lot of positive feedback. Other nonprofit organisations, Emmaus Hull & East Riding, and East Riding Voluntary Action Services have also helped get the word out about the soup kitchen. These friendships and connections have enabled ward members to offer their services to the community as a resource for future service projects.
The soup is usually made by members. When I visited, Brother David Richmond had made the most delicious butternut-squash soup that I have ever tasted. The Community Cookery School in conjunction with The Haven in Bridlington have also provided excellent soup on several occasions.
Bishop Gregory said: “At the end of 2019 I gave a talk and spoke about the lawyer who tried to trick the Saviour, asking which was the greatest of all the commandments. The Saviour replied, ‘Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.
“‘This is the first and greatest commandment.
“‘And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.’ (Matthew 22:37–39).

“These words have sunk deep into my heart, and this is the reason I decided to support and push and cajole people into the JustServe programme, and I think this is why it has been a success, because people have captured the vision.”
The soup kitchen is simply a place for vulnerable people to come and have a hot cup of soup and chat with people who want to support them and make friends.

Not very long ago, my family and I had the opportunity to preside over the Australia Sydney Mission. I had come out of the Missionary Department, and I suppose my missionary views were very conservative. At any rate, as we began our work in the Australia Sydney Mission, we had some modest, but good, successes, and I felt comfortable about what we were doing—until President Kimball spoke to us. In his own manner and in his own way, he said, “Brother Dunn, Loren, we must all lengthen our stride.” And I got the message.
The message was that although we had made progress, yet before the Lord and before the prophet, it wasn’t enough. We went back, we redoubled our efforts; we found increased growth, but also we found increased strength and new stakes evolved because of those efforts. I don’t think the progress was so much because of us, but because of our desire to follow the prophet.

Mr. and Mrs. Jim Jones and their children (more commonly known as the “J” family) had a problem. Mrs. Jones, whose name was Judy, had recently given birth to a baby girl.
The “J” family thought their baby girl was extra sweet and extra special.
“She’s such a pleasant baby,” Mrs. Jones said.
“She’s already kind and thoughtful,” said Mr. Jones. “She hardly cries at all during the night.”
The children liked the two big dimples in her cheeks. “They help to make her extra darling too,” they all agreed.
The “J” family’s problem was what to name their baby. The children—whose names were Jody, Jeffrey, Julienne, and Jason—thought such a special baby should have a special name. And, of course, it had to start with “J”.
Grandma Jones was staying with the “J” family to help take care of Mrs. Jones and the new baby.
“Why don’t you get a book of babies names from the library,” she suggested. “It will give the meaning of each name so you can choose one that will be just right.”
“What a wonderful suggestion,” exclaimed Mr. Jones. “I’ll bring one of those books home tonight!”
That evening after dinner the whole family gathered to look at the book. There were hundreds and hundreds of names for a baby girl, but the “J” family looked only at names that started with “J”.
“Look,” said Jody. “The name Janet means the gracious gift of God. I think Janet would be a nice name for our baby.”
“How about Jessica,” said Jeffrey. “It means the rich one.”
Father laughed. “I don’t think our baby will be rich with money and jewels. I’ll tell you what I like. I like Jennifer—it means friend of peace.”
“I agree with Father that our baby probably won’t have jewels,” said Mother, “but I like the name Jewel. It means a precious one, and I think Jewel is a good name for our precious baby.”
“But I like the name Joy,” said Julienne. “It makes me happy just to say the name!”
“Well, I know the very best name,” said Jason. “Jill means sweetheart, and that’s what I think we should call our baby.”
“Oh, dear,” said Mother. “This isn’t going to be easy. How can we ever choose a name when everyone likes a different one?”
Grandma Jones hadn’t said a word. She left the decision up to the family and quietly disappeared into the kitchen.
“Come and help us, Grandma,” said Jeffrey. “We can’t decide on a name.”
Grandma came back carrying a tray of homemade cookies. “I baked these,” she said with a smile. “I thought you might need a little refreshment.”
“You were right,” agreed Mother. “We were beginning to get confused, but somehow these cookies will really help.”
“They’ve helped me,” added Jason as he put another cookie in his mouth.
“Josephine, June, Joyce, Jane,” said Father as he read over more names. “Which one should we choose?”
“I know,” exclaimed Julienne! “Jane is Grandma’s name. Let’s name our baby Jane.”
“That’s a great idea,” said Jody. “Let’s name the baby after Grandma.”
“Of course,” said Mother. “We wanted a name that meant something special, and Jane is perfect.”
“It’s a terrific idea!” added Father. “Grandma is always so kind and thoughtful; I’d like our baby to grow up to be just like her. Do you all agree?”
“We all agree!” everyone exclaimed.
“Oh, my,” said Grandma smiling in her gentle way.
“Look!” exclaimed Jason. “Grandma has two big dimples just like baby Jane!”

Dan is trying very hard to follow the example that Jesus Christ has set for us. Last year he was baptized because he knew that that was what Jesus wanted him to do. And he was baptized in the Jordan River, where Jesus was baptized by John the Baptist (see Mark 1:4–11).
DeAnna, Dan’s mom, said that he worked very hard to prepare himself for baptism by learning more about the gospel and by studying the scriptures every night. “He is a wonderful example to his younger brothers,” she said. “They want to be baptized, too, when they reach the age of accountability, eight years of age.”

From this point forward, I began to experience mixed emotions about becoming a member of the Church. I was concerned about my father’s opinion and his reaction to my decision. The night of the sixth discussion was a very eventful night.
During the sixth discussion, I received the message that I had an incoming call from my father. The phone rang. I picked it up, and it was indeed my dad.
He said, “Your mother informed me that you’ve made a decision to join the Latter-day Saints.”
I said yes.
He said, “I’m here to prevent that from happening.”
And I said, “You know what, Dad? I love you, and you’ll always be my dad. You’ve done a great job with me. But I’m 22. I’m a man now, and these decisions are for my family and my future. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and that you will continue to do for me, but this is my decision. I’m going to do it, and I know that the Lord wants me to do this.”
My dad wasn’t too happy when he hung up the phone. Immediately I got on my knees in the kitchen and asked the Lord to help me see and understand that what I was going to do was correct. I was thousands of miles away from home. I was all alone, and nothing was going right. Only when I was with the missionaries did I feel good. At that moment the Spirit testified to me that it was the Lord’s will and that the Lord wanted me to be baptized. It was a very clear voice that just said, “You’re to do the Lord’s will. You are to follow His example.” Then I knew. I never looked back after that. I was baptized on October 12, 1995.

Amid the bustle of the Christmas Eve excitement, my father was preoccupied. His thoughts kept returning to the used bicycle hidden carefully in the garage rafters. Next to it lay the boxes holding two brand-new shining black, matching three-speed bikes which he had purchased for my two older sisters. The budget strains of Christmas had prevented Dad from buying a third black three-speed for Leanne, my third sister.
Instead, he set about restoring the old single-speed, fat-tired bike the older two no longer rode. Scouring pads and elbow grease made the rusty spokes shine. The inner tubes were patched, and a new coat of paint erased the battle scars of collisions and neglect. A replacement set of handgrips made the handlebars look almost new.
This Christmas Eve, when he finished the bicycle assembly projects and rolled out and placed the rejuvenated old bike next to the new ones, the stark contrast of the old half-sized, blue, thick-tubed bike against the sleek, black beauties made the revamped two-wheeler suddenly look small and old-fashioned. Had he made a mistake in trying to redo the old bike for Leanne? Would she feel slighted?
Early Christmas morning, we were poised in our annual positions in the hall—all in a row, youngest to the oldest. Dad was in the living room making the movie camera and the lights ready to record our grand entrance. My older sisters spotted their black beauties, gave them the once over with due praise and admiration, and moved on. Amid the chaos and clutter, Leanne stood firmly next to the old blue bike. She was touching every part and talking aloud, “Look, it has new grips and new paint! Just look at those pedals, and it’s my very own, my very own bike!”
She stayed near the bike and repeated the same speech several times, though no one was listening, no one, that is, except my father. He stood silently, the movie camera held low on his side, listening to Leanne. Tears of joy streamed down his face as he witnessed this perfect acceptance of his imperfect gift.
(December 1984, p. 29.)

Sofía woke up early. Today was very special. She was going to sell lemonade at her aunt and uncle’s garage sale! Mamá help Sofía make a huge jug of lemonade.
Sofía made a sign. She wrote “Limonada” in orange and yellow letters. She taped it to a little table. Then she sat down to wait.
Soon a man came by. “May I have a cup?” he asked. He put some pesos in her jar.
“Sure!” Sofía said. She poured him a cup of lemonade.
More and more people came to look at the garage sale. And little by little they bought the yummy lemonade. The morning passed happily. Soon all of the lemonade was gone.
Sofía shook her jar. The pesos jingled. She had so many!
“Good job!” Papá said.
Sofía had never had so much money before. “I’m going to buy a yo-yo!”
Papá smiled. “Do you know what Mamá and I do when we earn money?”
Sofía shook her head.
“We pay tithing,” Papá said. “Heavenly Father gave us everything. He asks that we give Him a little part back. We pay tithing because we love Him.”
Sofía smiled. She wanted to show Heavenly Father that she loved Him too.
Papá helped Sofía count her pesos. Whenever she counted to 10, she put one peso in an envelope. Papá helped her write numbers on a little white paper. They put the paper in the envelope with the pesos. Then they sealed it shut. Sofía was going to give it to the bishop tomorrow at church.
“How do you feel?” Papá asked Sofia.
“So happy! And I still have money for a yo-yo.” She felt Heavenly Father was happy with her choice.

Elder Rasband’s middle name is Anderson. It helps him remember his mother’s family. His great-great-grandparents were Jens and Ane Cathrine Anderson. They lived in Denmark almost 200 years ago. They learned about the gospel in Denmark and were baptized. In 1862 they traveled to the United States to be with other Latter-day Saints. Jens died on the trip across the ocean, but Ane Cathrine and her son kept going. It was hard, but their faith was strong. They made it all the way to Utah.

May 12. At school today some children were being mean to Billy. They were calling him names and saying unkind things. Especially Cory and Timmy. It’s because Billy is, well, different. Mom says he’s “mentally challenged.” He has a harder time learning than most children his age. But he can still go to the same school as everyone else. The teachers just help him a little more.
Anyway, I remembered what Dad had taught in family home evening, so I sat with Billy at lunch today and shared my sandwich with him. His sandwich and potato chips were soaked. Cory and Timmy had filled his lunch box full of water, then laughed and said, “We’re doing you a favor, Billy. We know you have a hard time doing things. Your lunch should go down real easy—you won’t have to chew it at all!”
May 20. Billy asked me if I wanted to go with him on his paper route after school. The other guys wanted me to play ball. So did I, but something inside me said that going with Billy was more important.
We rode our bikes. I helped carry some of the papers in a sack. Afterward, Billy bought me a soda pop. Then we went across the street and lay on the grass in the park. After a while he asked me why I wanted to be his friend, why I liked to do stuff with him. I didn’t know what to say. Finally I told him, “I guess I just like you, that’s all.”
He looked sad. “Is it because you feel sorry for me because I’m … different? Some people make fun of me because I can’t do things like other people. And some are nice because they feel sorry for me.”
I told him that I get mad when other people treat him unkindly and that at first maybe that was why I wanted to be nice. “But after a while, I started liking you because you’re you,” I said. “I like how you sound when you laugh. It makes me feel happy inside. And I like how you treat other living things. Even little things. Like the pollywogs in the creek behind the school last week. You felt bad because the sun was drying up the little ponds of water, so you put the tadpoles in that applesauce jar and moved them farther up the creek where it was deeper. Most people aren’t that kind,” I told him. “You remind me of Jesus.” His eyes got full of tears, and he didn’t say anything. He just tapped me on the arm with his fist and kept looking the other way.
June 7. Billy’s mother called me and asked if I wanted to come over and have dinner with them tonight. Billy was too shy to ask, she said, and wanted her to ask me. (Mom and Dad said it would be fine.) She also said that Billy can’t stop talking about me, that the past few weeks he’s been happier than she can ever remember. “He thinks the world of you,” she said, and she thanked me for being so good to him.
I could tell that she was crying, because her voice started breaking up. I told her that it was easy to like Billy because he was so good. I didn’t tell her, but I had been starting to feel happier inside myself than I had in a long time, and I was already happy. Dad says, “When we open our hearts to others, like Jesus did, we feel a whole different kind of joy.”
June 18. Today Billy and I saved a wild bird. A big kid named Donny, who lives close to Billy’s place, caught it and was going to hurt it. We started yelling at him, and it made him jump and the bird got away. He pushed us down, but we felt so good on the inside that it made what he did to us on the outside kind of not matter.
July 11. Our family got back this morning from a three-day trip to Buck’s Lake. I called Billy to see if we could get together, maybe go to a Saturday matinee or hike in the hills or something. His mother said he could not play … because he’d died two days ago. She began to cry, and Billy’s father got on the phone. He told me that Billy had seen a neighbor’s puppy in the street, and when he ran out to carry it to where it would be safe, he’d been hit by a car. It wasn’t the driver’s fault, Billy’s dad said. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. It just happened. I asked Dad if he could give me a blessing of comfort. I guess I’m having a hard time dealing with it.
July 12. I didn’t go to Billy’s funeral today. I just couldn’t. His parents said that they understood. I know that after we die, we will see our loved ones again, and, I believe, our close friends, too. But right now I miss him so bad! We were like brothers. I guess we are brothers. Spirit brothers. And blood brothers. I know we’re spirit brothers because we are all Heavenly Father’s children. And I know we’re blood brothers because we sat under the old fig tree in the field one day and made a pact.
Maybe we can play together in the next life. There might be creeks with tadpoles, but in heaven I’m sure there will always be enough water. Maybe a fence to sit on. And clouds to watch go by.
I know Billy’s happy where he is because he was always more of heaven than of earth. But right now I miss him so much! I will never forget him. Not ever. My mom says I will always have the memories, and so, in a sense, he will always be with me. Memories are eternal, she says, like our spirits. I guess I will always hear his laughter, then. I like that.
July 14. Billy’s parents came over today. They told me how much they appreciated what I did for him. They said that I had made the last part of his life happy and meaningful. “You were a gift from God to him,” they said. I couldn’t say anything back because it’s hard to cry and talk at the same time.
After a while, I told them that Billy was a gift from God to me. That he taught me by the way he lived the things Jesus teaches us. About loving. And caring. And showing kindness to all living things.
July 25. I checked on the tadpoles in the creek today. That’s what Billy would have done. They are doing fine. And so am I.