Gospel Story Finder

“My older brother, Ron, has always been an inspiration to me. I recall one evening when he came home from a Church youth meeting and announced to the family that his teacher had told him that he had to gain his own testimony and receive his own witness and to not rely on that of others. He said—almost prophetically—‘I’m going to gain that personal witness and testimony, no matter how long it takes or what the cost.’
“Ron began reading and studying the scriptures and fasting and praying. One morning a short time later, he was suddenly stricken by a paralysis. He could not move his body and his right side was in terrible pain. He was barely able to whisper to Dad that he wanted a blessing. No sooner had Dad finished blessing his son than Ron was miraculously cured! My brother uncoiled his tense body, straightened up, and was free of pain.
“When he was later examined by a doctor, the diagnosis was that he had had what appeared to be a ruptured appendix but that no trace of damaged tissue was found in his body. Later, my brother told me that during this experience he received his special witness that the Book of Mormon and the gospel were true. He wanted me to know, however, that he had received this knowledge before Dad had blessed him before his healing. He truly had shown faith before the miracle.

Well, I’m the eighth child in a family of nine, and I wonder if I gave my older brothers and sisters such a hard time. Oh, I’m sure that I did things like spill food on their clothes as they were heading out the door for a date, but it seemed that no matter how badly I embarrassed them, they still treated me kindly. I admired them a lot.
I especially looked up to my older sister Lynette. I started second grade when she entered college. We both had a love for music. She was majoring in music composition and spent many hours at the piano. When she practiced, I often sat on the couch next to the piano and listened to her play. I watched as her fingers glided over the keys and wondered if I would ever be able to play like that. I liked to think that by keeping her company, I was helping her out in some way.
One day as I listened to her practice, I noticed she was playing something new. “Hey, Lynette! That sounds like wind chimes!” I said.
She explained to me that she was composing a piece for her class. She then decided to name the song “Wind Chimes.” She even let me help her with it. She showed me which two notes to play on the organ pedals while she played the rest of the song on the piano. I tried in vain to keep the right rhythm, and she just smiled and said, “Try to keep it even, Rebecca.”
By then I was feeling pretty special. I couldn’t believe that she was letting me, a second grader, help her with her college homework.
A few days later Lynette told me that her composition had been graded. She said that “we” got an A! I was on cloud nine. I was happy for her, and at the same time I felt like a princess because she had let me be a part of it.
Now I’m a freshman in college and going through the struggles of being a music major myself. I even have some of the same teachers that she had. There are times when I have difficult questions, and I know just who to go to for help. Although Lynette is now married and lives miles away, I call her and she patiently explains the theory of music to me. For those few moments, it feels like we are once again a team. Nothing makes me happier than to be able to phone her again a few days later and say, “Hey, Lynette! We got another A!”
As the years come and go, I’ll always remember the time my big sister shared with me. She took the time to make me feel special—to let me know she cared. It’s a great lesson I learned about sisterhood.

Fourth, those who have charity love their neighbor. Charity is to realize that the all-seeing Lord truly considers our acts of neighborly service and love as demonstrations of our personal love for Him. Elder Bruce R. McConkie told this story:
My grandmother Emma McConkie was a widow at the time she was president of the Moab Relief Society. A nonmember who opposed the Church had married a Mormon girl. They had several children . . . and a new baby. They were very poor and Mother was going day by day to care for the child and to take them baskets of food. Mother herself was ill. One day she returned home especially tired and weary. She slept in her chair. She dreamed she was bathing a baby which she discovered was the Christ Child. She thought, ‘Oh what a great honor to thus serve the very Christ!’ As she held the baby in her lap she was all but overcome . . . Unspeakable joy filled her whole being . . . Her joy was so great it awakened her . . . and these words were spoken to her, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” Now I think the Lord first tried her faith. When she had proved worthy by manifesting that charity which never faileth, he gave her a glimpse within the veil.[47]

I also thought in youth conference those weeks ago about my mother-in-law. She was born with an enormous amount of musical talent. That led to a strong childhood desire to be a dancer on Broadway or in the movies. Being from a small farm town and born into a family with an average income, she was never able to find a way to make that dream reality.

Following high school in the early 1940s, Mom went to San Francisco to work, always harboring a secret desire to find the opportunity of her heart.

During a particular time of homesickness, she prayed. The Holy Ghost taught her that she could be what she wanted to be, but that she should always try to be like the Savior. It was then that she decided to pursue special traits like thoughtfulness, kindness, affection, and compassion. Those traits had always been there and they had been used periodically in adolescence. Now they would become a way of life for her.

It was never easy for any of them. Bob has worked hard in his service as a stake president. Paul has worked diligently to be a good young father. Mom has dealt with many crises in her life. They all have tried to face their obstacles in a Christlike way. Pain, hurt, and dread have been a part of their lives. It was part of Christ’s life, too!

Bob doesn’t fly jets anymore. He is now serving as a mission president. Paul is now a stake missionary. Mom has never danced professionally, though she has used her musical talents on numerous occasions. She is now serving a full-time mission with her husband. Each has lived a good and faithful life.

Those who come from a family where no one attends the temple can be a great example to their families if they have a positive attitude toward the temple. A former temple matron describes hearing a young woman speak in sacrament meeting about the temple. “Her parents are divorced, and there has been a lot of sadness in their family. But this bright spirit stood at the pulpit telling how she wants to go to the temple and how to prepare for it. Her father was there to hear it, and he hadn’t been to church for years. She’s drawing their family together and has been a wonderful example to them.”

Agnes wrote of one incident that took place shortly before they got to Salt Lake Valley: “Just before we crossed the mountains, relief wagons reached us, and it certainly was a relief. The infirm and aged were allowed to ride, all able-bodied continuing to walk. When the wagons started out, a number of us children decided to see how long we could keep up with the wagons, in hopes of being asked to ride. At least that is what my great hope was. One by one all fell out, until I was the last one remaining, so determined was I that I should get a ride.
“After what seemed the longest run I ever made before or since, the driver, who was William Henry “Heber” Kimball, called to me, ‘Say, sissy, would you like a ride?’ I answered in my very best manner, ‘Yes sir.’
“At this he reached over, taking my hand, clucking to his horses to make me run, with legs that seemed to me could run no farther. On we went, to what to me seemed miles. What went through my head at that time was that he was the meanest man that ever lived or that I had ever heard of, and other things that would not be a credit nor would it look well coming from one so young. Just at what seemed the breaking point, he stopped. Taking a blanket, he wrapped me up and lay me in the bottom of the wagon, warm and comfortable. Here I had time to change my mind, as I surely did, knowing full well by doing this he saved me from freezing when taken into the wagon.”

In October 1959, President Hunter was in Salt Lake City for general conference.
“At the conclusion of the first session, my counselor, Daken K. Broadhead, told me that President David O. McKay’s secretary wanted to see me. …
“President McKay greeted me with a pleasant smile and a warm handshake and then said to me, ‘Sit down Pres. Hunter. I want to talk to you. The Lord has spoken. You are called to be one of the special witnesses, and tomorrow you will be sustained as a member of the Council of Twelve.’”
President Hunter could not speak. Tears came to his eyes as he humbly sat in the presence of “that great, sweet, kindly man—the prophet of the Lord” (Church News, Nov. 16, 1974, p. 5).
The next day, in delivering his first general conference address, President Hunter said, “I want you to know that I have a firm, uncompromising conviction that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, that the gospel was restored in this latter dispensation by the instrumentality of the Prophet Joseph Smith. …
“I do not apologize for the tears that come to my eyes on this occasion because I believe that I face friends, my brethren and sisters in the Church, whose hearts beat the same as mine today, in the thrill of the gospel and in service to others” (Improvement Era, Dec. 1959, p. 962).

“Marionette,” called out the teacher.
Lucia stood before the class, her dark eyes shining and her hands clasped before her in eager anticipation. Her only opponent, Susan Hanley, spelled quickly, “M-a-r-i-o-n … ” She hesitated a moment before finishing, “e-t.”
“I’m sorry,” said the teacher, “but that’s the wrong spelling.”
Lucia felt sorry for Susan, whose crushed expression and flushed face mirrored her disappointment. Should I misspell the word and end the contest in a tie? Lucia wondered.
Lucia didn’t want to begin her first week at a new school making an enemy. She wondered if Susan was like Donna at her former school. Donna and Lucia had battled constantly for first place in everything.
“Marionette,” the teacher repeated.
Lucia tore her gaze from Susan and began to spell the word: “M—” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and began again, “M-a-r-i-o-n-e-t-t-e.”
“The winner is Lucia Martin!” declared the teacher.
Lucia smiled weakly and looked at Susan. Susan’s eyes were downcast, and her complexion was a dull brick red. Lucia’s stomach lurched. I did the wrong thing, she decided.
Just then the recess bell rang, and the fourth grade class spilled out onto the playground. Lucia trailed with heavy steps, her eyes following Susan. I don’t want to compete with her, she thought. I just want to be friends. But she knew how hard it was not to compete. She could never resist trying to beat Donna.
Lucia found herself standing near Susan and another girl.
“Too bad about the spelling bee,” Susan’s friend was saying. “Up until now you hadn’t lost any. Will your folks be upset?”
Susan picked nervously at the buttons on her coat. “I suppose so,” she muttered dully. “My parents get upset whenever they think I’m not doing as well as my sister Sylvia. The trouble is, my sister’s good at everything! I’m tired of trying to keep up with her.”
Poor Susan, Lucia thought. At least I don’t have those problems.
“Let’s play jump rope,” Susan’s friend suggested. “Everyone knows you’re the best rope jumper in the school!”
Immediately a game of jump rope was started, and Lucia asked to turn one end of the rope. Before long she forgot her troubles and was shouting the chants with the others.
Soon it was Susan’s turn to jump. The girls counted out the turns of the rope together. On and on they counted. Lucia found herself cheering for Susan with the rest. “Hit two hundred!” she called. “You can do it!”
The girls counted excitedly, “193, 194, 195, …”
Susan’s face was the color of a ripe tomato. Lucia could hear her gasping for breath as the girls called out, “198, 199, 200!”
As the girls cheered the exhausted jumper, Susan’s shoe caught the rope and she went down on one knee.
Lucia put out a hand to help Susan up. But Susan jerked away, looking triumphant. “Let’s see you beat that!” she whispered.
Lucia’s face burned. As she took her turn jumping the rope, a familiar anger tightened her stomach. It was happening all over again.
The only sound was the slap of the rope and the tap of her leather shoes on the cement as she easily jumped to fifty. The rope arched up and down, over and over again, making a whooshing sound as it cut through the air.
The girls began to count aloud now, “101, 102, …”
Lucia’s breath came in shallow pants. Her hands clenched and unclenched automatically. Her leather shoes beat out a pattern on the concrete. The perspiration on her forehead trickled down her nose. She wiped it away quickly.
Above the roar in her ears she heard, “189, 190, 191, …” Her legs felt heavy now, and there was a tingling numbness in the soles of her feet. She felt a strange elation. “… 195, 196, …”
Then Susan’s face loomed before her. She saw the crumpled features and brimming eyes of her defeated opponent in the spelling bee. Lucia knew what she must do. When “199” rang out, she dragged one foot just as the rope hit the ground. She fell to her hands and knees gasping for breath. The girls crowded around her expressing sympathy.
Lucia gazed into the gray eyes of her opponent, noting Susan’s look of satisfaction. Then Susan’s eyes widened as she recognized Lucia’s sacrifice to win her friendship. A flush crept slowly up Susan’s cheeks before she lowered her eyes.
Please understand, Lucia pleaded silently. People are more important than winning or losing.
When Susan looked up again, her eyes had softened and tiny twinkly lights glinted in their depths. She smiled warmly and held her hand out to Lucia to help her up.

Another profound incident occurred when my hosts told me that a picture had been requested by the local newspaper. They wanted to take my picture with a gifted child. “Fine,” I said. “This should be easy, for probably any child will do for the picture.”

“Not so,” they said. “We need a gifted child; wait and see what happens.” I told them to locate the child, and I would cooperate as requested. Later they called and told me that they had a gifted five-year-old boy scheduled, and he would be there in the morning for a photo session. As I was thinking of this meeting, I wondered what I might give this small boy as a gift from America. As a general practice I take a few things with me that can be used as thank-you or friendship gifts. I had brought with me three small jars of Bear Lake raspberry jam and a couple of beautiful calendars. I did not think any of these items would necessarily appeal to a five-year-old boy. Then I reflected back to my hurried departure from home when I had cleaned out my purse and replaced only those items that I felt were needed on the trip. At the last minute I had included an item that could serve as a gift for this little boy.

In the morning the little boy came with his mother. There were also two people from the newspaper. One interviewed the mother while the other one came with me across the street with the small boy. We sat down on a bench by a beautiful river with black swans nearby. While the photographer took pictures, this small boy told me about the orbiting procedures of spaceships as he showed me the book he was reading. At a quiet time I told this little boy that I had brought him a magic ring from America.

“Magic? Is it really magic?” he asked.

I told him that it was not magic as most people think of magic, but that it could do magical things for him. We put the ring on his finger, and I asked him to identify the letters on the ring. He did so, and I told him what the letters represented. “Whenever you have an important decision to make, look down at your ring, and it will remind you to “Choose the Right” and to base your decisions on important principles.”

He was entranced with his ring and could not take his eyes off it. When we returned to meet with his mother, he ran up and told her about his ring. “Oh, my,” I thought, “his mother could be quite upset over this.”

But the mother listened intently to her son and then turned to me and, with gratitude showing in her eyes, simply said, “Thank you.” Somewhere in Perth, Australia, is a small and very gifted little boy with a Primary CTR ring.

I remember fondly our entire family’s great joy when two of our children received their calls to serve as full-time missionaries. Excitement and anticipation filled our hearts as they each opened their special letter from the prophet of God. Our daughter Jenessa was called to the Michigan Detroit Mission, and our son, Christian, was called to the Russia Moscow South Mission. What humbling and thrilling experiences, all at the same time!

As Sister Rasband and I had the privilege of presiding over the New York New York North Mission several years ago, I marveled as the missionaries arrived in New York City.
As I interviewed them on their first day in the mission, I had a profound sense of gratitude for each missionary. I felt that their call to our mission was divinely designed for them and for me as their mission president.
After finishing our mission assignment, I was called by President Gordon B. Hinckley to serve as a Seventy in the Church. Part of my early training as a new General Authority included an opportunity to sit with members of the Twelve as they assigned missionaries to serve in one of the 300-plus missions of this great Church.
With the encouragement and permission of President Henry B. Eyring, I would like to relate to you an experience, very special to me, which I had with him several years ago when he was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve. Each Apostle holds the keys of the kingdom and exercises them at the direction and assignment of the President of the Church. Elder Eyring was assigning missionaries to their fields of labor, and as part of my training, I was invited to observe.
I joined Elder Eyring early one morning in a room where several large computer screens had been prepared for the session. There was also a staff member from the Missionary Department who had been assigned to assist us that day.
First, we knelt together in prayer. I remember Elder Eyring using very sincere words, asking the Lord to bless him to know “perfectly” where the missionaries should be assigned. The word “perfectly” said much about the faith that Elder Eyring exhibited that day.
As the process began, a picture of the missionary to be assigned would come up on one of the computer screens. As each picture appeared, to me it was as if the missionary were in the room with us. Elder Eyring would then greet the missionary with his kind and endearing voice: “Good morning, Elder Reier or Sister Yang. How are you today?”
He told me that in his own mind he liked to think of where the missionaries would conclude their mission. This would aid him to know where they were to be assigned. Elder Eyring would then study the comments from the bishops and stake presidents, medical notes, and other issues relating to each missionary.
He then referred to another screen which displayed areas and missions across the world. Finally, as he was prompted by the Spirit, he would assign the missionary to his or her field of labor.
From others of the Twelve, I have learned that this general method is typical each week as Apostles of the Lord assign scores of missionaries to serve throughout the world.
Having served as a missionary in my own country in the Eastern States Mission a number of years ago, I was deeply moved by this experience. Also, having served as a mission president, I was grateful for a further witness in my heart that the missionaries I had received in New York City were sent to me by revelation.
After assigning a few missionaries, Elder Eyring turned to me as he pondered one particular missionary and said, “So, Brother Rasband, where do you think this missionary should go?” I was startled! I quietly suggested to Elder Eyring that I did not know and that I did not know I could know! He looked at me directly and simply said, “Brother Rasband, pay closer attention and you too can know!” With that, I pulled my chair a little closer to Elder Eyring and the computer screen, and I did pay much closer attention!
A couple of other times as the process moved along, Elder Eyring would turn to me and say, “Well, Brother Rasband, where do you feel this missionary should go?” I would name a particular mission, and Elder Eyring would look at me thoughtfully and say, “No, that’s not it!” He would then continue to assign the missionaries where he had felt prompted.
As we were nearing the completion of that assignment meeting, a picture of a certain missionary appeared on the screen. I had the strongest prompting, the strongest of the morning, that the missionary we had before us was to be assigned to Japan. I did not know that Elder Eyring was going to ask me on this one, but amazingly he did. I rather tentatively and humbly said to him, “Japan?” Elder Eyring responded immediately, “Yes, let’s go there.” And up on the computer screen the missions of Japan appeared. I instantly knew that the missionary was to go to the Japan Sapporo Mission.
Elder Eyring did not ask me the exact name of the mission, but he did assign that missionary to the Japan Sapporo Mission.
Privately in my heart I was deeply touched and sincerely grateful to the Lord for allowing me to experience the prompting to know where that missionary should go.
At the end of the meeting Elder Eyring bore his witness to me of the love of the Savior, which He has for each missionary assigned to go out into the world and preach the restored gospel. He said that it is by the great love of the Savior that His servants know where these wonderful young men and women, senior missionaries, and senior couple missionaries are to serve. I had a further witness that morning that every missionary called in this Church, and assigned or reassigned to a particular mission, is called by revelation from the Lord God Almighty through one of these, His servants.

Jan peered into the room. All neutral tones and silence. She stepped across the threshold. Suddenly the walls turned to soft, warm yellow, and the modular arrangement at the far end of the “hospitality sector” blinked on with patterns of fairy tale-like whimsy. Some tinkling, teasing music played softly all around.
Jan was delighted. “How lovely to think that this is me!”
Paul entered the room. The walls now turned slightly rust. Panels opened to reveal textured symmetrical patterns. The music took on a low, slower melody.
Paul smiled playfully at Jan. He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Aha! My personality is overshadowing yours.”
There were quick flashes of red all around the room. Loud percussion came and went.
Paul showed surprise. Bright patterns appeared on all sides of the couple. A classical selection with bursting crescendos boomed forth.
“Why, Jan! I’m sorry that stupid comment made you angry.”
Jan was gazing again with wonder at the marvelous constructions around them. She almost expected to hear breathing or feel beating.
Isn’t it eerie Paul? Eerie and exciting!” She paused, deciding which words to choose. “I … wasn’t really mad. But I guess there was a second of resentment or something …” She stopped, glancing to each side, then upward. “And this house picks up those just-barely-there vibrations!”
“Well, you knew I was just kidding, didn’t you?” Paul put his arm around Jan and squeezed her shoulder.
A sudden change around them: pastel flurries, a heavy scent of spring, a Strauss waltz.
Paul jerked his hand off of Jan’s shoulder. It was a reflex movement, as if his fingers had been burned. Both Jan and Paul burst out laughing and the house seemed to laugh with them.
When the comfortable rust-and-gold decor returned, Jan and Paul sat on one of the two stabiles in the sector. Paul leafed through the pamphlet. The two of them discussed the pending decision. The real estate agent was waiting outside. He had told them to take as much time as they wanted. It wasn’t more time they needed, it was more money. The budget would be strained to the breaking point, no question about it. But, oh, the house, this marvelous house! Mirrormood Estates meant not only upper-crust living, it meant lifetime insurance against the deterioration of human relationships through misunderstanding. Jan and Paul, newly married and wonderfully in love, were determined to maintain their open communication, thus fortifying their lives against unhappiness. This house would be a tender touchstone if the going ever did get rough.
“Listen!” Jan pulled at Paul’s arm “What are we doing sitting here? We should be looking around.”
So Jan and Paul explored.
In each “living sector” (as the pamphlet was wont to call the room arrangements), Jan and Paul had fun trying to toss out a variety of feelings and to watch the bouncings. But the newlyweds soon found that the house did not react as readily and as dramatically to conjured emotions. Still, it was so much fun to shout or grimace—or whatever—and to see, hear, and sometimes feel and smell echoes that were more clearly understood than had been the original outputs. Time passed too quickly.
“We’d better get on with it,” Paul noted just as Jan was turning to again review the possibilities of the food preparation sector. “That real estate man will be coming in here to pry us out before long.”
Jan and Paul returned again to the hospitality sector and sat on the stabile closest to the front entrance. They hated to leave the house. Together they looked through the pamphlet. On the last pages of the pamphlet were more explicit descriptions, in quasi-technical terms, of the equipment built into the house: computers to record and decipher even a slight odor of perspiration, a sudden tightening of a muscle, a quick flutter of an eyelid. Diagrams attempted to show the intricate networks of sensors and reactors built into various walls and arrangements. Mathematical data followed.
Jan lost interest. She didn’t care that much about explanations and proof. She knew only that she loved the house. The real estate agent had shown wisdom in simply unlocking the door and telling them to wander through the model home at their leisure. The house was its own best sales agent.
“I love it,” Jan enthused.
“Well, I do too. But we have to look at this from the practical standpoint, you know.”
The house went bland. Too much black and white. There was some kind of clean and crisp electronic music playing. The temperature in the room cooled.
Jan stuck out her tongue. “Ugh!” And there was a waver of greenness, a few droning notes.
Then Jan and Paul found themselves giggling. And surrounded by merry pulsations and wild colors, they decided that, oh, yes, they had to live in the house.
Jan was awake. Her eyes were still closed. It had become a game. Guess what’s out there. Then, bang! Open the eyes! See how close you came.
It was difficult to win in this game. The many computers in the house that worked separately and together made countless environmental expressions possible. And the waking scene was a mixture of the blurring dreams of two people and the crystallizing thoughts of the waker. Jan could inventory her own fading dream glow—whether or not she was able to remember having dreamed. She could note her bent for the day. But how unlikely to be able to wild-guess the dream of someone else. That was the mystery factor: Paul’s dream. But that’s what made the game intriguing.
Hmmm. A trailing melancholy … anticipation of a busy day. And maybe Paul had had a scrapbook-type dream last night.
During the first two weeks after they had moved into the house, Jan and Paul had alternated their waking and sleeping times in order to experience the dream flicker excitement spoken of by so many Mirrormood residents. A couple of those times when Paul had been asleep and she had been awake, Jan had watched with interest very homey and nostalgic happenings in the room. So she would choose a scrapbook-type dream for last night. A vague supposition, but at least something to work with. Jan mixed the ingredients together and decided: A warm plaid on the folio-panel, coordinated wide stripes on the overhead and …
No music!
Jan’s eyes snapped open. All was neutral. She listened carefully. Sometimes the morning audios were very soft. Funny she hadn’t noticed. She usually allowed herself the audio clues. Nothing. A fear was rising from Jan, was rising and dispersing. No reinforcements wrapping all around. The wavers of dismay weren’t being caught and labeled and hung out for display. Jan heard herself emit a strange wail. She reached for Paul.
“Paul! Wake up, wake up! The house is broken!”
The week had been a waiting time—long and blandly tedious. Technicians had come, had checked, had consulted. Nothing was resolved. Nothing was fixed. Jan had had a bothersome feeling of uneasiness with her for most of the weary week. At least, she had supposed it was uneasiness. She couldn’t be sure. It was hard to decide how she really felt. She and Paul had lived in Mirrormood for six months. She had not had occasion for some time to concern herself with careful introspection and then to arrive at conclusions without aid of “outside corroboration”.
The passive house did not now demand attention. Jan was free to look elsewhere. Several times she had caught herself watching Paul surreptitiously. Jan supposed that Paul was equally suspicious of her actions, unsure of motivation and intent. Paul had been quieter this week, had seemed to be spending more time thinking. Jan decided that she felt very uneasy. If only those people would get the house fixed.
Drab. It was so drab. The magic was gone. Too bad there wasn’t a nice yard outside with living plants, a place where she could go for some deep breathing and smiling. Mirrormood houses had only small, hard courtyards. The Mirrormood Development Corporation didn’t concern itself with outdoor life-styles. Geode living, Jan decided. That’s what it was like. All the glory was sealed inside. And now there was no glory. The geode looked like it had been sacked and scoured. The magic was gone.
Jan knew, of course, that not even the intensifiers were working; yet, it seemed that with each succeeding day of house inactivity the house became gloomier. It was as if more and more layers of grayness were being stretched tautly and uncomfortably over the whole. Jan could almost feel a cloudy film hardening on her very skin. She rubbed her arms. Maybe it was just a damp chilliness she felt. The heat, humidity, and ion regulators weren’t working either.
Jan bit her lower lip in thought. How ironic! Now she was reacting to the house instead of the house reacting to her. And it was getting worse and worse. Maybe if she had a good cry she would feel better.
A defiance welled inside her. She let the defiance come out in a glare of her eyes. She wanted to direct the glare toward the very heart or brain or core of this pompous house! But Jan had never been interested enough in the systems of the house to find out if there was a central something-or-other control unit. So she had to be content with pressing the glare up one wall, across the ceiling, and down another wall.
“I’ll decide my own mood,” she threatened to the gray hollowness about her. Jan went to the sleeping sector, grabbed her purse, and left the house.
Jan stood rearranging and reconsidering, moving an orange marigold closer to a purple columbine, adding a few more sprays of baby’s breath. She stood to admire the bouquet, then glanced toward the walls to consider the effect of the two wall hangings. Jan would never have imagined that she, who professed to have quality taste, would have purchased such garish items. But they had been cheap; and, she did like the way they worried the grayness. She hoped Paul would approve. Jan paced back and forth, stopping twice to touch the warmth of the flowers.
She was startled when the door burst open. Paul was not one for bursting into rooms. But there he was, standing too still now. There was an unusual gleam in his eyes.
Jan gestured toward the spots of colors in the room. “I hope you like it. I used money from the food budget, but …”
“It’s beautiful! It’s beautiful! You’re beautiful!” Paul grabbed Jan and danced her around the room.
She certainly hadn’t expected such an enthusiastic reaction. They stopped the twirling in front of the bouquet.
“I wished I could have bought basketful of flowers and bright, plastic doodads to scatter and hang in every room. But I knew we couldn’t afford it.”
“Speaking-of-affording-things.” Paul pranced the statement out. Jan, who had been pushing the flowers into a tighter arrangement, turned to devote her full attention to Paul.
No careful parade of phrases now. Paul let the words tumble happily. The tone was pure joy.
“Do you know that the guarantee contract has been violated? We weren’t repaired within six days. I got a solemn phone call at work today. Do you know we have the option to take possession of a new Mirrormood or to terminate the mortgage agreement? We’re free!”
It was the moment to toss something into the air. But Jan and Paul merely stood looking at one another, smiles of satisfaction on their faces. The smiles stretched to laughter, which propelled them into one another’s arms.
Oh, life was a parade! They could both feel the tingle of confetti-and-balloon time with booming drums and banners unfurling.
Paul kissed Jan. The happy glow Jan felt seemed to light up the gray room. The magic wasn’t gone, Jan realized. It had been inside her, waiting.
“Let’s find a nice, drab, cheap apartment to rent.”
Jan nodded. “Yes. And, oh, please, let’s go looking right now.”
They hurried out of the house, taking the magic with them.

Her life changed forever when she awoke in the Prince Charles Hospital in Brisbane with two artificial heart valves. As a patient, surprised to be alive and able to serve, Jane wandered around the hospital visiting other patients.
Jane says, “I feel a deep and abiding gratitude, what a gift all these extra days and years have been. I’ve gained significant insights to pain and patience and have become compassionate in ways that I doubt I could have grasped from any other experience.”

As for the fear of proselyting, much of it ended on that first night. Credit definitely goes to the inspiring messages and testimonies of the 130 elders of the Cumorah Mission who performed in pageant. It was a thrill to watch them among the audience—the joy they had for being back tracting after a week away from it was obvious in their handshakes. But Heavenly Father deserves most of the credit. As Barbara Eichler of the Fairport Ward, New York, explained: “After the study group meeting, my companion and I decided we could use all the help we could get, so we went up to the top of the hill and prayed. As we rose from our knees and walked back down, we could feel our bodies being led, but not by our own power.”

“How much money do I have in my mission fund, Mom?” asked Hyrum, age eight.
“About 75 dollars,” I answered.
“How much do missions cost?”
“Lots.”
“Will you pay for my mission, Mom?”
“There will be four of you on missions at the same time while two others will be in college. Since money will be stretched pretty thin, you had better plan on paying for your own mission.”
“Where will I find lots of money? If I were Rumpelstiltskin I could turn straw into gold, but I don’t even have straw,” he said.
“Why don’t we ask the missionaries we know how they financed their missions?” I said. We did.
Elder Wall from the Spain Barcelona Mission had a wealth of information. “I didn’t turn straw into gold; I used hay, sheep, a TV, spare parts, wood, cars, and a lot of paint,” he said.
Hyrum was speechless. This guy knew the secret. We begged him to tell us more. He laughed.
“I’ve been working since I can remember. When I was eight my dad put me on a tractor and pointed me at a hay field. I worked when other kids fished. Sometimes I would dream about lying on a riverbank, but I don’t regret working. I painted curbs with house numbers when I was ten. I sold candy bars in junior high and made more money than the school store. I picked berries. I learned to drive a truck before I drove a car. That led to driving a forklift and later a berry harvester for $8.00 an hour. I’ve laid over 100,000 feet of sprinkler pipe; planted shrubbery; trimmed, pruned, and mowed lots of lawns. During high school, Ernie Harwood and I formed a housepainting partnership. He completely paid for his mission to Japan with this job. We bid for jobs with a realty company. Before I left I trained one of the priests, who will carry on with the contacts we made. I hope they keep passing the job around the quorum. I earned a lot of my mission fund this way.
“The most unusual job I had was six weeks as a sheepherder. I lived in a camper 70 miles from the nearest settlement. There was no hot water, shower, or washing machine. The weather was often 15 degrees with a 30-mile-an-hour wind. I cared for sick sheep and helped with the lambing.
“My favorite work was the least profitable. I love to invent. I formed a direct sales company partnership to sell my inventions all across the United States. I even invented a device to prevent ewes from rolling onto their newborns. My boss said it would save millions of dollars by preventing lamb deaths.
“I’ve chopped several cords of wood, delivered and stacked it. There are opportunities all around if you keep your eyes open. I bought things at auctions, then cleaned, fixed, and sold them at a profit, still giving the customer a bargain. This became a game. A popcorn machine, calves, mag wheels, televisions, cars, and motorcycles all turned into gold.
“You can spin anything into gold if you turn yourself into an expert first. I never watched television. I read how-to books. The best advice I can give you is to keep your eyes open, read and learn, and listen to your dad.”
Elder Lund leaves soon for his mission. He told us, “I worked at a dry cleaner for two years. I found the position when I took a buddy to his interview. He told the lady he couldn’t take the job because of the hours but that I could. I did. I worked the cash register, took in dirty clothes, and gave out the clean ones. I also cleaned up after closing. When I started the job I was very shy. I learned to speak up and explain things to people. I gained a lot of confidence. Now I don’t have trouble communicating with people.
“My brother and I bought broken lawn mowers, repaired them, and sold them for a profit. We didn’t have to spend money for parts. They just needed our mechanical knowledge.
“I put my money into a savings account. I recommend everyone use a savings account. But give the bankbook to your mom so you can’t take the money out again. You need to start early in life to save because you can’t cram in the last few months like you might for a test.”
Elder Hale returned recently from the California Ventura Mission. “I worked as a dietician’s assistant for two years. I made up the trays for the older sisters in a Catholic convent. I took them their food and helped them eat it. We enjoyed great religion discussions. They sent me researching history and facts. I loved the ladies like grandmas. I learned to respect them and their beliefs. My job in the school cafeteria led me to the convent job. I also raised rabbits and sold them through the pet stores for a commission.
“When I had enough money I loaned it out and received a steady income with interest. I put aside 10 percent for tithing and then another 20 percent for my mission.
“Work hard. The harder you work on a job, the harder you will work on your mission. It is difficult to be rejected at doors when tracting. Only the ability to work hard will keep you going back to one more door at the end of a long day.”
Pumping gas and farm work supported Elder Rudolph in the Texas Houston Mission. “When I was 12 my bishop challenged me to set aside 50 percent of all I earned for a mission fund. I gulped and promised. At age 14 my parents told me I was responsible for buying all my clothes. I gave 10 percent to the Lord, 50 percent to the mission fund, clothed and entertained myself with the remaining 40 percent. I earned all my money and wasn’t worried at the last minute about how I would eat.”
“I earned my money in lots of ways during the six years I saved,” said Elder Fenley of the Illinois Chicago South Mission. “I picked produce, worked in a service station, and washed dishes in a Chinese restaurant. I also worked as a short-order cook in a fast-food restaurant. I heard about my jobs from friends and my dad. I put aside 50 percent of all I earned for my mission. People respected my beliefs where I worked. I felt I was a good example. I am grateful I have the funds to be out here now. Develop a good working attitude. Not everything you do is fun, but a good attitude will help you work and serve the Lord.”
Sister Peterson in the South Carolina Columbia Mission advised, “Learn to live on a limited income early in life, and then you won’t have trouble living on the bare essentials as a missionary. I didn’t know I was going on a mission, so I didn’t have any savings. I did have a few debts. I worked in a commercial laundry to pay my doctor and dentist bills. I sold my car but depend on my parents for most of my support. My companion, a Navajo Indian, sold cosmetics to support herself.”
“I should have started saving earlier,” said Elder Dana Redford. “I don’t have enough yet for my mission. I have only two months to earn the rest. I work at a cardboard warehouse on a substitute basis. Whenever anyone is sick or on vacation they call me. The job is steady, and I do different types of work. I cut boxes, bundle cardboard, stack, move inventory, make up orders, and deliver them. I have sold lid openers (an invention of Elder Wall), worked a paper route, and done lots of yard work. People call me because they know I am saving for a mission. I think they see it as a charitable contribution as well as a means of getting their work done.
“The most important attribute an employee can have is a good attitude. One job leads to another, so if you don’t like the work, try harder and think about the future jobs this one might bring.”
Hyrum learned a lot from the missionaries as he said, “I don’t have to be Rumpelstiltskin to turn straw into gold.”
He and his brothers and sisters learned to paint house numbers on curbs. Their story appeared in the local newspaper, which helped business. Another family wanted to form a similar business, so the children charged a learning fee. They have ideas of hiring other kids and expanding their business.
Hyrum worked with a companion, gathered equipment, memorized a door approach, kept records, advertised, corrected sloppy work, cleaned messes, paid tithing, and met savings goals. He learned to overcome disappointment by going on to the next house when turned down at the first one, the second one, and so on.
Hyrum spun paint into gold, several kinds of gold—the kind a boy saves, the kind a mother treasures, and the kind Heavenly Father honors.

I am a 77-year-old returned missionary and graduate of BYU—also a fan of the New Era. I enjoyed “Time Out for a Mission” in the June New Era. I would like to bear testimony to the fact that going on my mission before finishing college was one of the best things I ever did. My eight brothers and sisters and I were born in the shadows of BYU in Provo, and our parents were educators, so we were expected to become college graduates. In many ways I was a “shrinking violet” personality until after I filled my mission. Reentering BYU after returning from my mission, I would head for the front seat in all of my classes. I wasn’t afraid to raise my hand and answer questions. I had become an outgoing, friendly person and received high grades in my classes. I attribute my success to what I gained by being a missionary before I finished college.
Rita D. Williams

“Some two or three years after I was baptized, one day while engaged in my studies, I began to reflect upon the fact that I had not obtained a knowledge of the truth of that work—that I had not realized the fulfillment of that promise, ‘he that doeth my will shall know of the doctrine,’ and I began to feel very uneasy. I laid aside my books, left the house, and wandered around through the fields under the oppressive influence of a gloomy, disconsolate spirit, while an indescribable cloud of darkness seemed to envelop me. I had been accustomed, at the close of day, to retire for secret prayer, to a grove a short distance from my lodgings, but at this time I felt no inclination to do so. The spirit of prayer had departed and the heavens seemed like brass over my head. At length, realizing that the usual time had come for secret prayer, I concluded I would not forgo my evening service, and, as a matter of formality, knelt as I was in the habit of doing, and in my accustomed, retired place, but not feeling as I was wont to feel.

“I had no sooner opened my lips in an effort to pray, than I heard a sound, just above my head, like the rustling of silken robes, and immediately the spirit of God descended upon me, completely enveloping my whole person, filling me from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, and O the joy and happiness I felt! No language can describe the almost instantaneous transition from a dense cloud of mental and spiritual darkness into a refulgence of light and knowledge that God lives, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and of the restoration of the Holy Priesthood, and the fulness of the Gospel. It was a complete baptism—a tangible immersion in the heavenly principle or element, the Holy Ghost; and even more real and physical in its effects upon every part of my system than the immersion by water; dispelling forever, so long as reason and memory last, all possibility of doubt or fear in relation to the fact handed down to us historically that the ‘babe of Bethlehem’ is truly the Son of God; and also the fact that He is now being revealed to the children of men, and communicating knowledge, the same as in the apostolic times. I was perfectly satisfied, as well I might be, for my expectations were more than realized; I think I may safely say, in an infinite degree.

“I cannot tell how long I remained in the full flow of the blissful enjoyment and divine enlightenment, but it was several minutes before the celestial element which filled and surrounded me began gradually to withdraw. On arising from my kneeling posture, with my heart swelling with gratitude to God, beyond the power of expression, I felt—I knew that he had conferred on me what only an omnipotent being can confer—that which is of greater value than all the wealth and honors worlds can bestow. That night as I retired to rest, the same wonderful manifestations were repeated, and continued to be for several successive nights. The sweet remembrance of those glorious experiences, from that time to the present, brings them fresh before me, imparting an inspiring influence which pervades my whole being, and I trust will to the close of my earthly existence.” (Preston Nibley, The Presidents of the Church [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1974], pp. 139–140.)

There seem to be more families involved in the Church in Madrid than there are in other parts of Spain. Still, in Madrid, like anywhere else, you have to know for yourself what’s true.
Arturo and Alberto Recio saw their father join the Church first, but wanted to gain their own testimonies. “I was studying the Book of Mormon and I read Moroni 10; then I read it again and again,” said Arturo, 13. “Then I asked God if it was true, and he answered me, and here I am.”

“Why did I ever listen to those Mormon missionaries, anyway?” thought Johanna Anderson, as the boat rocked wildly beneath her feet. The voyage had been a difficult one, and today was especially rough. Just about everyone she knew on board the boat was ill, and her faith began to falter as she thought, “Why must this journey be so long and hard?”
She could, at this very moment, have been home in her beloved Sweden with her caring parents. They had been converted by Latter-day Saint missionaries in the early 1800s, and it was their greatest desire to send their family to the Salt Lake Valley. When their eldest son, Neils, earned enough money for passage to America for himself and his wife, his parents decided it would be a wonderful opportunity to send fourteen-year-old Johanna with them.
Johanna remembered the care her mother had taken in packing her trunk, and the surprise package she’d hidden in the bottom of it. “Johanna,” her mother told her, “when you are far from home, when your faith in God is low, or when you most need help, open the package in the bottom o your trunk. It will cheer your spirits and give you faith to go on to Utah.”
Well, Johanna’s spirits were certainly low at this point. Not only had they suffered because of heavy storms, but the drinking water for the three-month journey had gone stale. Many passengers were terribly sick, and some had even died and been buried at sea. Perhaps now was the time to open the package her mother had sent.
She went to where the luggage was stored on board the boat and found her trunk. She opened it and felt inside for her special package. Tears formed in her eyes when she saw what it contained. It was the most beautiful red coat she had ever seen. Her mother must have spent hours making it for her. She slipped into its warm softness and did a little dance of excitement.
She hadn’t been this happy in a long time. She wanted to show her beautiful coat to all the others on the ship, but she thought again. This was her secret. This red coat was for Utah. She would wear it again when she arrived in the new land. Carefully she returned the coat to her trunk.
The knowledge of her beautiful secret gave her courage for the rest of the journey. When no one else seemed able to eat, Johanna found herself hungry. She had become a special friend of the ship’s cook, and he would prepare her the Swedish pancakes she loved. He would place the big bowl in her lap while he added the ingredients.
Finally, after three months, the ship reached America. It took another three months for the Andersons to travel to St. Louis, Missouri. There they purchased a wagon, ox teams, and supplies for the long trek across the plains.
While Neils and his wife drove the team, Johanna walked. She was young and strong and loved the wilderness, with its birds and animals. Every day she saw some new sight that surprised and excited her. Occasionally she would see friendly Indians in the distance. And always, as she walked, she would think of the secret in her trunk—the soft, beautiful red coat—and how she would wear it when she reached her new home in Utah.
But unknown to the company of pioneers she traveled with, hostile Indians had been following behind them. Johanna sensed things were not right and felt a little frightened. Finally, when evening came, the captain of the company moved the wagons together, forming a tight circle. The cattle and oxen were driven into the center, and there was no campfire, music, or dancing as there had been on other nights. The Saints were told to go to bed and stay quiet.
Johanna, exhausted from her long walk, fell into a deep sleep. But just at daybreak, she was awakened by voices and stamping horses’ hooves. Her sister-in-law motioned for her to lay quiet. Neils was not in his bed.
The voices grew louder and nearer, and Johanna noted the language was different. Her people were talking to the Indians.
She could hear men moving around in the wagon above her. Her trunk was at the end of the wagon, and she could tell it was being opened. She heard Neils talking to the Indians.
Suddenly the voices stopped, the men jumped down from the wagon, and she could hear the Indians riding away.
Neils returned and took Johanna to the front of the wagon. He said to his sister, “Johanna, stay here. Don’t look back or go to the rear of our wagon. You have faith and the Lord will take care of all of us.”
The temptation was too great for Johanna, and she turned to look at the Indians riding away, single file and bareback on their ponies. Heading the warriors was Chief Walker, yelling and screaming and riding at top speed. Around his shoulders he wore her beautiful red coat.
Neils caught his sister in his arms. “Johanna, your coat saved your life—not only yours, but the lives of all in our company. The bright red color caught the chief’s eye. When he saw your coat, he was satisfied and then left us all unharmed.”
The Andersons soon reached Salt Lake City, and Johanna eventually married James Hansen, a Danish convert. They had ten children, and her descendants still tell the story of her red coat to their children today.

He was leaving. His meager belongings tucked into his school backpack, Makoto slipped out of his room and down the hall. The morning sun was creeping silently into the house. Shadows lingered in the living room like quiet storm clouds after a summer rain. He would soon be free.
“Good morning, Makoto.”
Makoto stopped, hoping the shadows would swallow him whole.
“I said, ‘Good morning.’”
It was Grandfather, of course. No one else would have been up this early. Sometimes he wondered if the old man ever slept. “Good morning,” he answered meekly. It sounded like a surrender.
“You’re up early,” remarked Grandfather. “I usually don’t have company at this time of the day. Come sit with me for a moment.”
Makoto sighed and crossed the room. Grandfather sat on the floor, a book leaning against his chest. It occurred to Makoto that it was still too dark to read. He crouched on the floor, expecting the old man to ask him where he was going so early in the day. But Grandfather sat motionless, making Makoto feel very uncomfortable.
“I’m—I’m leaving,” Makoto stammered in confusion.
“Ahhh,” Grandfather acknowledged.
“Leaving. Yes, yes, Makoto, so you are. But it’s not enough that one leaves. One must have somewhere to go. Where are you going, Makoto?”
“It’s boring here in Kyoto,” Makoto blurted out. “I’ve seen everything, done everything. Now I want to see the world.” He wondered if this sounded as silly to Grandfather as it did to him right then—an eleven-year-old boy wanting to see the world.
“Good,” Grandfather replied. “It’s good to see the world. But have you any money with which to see it?”
“A little.”
“Well, it’s expensive to see the world. You’ll need money for trains, food, and places to stay. I could lend you some money.”
Makoto hadn’t expected this. Was Grandfather actually going to assist his escape? “I could use a little more,” he admitted.
“Well then, you shall have it,” Grandfather said, “just as soon as you answer a very simple question for me.”
Makoto winced. He felt as if he were being cleverly pulled into a bargain he could not win. Nevertheless, he did need the money. “All right.”
“It’s about the garden in the center of the house. You know the one I mean?”
Of course he knew. There were small palms and other trees, bamboo, many flowers, massive rocks tucked into corners, and a stone lantern near a pond topped with yellow and purple lotus flowers beneath which swam silver and white carp.
“Well, in the east corner of the garden is a chrysanthemum in a pot. Tell me, what insect makes its home in the leaves but does not consume them?”
Makoto knew the plant. At least he thought he did. He had seen it hundreds of times. “I’m not sure,” he finally admitted. “I mean … I guess I don’t know.”
“Too bad. We can try again tomorrow if you wish. It will be our arrangement.”
The light of day was beginning to scatter the shadows, and Makoto thought he saw Grandfather smile.
He would not be fooled again. For the rest of the day, Makoto scoured the garden, searching for the answers to the questions Grandfather might pose. He memorized every bush and tree, every rock formation, and the location of as many insects as he could find. When dusk ended his day-long study, he confidently left the garden and collapsed into his bed.
It was a new day. Makoto arose silently and dressed. His arms and legs ached, though he wasn’t sure why. Had yesterday’s expedition to the garden done this to him, he wondered. It didn’t matter. He would answer Grandfather’s question, get the money, and leave. The arrangement would come to a very quick end.
“A black beetle,” he stated matter-of-factly a few minutes later.
Grandfather nodded. “Yes, it is the black beetle that makes his home in the chrysanthemum. But that was yesterday’s question. Here is today’s. There is moss on the cherry tree. On which side of the trunk does it grow?”
Moss! He hadn’t noticed any moss. He had been looking at trees and bushes and insects. Was this a trick? Maybe there wasn’t any moss. Maybe there was moss but on a different tree. “I … I’m not sure,” he finally managed. “To tell the truth, I didn’t notice any moss at all.”
He could have guessed, of course. If there really was moss, it would have to be on the east, west, south, or north side. But somehow Makoto didn’t want to risk being wrong.
Grandfather chuckled softly and motioned for him to leave. He kept chuckling as Makoto steered his sore legs in the direction of the garden.
And so the arrangement continued. Makoto, on his hands and knees, scurried through the ferns and aspidistra—studying and memorizing every inch of the terrain. Each morning he had the answer to the previous day’s question. And each morning he would slink away, confounded by his grandfather’s latest query.
Weeks passed. And though it was difficult to pinpoint exactly when it had happened, Makoto found that he began looking forward to the daily quest.
Until one day. Makoto was propped on his elbows, watching two ladybugs wind their way lazily up the stem of a beautiful plantain lily, when the thought struck him like a peal of thunder. He had forgotten to present himself to Grandfather for a question!
That morning Makoto had dressed, quickly consumed some rice cakes, then headed to the tiny garden. He had completely forgotten about the arrangement.
Uneasy, he got to his feet. Feelings of embarrassment, anger, and dismay flooded over him.
Grandfather was sitting nearby on the porch, softly playing a bamboo flute. His eyes were closed.
Makoto quietly approached his mentor. “Are you awake?” he asked, realizing just how ridiculous the question was after he had asked it.
“Very awake,” Grandfather quietly remarked. “And waiting.”
Makoto wanted to ask what his grandfather was waiting for but thought better of it. Our arrangement, he reminded himself.
“I’m here for my question,” he announced finally.
“Hmmm, yes, our arrangement. I’d thought maybe you’d forgotten.”
Makoto shifted uneasily. At least Grandfather wasn’t smiling.
The old man hesitated. “The question is: What insect makes its home in the chrysanthemum but doesn’t eat the leaves?”
Makoto stepped back and almost stumbled. What kind of nonsense was this? Grandfather was asking a question to which he had the answer, a question he had asked before, the very first question he had asked. His heart beat wildly. He could answer the question, get the money, and leave Kyoto to see the world. It was as simple as that. That was the arrangement.
But something prevented him from speaking. His mind spun silken images of the garden before his eyes—the red plum blossoms, the persimmon and mulberry trees, the green waterfalls of moss on the rocks. Why hadn’t Grandfather asked about any of these?
A whole world was in the garden. His world. An exciting, ever-changing world, one he had only just begun to explore. “I—I’m not really sure,” he stammered, not looking at Grandfather. “I mean … I don’t know, Grandfather.”
“No? Well, perhaps the matter requires a bit more study, hmm?”
Makoto glanced at Grandfather, who winked at him. He couldn’t remember his grandfather ever winking at him before. The old man unfolded his legs, rose from the porch, and draped one of his arms over Makoto’s shoulders. “Let’s go to the garden,” he said softly. “There may be a few things that this old man can show you yet.”
Makoto smiled. He was sure that there would be.

Perhaps you have all heard the story, and it is just a story, of the insensitive man who held two season tickets to the basketball games at the local university. His wife died, and a day or two later he went to the game. The seat previously occupied by his wife was empty. Someone said, “Those seats of yours must be very expensive. Couldn’t you find a member of the family to come and sit in your wife’s seat?” The man answered, “No, they couldn’t come. They’ve all gone to her funeral.”