Gospel Story Finder

I can’t refrain from telling you one other thing about that visit with my brother in Washington. He was to take a B-25 bomber to Texas to pick up something and return to Washington the next day. I went with him. That was the only time we flew together.
Many years later I was honored by Weber State University, where we both had graduated. He had been a student body officer during his college days. Because I would be in South America, he agreed to attend the banquet and accept the award in my behalf.
In his acceptance speech he told this story—part of which is true. He said that in Texas we were lined up side by side on the runway ready to take off. He radioed to me and said, “See you upstairs—if you think you can make it!”
Then he told them that after I became a General Authority of the Church, once in a while I would check on his behavior and add, “See you upstairs—if you think you can make it!”
Well, Leon made it. He is now where I hope one day to be.

As a young man many years ago, I was drafted—or as we called it, “conscripted”—into the South African military. I was assigned to a squad of soldiers who were good men but had the roughness of speech and behavior that is sometimes manifested by men serving in the military.

Surrounded by such influences, I discovered that it wasn’t always easy to live gospel standards. But from the beginning of my military service, I was pleased to stand up for my beliefs. I made it clear that I would not engage in conduct that I knew was wrong. I am grateful that the men in my squad—some grudgingly at first—grew to respect my standards.

On one occasion, during a military training camp, a group of us were standing around a campfire on a beautiful, dark, cloudless, star-filled night. Some of the fellows in my squad were drinking beer while I sipped a soft drink. The discussion was pleasant, with no improper talk.

During our visiting, a few men from another unit wandered over to our happy band. One of these men turned to me and, noticing the soft drink in my hand, mocked me for not joining the men in drinking beer. Before I could respond, one of my friends surprised me by rebuking the man.

“We suggest that you leave now, sir,” he said. “We will not have anyone speak to Chris like that! In fact, he is the only man amongst us who lives his life like a true Christian.”

With that, the rebuked man quietly skulked away into the dark night. At that moment, although a little embarrassed by the unexpected compliment, I remembered Paul’s counsel to be “an example of the believers” (1 Timothy 4:12).

A story is told of an English farmer at work one day in his fields when he saw a party of huntsmen riding about his farm. Concerned that they might ride into a field where the crop could be damaged by the tramp of horses, he sent one of his workmen to shut the gate and then keep watch over it and on no account to open it. He had scarcely arrived at his post when the hunters came up and ordered that the gate be opened. He declined to do so, stating the orders he had received, and steadfastly refused to open the gate in spite of the threats and bribes as one after another of the hunters came forward.
Then one of the riders came up and said in commanding tones, “My boy, do you know me? I am the Duke of Wellington, one not accustomed to being disobeyed, and I command you to open that gate, that I and my friends may pass through.”
The boy lifted his hat, and before the man whom all England delighted to honor, answered firmly, “I am sure the Duke of Wellington would not wish me to disobey orders. I must keep this gate shut, nor suffer anyone to pass but by my master’s express permission.”
Greatly pleased, the duke lifted his own hat and said, “I honor the man or boy who can be neither bribed or frightened into doing wrong. With an army of such soldiers, I could conquer not only the French, but the world.” (Adapted from “The Boy Who Kept Out Wellington,” in Moral Stories for Little Folks, Salt Lake City: Juvenile Instructor Office, 1891, pp. 112–13.)

"I grew up in a big city, in Los Angeles, which gave me the opportunity to meet early on people from different walks of life. I had interactions and connections with people that helped me learn about their lives as they learned about my life.

"I had an experience at a bus stop where I was running late to work. And, in my frustration, I turned around and I noticed an older lady who was going about digging in the trash. Her hair was very damp; she was missing a lot of teeth, but she smiled at me. It made me forget that I was running late.

"Who is going to help her? Who is willing to give her something to make her have a better day? I don’t know. But in that moment, it made me realize that’s me. I know I’ve been in different phases of my life where I’ve needed help and I’ve prayed for someone to offer something in my life, mostly love or a sense of belonging. And that made me think about Jesus Christ and how He loves me and how He does give me a sense of belonging. That motivated me to offer her my apple.

"We started interacting, and I couldn’t help but want to offer her my whole lunch. I would have offered her everything if I had even more. I’ll never have everything that I wish I could have to offer someone. But that is why Jesus Christ is the great Mediator, because He can. He can offer and duplicate what I can’t by infinity.

"When I think about Jesus Christ and how He fed the five thousand or the four thousand, it wasn’t about loaves and bread. Of course, feeding them provided a very temporary nourishment. But when you read carefully behind that, it really is about His mercy. It really is about His grace. It really is about His love.

"Those people, those individuals that He would help that were considered the outcasts, the people who were marginalized—which in today’s world might be the refugee, the immigrant—sometimes we see people different because of their skin color, because they’re from a different religion.

"Because of these experiences that I’ve had and as I realized what God has done for me, how could I not want to help someone out of the love and the mercy and the grace that God has for me?" [5]

Some years ago I was invited to speak to a group at Harvard University. At that time a member of the Church was campaigning for national office and this created much interest.
Both faculty members and students were to be present. I, of course, hoped that the gospel message would be accepted and that the meeting would end in harmony of views.
As I prayed that this might result, there came to me the strong impression that this prayer would not be answered.
I determined that however preposterous talk of angels and golden plates and restoration might be to them, I would teach the truth with quiet confidence, for I have a testimony of the truth. If some must come from the meeting unsettled and disturbed, it would not be me. Let them be disturbed, if they would.
It was as the Spirit foretold. Some shook their heads in amazement, even cynical amusement, that anyone could believe such things.
But I was at peace. I had taught the truth, and they could accept it or reject it as they pleased.
There is always the hope, and often it is true, that one among them with an open mind may admit one simple thought: “Could it possibly be true?” Combine that thought with sincere prayer, and one more soul enters a private sacred grove to find the answer to “Which of all the churches is true, and which should I join?”

When we learn to depend on our abilities and the blessings that God has given us, we can achieve great goals and overcome any obstacles that stand in our way. I have experienced this in my life.
When I was young, I realized I had a passion for sales. I began my career in a hardware store, serving customers and providing exceptional service. Over time, I rose to become a supervisor and purchasing manager. For 12 years, I learned everything necessary to be successful in that field. I express gratitude to my Heavenly Father for granting me that chance and for giving me the desire and opportunities to be completely independent.
Today, thanks to hard work and God’s help, I have my own company. Being self-sufficient not only allows me to take care of myself and my family, but I also can serve and care for others in more meaningful ways. These experiences have shown me that it is not necessary to have extraordinary talents or a college degree to achieve success. All you need is to have a proper perspective and a dream to realize your potential.
Today I feel grateful for the path I have traveled and for the success I have achieved. But I also feel a responsibility to help others find their own path to success. We all have the potential to achieve great things if we dare to dream and work hard to achieve it. I encourage you to never limit yourself and to trust in the power of Jesus Christ to overcome any obstacle and achieve success in your life.

Illustrations by Natalie Hoopes
Every day on the bus ride home from school, I would see Lenny. He always wore the same baggy T-shirt and worn-out tennis shoes, and he often had a big smile. He also had a disability. Often, the Spirit prompted me to say hello to him, but my pride stopped me.
One winter afternoon when I got on the bus, the Spirit’s promptings were especially strong, and I had a little extra courage. So when I saw Lenny in his usual spot, I decided to sit next to him. When I was almost to my stop, I closed my eyes, said a silent prayer, and then turned toward Lenny.
“Hi, I’m Ashley,” I said in an insecure but friendly voice.
He smiled at me, and all of my fear and pride melted away.
“I’m Lenny,” he shyly replied.
With those few words, a friendship began to form.
The next day, I sat next to Lenny again. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a handmade Valentine’s Day card addressed to “the pretty girl I see on the bus every day.” Valentine’s Day was long over, but Lenny had made this special card for me and had been patiently waiting for me to talk to him before giving it to me. I couldn’t help the tears from trickling down my cheeks.
Now I talk to Lenny daily. We exchange simple gifts on holidays, and we even went bowling with a group of friends. Each time I’m with Lenny, I’m reminded of the scripture in 1 John 4:18: “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear.” Lenny helps me remember the blessings that come from forgetting pride and having courage to follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost.

A friend of mine from South Carolina has demonstrated that even multiple problems can be overcome when one is true to his faith in God.
Laurie Polk is a dwarf. From the time of his birth, life has been a challenge. When he became old enough to go to school, he pedaled himself on a tricycle in order to move about and keep up with the other children. When his short legs kept him from playing games and participating in athletics, he busied himself in preparing for a vocation in the business world. To obtain employment, he found it necessary to persist and to prove himself. When a job opportunity finally came to him, he found joy in life through his love for his work.
Then another challenge arose. Laurie Polk, already extremely limited in his physical mobility, lost the sight in one eye. Nearly complete loss of the use of his crippled, dwarfed legs followed shortly thereafter. Then, as if that were not enough of a trial for any man, the retina of Laurie’s other eye became detached and complete blindness encompassed him.
Where did Laurie Polk gain his strength to overcome such darkness and despair? Through the power of faith in God, Laurie Polk has learned the meaning of life. In his thirty-four inch frame, he possesses a strength not unlike the sons of Helaman, through which he not only overcomes the personal challenges he encounters—he actually finds joy in living. He knows he can solve any problem by putting his life in harmony with God and serving his fellowman. He says, “With the help of the Lord there are no problems, only challenges.” Laurie Polk is now a high priest group leader in the Charleston South Carolina Stake.

Sometimes the Savior’s touch can reach others through little bodies with big hearts. A lovely woman had received the missionary discussions but had not made the final commitment to be baptized. One Sunday she decided to attend sacrament meeting in a ward where she was not acquainted. She wanted a place where she could be alone with her thoughts. She sat beside a little boy. As the sacrament was passed, this little boy noticed that she did not take the sacrament bread. When it came to him, he carefully broke a piece in two and gave half to her. The woman was very impressed that a child would perform such a meaningful act of kindness. That day she contacted the missionaries and said, “If this is what you teach the children in your church, I want to become a member.”

Many years ago a couple of fellow airline captains and I decided to fulfill a boyhood dream of restoring an antique airplane. Together we purchased a worn-down 1938 Piper Cub and started the work of returning it to its original form. The project was a labor of love. It had special meaning for me because I had learned to fly in a similar airplane when I was a young man.
This airplane was first built only 35 years after the Wright brothers made their famous first flight. Just thinking of that makes me feel very old.
The engine did not have an electric starter; as you were priming the engine from the cockpit, someone else on the ground would grab hold of the propeller and hurl it with might until the engine would run on its own. Each engine start was a moment of excitement and bravery.
Once the plane was airborne, it became clear the Piper Cub was not built for speed. As a matter of fact, when there was a strong headwind, it seemed as though we were not moving at all. I remember flying together with my teenage son, Guido, above the autobahn in Germany, and sure enough, the cars below passed us comfortably!
But, oh, how I loved this little plane! It was the perfect way to experience the wonder and beauty of flight. You could hear, feel, smell, taste, and see what flying was all about. The Wright brothers expressed it this way: “There is [nothing] equal to that which aviators enjoy while being carried through the air on great white wings.”

When I was at U.S. Steel, I had a very choice friend—a great young man with a great intellect. He had graduated with an electrical engineering degree when he was 21 years of age. He just had a finite mind. He was an inactive member of the Church, and one time he told me, “Jim, I’m going to prove that the Church is not true.” And so he went to the writings of the Prophet Joseph Smith and explored them, and one of the things he read about was the discovery of the golden plates. He took this as his first premise to build his own foundation, and he wrote about his exploration. He showed that the mass—which, according to the Prophet, was six by eight by eight, or approximately 288 cubic inches, and made up of malleable gold—could be assumed, based on the density of malleable gold, to weigh in the neighborhood of 184 pounds. And there would be no way that a young boy, even a farm boy, could bring 184 pounds of gold out of the stone box in the hillside.
Then he read further, and in order to recreate the case properly he built that body of mass to prove to himself what it looked like and to get a good feel for his subject matter. When he got through he noticed two interesting things: there were voids between the plates, and that accounted for loss of mass and weight; and also, according to the Prophet’s description, there were engravings on the plates, and that would account for loss of metal. When my good friend finished, he guessed that the plates probably weighed 94.35 pounds. And it would have indeed been possible for a twenty-year-old farm boy to carry those out of the hills.

One day as one of my sons bade me farewell prior to his leaving for high school, I noticed he had forgotten to tie his shoelaces. For a fleeting second, I was tempted to turn the moment into the major crisis of the week, but, thankfully, I let it pass. A few days later we went to a school function where, to my amazement, I observed the shoelaces of all of the young men were untied. I then realized my son had fallen victim to another fad. I think it was in this same year that I found out it was no longer socially acceptable to go to school with boots, gloves, or earmuffs.

When the sunshine tickled my nose, I woke up. I pulled my quilt a little higher and started to roll over. Then I remembered! It was March 17—the day my family had been waiting for had finally arrived. I jumped out of bed and skipped down the hall, humming, “I Love to See the Temple”* to myself.
After breakfast Mom helped me into my favorite blue dress. Then I helped her dress my baby brother, Curtis, in his Sunday clothes. Today was not Sunday, but it felt just as special. Six months ago my parents had adopted my little brother. He was so cute. His cheeks were really chubby, and when he smiled at me without any teeth, he made me laugh.
Because my parents had been sealed in the temple, I knew that I was born in the covenant. That meant I was sealed to them. But because my brother was adopted, he wasn’t born in the covenant. Today we were going to the Logan Utah Temple to have him sealed to us so our whole family could be together forever someday if we live righteously.
When we arrived at the temple, Mom carried Curtis, and I held her hand. Dad carried three small suitcases. The grass was starting to turn green, and a few birds were singing in the bare branches of the trees. Right in front of the temple were some pretty yellow and purple flowers.
We walked through the front doors, and I felt a warm hug without anyone touching me. A man looked at the recommends my parents showed him. A nice lady led us down a hall to the nursery. My parents gave my brother and me a hug, and Dad handed my little red suitcase to the lady. Then my parents went to another part of the temple. The nice lady let me color a picture, and she rolled a ball to Curtis. He laughed. He loves balls.
After a while, the lady helped me change into my new white dress. Then we changed Curtis’s diaper and put his new white clothes on him. The lady said, “The temple is Heavenly Father’s house, and we should be reverent when we walk through the halls.”
“I don’t know if Curtis knows what reverent means,” I said.
She smiled and said, “Heavenly Father loves little children very much, and He’ll understand if Curtis is a little bit noisy.”
As we walked down the halls, I noticed the white carpet. I also saw some pictures of Jesus on the walls. It was easy to be reverent in such a quiet place. We came to a door that was closed. Another lady softly opened the door, and I looked inside. I saw my grandpas and grandmas and my uncles and aunts. They were all smiling at me. Then I saw my mom. She was dressed in white. She looked like an angel. She held out her arms and gave me a hug. Then she reached for Curtis and held him tight, too.
A man dressed in a white suit, called the sealer, greeted us. He talked about the blessings and promises we could receive through temple ordinances if we live worthily. The sealer then told us what to do. He blessed us by the power of the priesthood, and Curtis was sealed to our family. I looked up at my dad. There were tears on his cheeks. He took Curtis in his arms and held him tightly. Mom had tears in her eyes, too. She squeezed my hand, and I felt her love.
When we stood up, the sealer knelt down so he was just my height and asked me, “Do you know what forever or eternity looks like?”
I shook my head and said, “No.”
Then he told my family to stand together and look into a mirror. There was another mirror behind us, too. I looked, and I saw my mom holding Curtis and my dad holding me. I was surprised because I could see us again and again and again and we never seemed to stop. Then the sealer whispered to me, “That is what forever looks like.”
Now, whenever I remember that special day, I think about what forever is like. I imagine my family going on and on, always being together and smiling. I like to think about forever. It gives me a warm feeling inside.

I learned something of how prophets feel about those who may be left on the outside looking in — or in other words excluded. It is a simple story, but one that for me conveyed a powerful message. Some years ago I had been asked to make a brief report to the Church Board of Education regarding some things that were being done here to allow more students to attend our school. (I notice from a recent press release that you continue working to make that happen.) I made my report with some emphasis on how many fewer had been denied admission during the current year than had been the case for the previous year. It was a significant number, in the thousands. In retrospect, I think I may have sounded more pleased with that progress than I wish I had. As the report was concluded, there seemed a momentary silence, and then President Hinckley asked: "What happened to the "few" who were still not admitted?" His thought was not about the many who were in, but rather about the few who were not. With prophets as with temples the point is the inclusion of all who wish it.

The speaker that day, Edmond Lee, is a successful entrepreneur and the fourth of 13 children. He related the following story:
In the late 1960s Dad supported our family by working full-time at Boeing during the daytime and delivering newspapers in the early morning. He would rise at 3:45 a.m. to work the paper routes, return at 5:45, eat a quick breakfast, then drive us to early-morning seminary on his way to work. There was little time for rest. In addition to overtime work and the day-to-day demands as father of a large family, he spent two evenings per week serving as a stake missionary.
Dad’s modest income somehow met the family’s needs. However, by 1969, with three children serving full-time missions, two in college, and eight to follow, additional income was needed.
About this time there was advertised an opening for a part-time janitor position at the institute of religion building. It required evening work three nights per week. The Seattle economy was slow, so there were numerous applicants, all waiting in line for a chance at the job. Dad didn’t feel confident in his chances.
However, during his interview the institute director didn’t ask the typical questions. Instead he simply asked Dad to explain the circumstances of his life.
Upon hearing of the 13 children, the paper routes, the church service, and the added financial obligations of missions and college, to Dad’s great surprise, he was offered the job on the spot.
Additionally, the institute director made special arrangements to make the job a family affair. Instead of Dad toiling alone late in the evening, we would often work there as a family and do the job in an hour or less. Not only did it take less time, but the chance to work together served to teach us responsibility and to strengthen our family.
This institute director was none other than Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, now a current member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and former president of Brigham Young University.

Feeling good about yourself is very hard, especially for teenagers, since we are at an age when almost everything makes us feel different and awkward.
I did some things to help myself. I started taking ballet and jazz classes. I also turned to people I knew would lift me up and never put me down. I asked my best friend, my parents, and church leaders to write down a list of things they saw that were good in me, and I started working at improving myself in those areas. I started feeling better about myself and people felt more comfortable around me, so I had more friends and that made me feel better too.
Remember no matter what you or anyone else thinks, Heavenly Father thinks you are great!
Astrid Sieger, 15Dallas, Texas

Before my mission, I had things I, too, needed to clear up with the bishop. I was afraid to talk to him at church because I thought it would look obvious that I had done something wrong. So I called him at work and said I would be playing basketball at Mutual. I asked him if he could casually ask to speak with me for a minute or two. I remember now (two years later) the feelings I had experienced. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I walked out of my bishop’s office feeling much better.

Name withheld

“Remember a long long time ago when you were just a little boy?” I mused. “Well, you couldn’t, of course, because you were only about 18 months old, but it was the night after Robby was born in the old Dee Hospital on 24th Street. Anyway, you and I were the only ones home, and I guess it was about midnight or later. I came into your room to see if you were covered up, if everything was okay. The light from the hall was shining on your face a little, and there you were, wide awake, just looking up at me and smiling—like right now. So I sat down on the edge of our old rocker, and we looked at each other. That’s all we did. We were all alone, just looking at each other through the bars of that crib—looking into each other—for maybe 15 minutes. And you know something?” I paused. “That was one of the finest experiences your old dad has ever had.”
He looked thoughtful, frowned a little, but it was a pleasurable frown somehow. “I can’t exactly remember,” he said slowly, “but, well, I sort of do in a way, like I can still feel it.”

In early 2022, I was assigned to New Zealand’s Huntly, Waikato area. I’d been out on my mission for about a year by then, and was asked to train my companion, Elder Kafalava, who was brand new to the field.
One day, a recent convert named Brother Tengu wanted to do missionary work with us. I didn’t know much about Brother Tengu then, except that he’d only joined the Church four months earlier and he loved the Book of Mormon. We didn’t have any appointments that day, so we decided to knock on doors.
We found our way to the home of a certain man, a M?ori fella. He opened the door, and I thought he looked a bit—different. But we started talking to him, and at least he was talking to us.
He told us he didn’t believe in God. “I believe in soundwaves and frequencies,” he said and then showed us a range of musical instruments he’d carved and strung together into a necklace of sorts.
After a while I was discouraged, thinking, “Man, this isn’t going anywhere.” But Elder Kafalava continued talking to the man at the door as Brother Tengu stood nearby, holding a copy of the Book of Mormon.
All of a sudden, I received a powerful prompting to perform the haka for this man. “Give him the haka?” I laughed to myself. “There is no way I’m doing that!” But I couldn’t fight the impression, so I asked the man, “Hey. Do you mind if I give you the haka?”
After some hesitation, the man was amused. “Okay then. Go for it, Bro. Sure!”
“Just before I give you this haka,” I said, “let me tell you what it means.” I explained that it is our mission haka, that it reminds us why we preach the gospel. It describes missionaries as warriors of light, protected by the power of God as we share the sacred message of eternal life.
After I recited its English translation, I launched into it . . . and then there I was, all by myself on that porch—this white guy from Salt Lake City, Utah—fervently grabbing the sky and pulling it down to my chest as I performed our mission haka for a M?ori stranger.
I’m sure the neighbours were wondering what was going on. Elder Kafalava was too new to know this haka, so he provided moral support, but as I continued to pound my thighs and chant, I saw that Brother Tengu was now holding his Book of Mormon out—arm awkwardly extended, straight ahead—towards the man at the door.
I looked at our recent convert, thinking, “What are you doing? You’re ruining my haka.” Then I noticed how mesmerised the man at the door was, not by me, but by the Book of Mormon.
Sure enough, when I finished the haka, the man gestured and said, “So, what’s this book?” Brother Tengu proceeded to bear his powerful testimony. He talked about the oppressive darkness that once enfolded him so fully that he even considered taking his own life. He talked about the pivotal moment when a friend at school asked him if he’d like to meet the missionaries.
Brother Tengu expressed gratitude for those missionaries, but said it was the Book of Mormon—which he was still holding out in front of him—that truly led him to light. He testified that the Book of Mormon answered every one of his questions, that it brought him peace. “It saved my life!” he said.
In awe, the man at the door extended his own arm forward and asked, “Can I touch it?” And then, with his hand on its cover, the man began to pray over the Book of Mormon.
We left that copy with him, and as we drove away, I marvelled at how strange this day had been. If nothing else came of this encounter, it would at least make a great journal entry!
When we visited him again a week later, the man called out to us, “Hey, I got a question for you brothers: How do I get baptised?”
I was in shock. It turns out, the man had read the entire book of Alma, and Alma talked a lot about baptism. And now, “I want to get baptised,” he said, “and I want you to baptise me.”
I think back in amazement at that experience. We were only instruments in God’s hands, following the promptings of the Holy Ghost to go knock on a door, to open our mouths and to give a man the haka.
In turn, he was inspired to read the Book of Mormon and was converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ. The Book of Mormon is the true converter. It is what makes faith.
The man at the door was baptised two months later. He recently received the Aaronic Priesthood. This has been a testimony to me that conversion is a miracle.

The oiled-paper windows of the cabin were barely light when Clarinda awoke. Back in their beautiful New York home she would have snuggled deeper into the warm featherbed and slept on until Mother came to gently tease her awake. Then she would have run happily downstairs for a breakfast of ham, eggs, and hot biscuits with butter and honey. Never would her stomach have growled with hunger as it did now.
But that was a year ago, before there were so many things to be afraid of. Everything was different now. Hot tears pushed at her eyelids.
“You must be braver than that, Clarinda,” her father would say if he could see her now. “You can’t let your fears control you. Courage is what it takes.”
But that was the problem. She had no courage.
Beside her, Elizabeth and Baby Sarah stirred in their sleep. Pushing the quilts aside, Clarinda leaned over and peered under the bed, listening carefully. She heard nothing, not even her brother Jeremiah behind his corner curtain.
With the warmth of spring, rattlesnakes had suddenly appeared throughout the settlement. Sister Andersen had even found one on her table. Clarinda shuddered at the thought. She feared snakes more than wolves or Indians. When she was certain that nothing slithered beneath her bed, she stepped onto the hardpacked dirt floor. Shaking her clothes to get rid of any creepy-crawly things, she dressed, moved quietly to the fireplace, and stirred up the fire.
She was measuring the last of their cornmeal into the kettle when a loud rattling sound made her scream and jump aside.
“If I’d really been a snake,” laughed Jeremiah, tossing Sarah’s gourd rattle at her, “you’d be bit for sure, jumping like that.”
Clarinda ducked her head in shame as she felt a hot flush spreading across her face.
“Did you hear the wolves last night?” Jeremiah teased. “Sounded like they were right outside the door.”
When she didn’t answer he bent and kissed the top of her head. “You’ve got to find some courage somewhere, Clarinda,” he said gently. “It eats your insides to be so full of fear.”
“You want some breakfast?” Her voice was calm, but inside she ached with crying that hadn’t come out yet.
“No, thanks, it’s my turn at guard duty,” Jeremiah answered. “Besides,” he added, looking into the boiling kettle, “there’s not enough.”
“I’m not hungry. I’ll go without,” protested his sister.
Jeremiah shook his head. “We all did too much of that this winter. But don’t you fret. Pa’ll be back with supplies any day now. In the meantime, I’ll wash off some more roots and eat them.”
Clarinda followed him as he shouldered his rifle and unlatched the door. “Courage, little sister,” he urged. “The Lord will protect us.”
She sighed as she relatched the door securely behind him. In her heart she knew the Lord would protect them, but her mind couldn’t seem to shake loose the fears. It isn’t fair. Why does Jeremiah have all the courage while I have none? she wondered. Isn’t there some way that courage can be shared?
Bending, she rearranged the coarse rope stretched across the doorway. She had heard that snakes wouldn’t crawl over a scratchy rope. “It had better work,” she murmured.
The rest of the morning Clarinda was too busy to worry about her fears. She dressed and fed Sarah and Elizabeth, scoured the kettle and bowls with rushes from the lake, swept the dirt floor, cleaned the hearth, chopped more roots for a watery stew, and three times replaced the rope that Elizabeth kept dragging away from the door. She even became brave enough to open the door for some fresh air while she shook the bed quilts.
Clarinda’s family had left a beautiful home and struggled across the plains for this—a cold dirt-floored cabin. They had nearly starved to death during the long winter. Her mother, like so many others, had died from the hardships. Now, there was fear of Indians—and snakes!
Clarinda shivered. “Are you afraid?” Elizabeth asked.
“Of course, I’m afraid! Who wouldn’t be?” Clarinda grumbled.
“Heavenly Father loves me. I’m not afraid,” said Elizabeth softly.
Clarinda flung herself on the bed. Even her little sister had more courage than she did. When she finally stopped crying, Elizabeth was gone and Sarah was crawling toward the open doorway.
Frantic with fear, Clarinda grabbed Sarah, put her on a quilt in the corner of the cabin to play with her gourd rattle, and dashed outside. “Elizabeth!” Her throat felt so pinched she could hardly call out. “Please come play with me. I’m lonely.” Earnestly she prayed, “Heavenly Father, please let me find her before the Indians or the snakes do.”
Even before she said amen, Elizabeth’s head appeared around the corner of the cabin. “Here I am. I was hiding!” she giggled.
Clarinda was too thankful to scold her. “Come keep Sarah and me company, and I’ll fix you some lunch.”
Inside, Clarinda carefully latched the door and replaced the rope. Sarah still gurgled happily on her quilt. The sound of her rattle filled the cabin. But then Clarinda froze—there were two rattling sounds. One was Sarah’s gourd, but the other … she fought back the scream in her throat. Curled on the floor in front of Sarah was a huge rattlesnake.
She shoved Elizabeth across the room, away from the snake.
“Elizabeth, climb onto Jeremiah’s bed quickly!”
Even as she spoke, Clarinda moved quietly to the hearth and grabbed the fire poker. She would have only one chance. If she missed, the snake would strike Sarah.
Silently, she prayed for courage and a good aim as she swung the heavy poker … again and again. At last, she carried the lifeless snake, dangling from the poker, to the doorway and flung it outside, almost in Jeremiah’s face.
“What … ? How … ?” Jeremiah stood in the doorway, pale and shaken.
Clarinda was still trembling, but somehow she didn’t feel quite so afraid anymore. “I found some courage,” she murmured.
Jeremiah put his arm around her shoulder and held her close. “I knew you would, little sister,” he said quietly. “I knew you would.”