Gospel Story Finder

I’d like to tell you of a man that I knew well when I was in the government. He was head of one of the largest drilling companies in Canada. He began social drinking and continued until his friends were telling him he was an alcoholic and encouraging him to leave it alone. I was talking to him one day (I knew him well) after he had greater control of himself. He said, “I wouldn’t believe that I was an alcoholic until I found myself in the gutter. And then I went to Alcoholics Anonymous.”
I said, “Would you come and talk to my M-Men and Gleaner group?”
He said, “I’ll be glad to tell anybody if I can help them.”
As he talked to them, he told them how he had become an alcoholic, and then he said, “No man, no matter how well-to-do he is, can afford to take the first drink of alcohol.” He was fortunate in that Alcoholics Anonymous made it possible for him to cure himself.

During my first year of graduate school, I had an evening class on Slavic culture. On one occasion, after a day of intense study, I was hurrying to class to take an exam. Information, dates, and events were swimming around in my head. The closer I got to the exam, the more confused I became. On the way I happened to see one of my professors and asked him to clarify what for him must have been a very obscure matter. He looked at me and asked in a tone I still remember, “Is it important?”
Over the years I have pondered his question. It has helped me to distinguish the important from the trivial, to remember the important things and to forget the things that have little consequence or that would, by forgetting them, bring a blessing.

I wanted to feel the Spirit more in my life, so I prayed to Heavenly Father and asked how I could do that. I was in a quiet place and I opened the Book of Mormon.
I looked up “Holy Ghost” in the index. I found Alma 13:28, which says, “But that ye would humble yourselves before the Lord, and call on his holy name, and watch and pray continually, that ye may not be tempted above that which ye can bear, and thus be led by the Holy Spirit.” This was a beautiful answer to my prayer. The answer to my prayer was prayer!
As I tried to humbly come before the Lord in prayer and ask for the Spirit, I was able to feel it more in my life. I felt like I had more opportunities to serve, and I felt more connected to Heavenly Father throughout my day.
Even though this was a simple answer to my simple question, it helped strengthen my testimony that when we ask in faith, we will receive the wisdom we need from God.
Olivia T., 13, Hawaii, USA

When our only daughter, Lindsay, was young, she and I enjoyed watching movies together. One that we enjoyed immensely and watched together many times was an animated film called “Finding Nemo.” In this movie Nemo, a fish, is caught by a fisherman and taken from his father, Marlin, and put in a fish tank in a dentist’s office. Marlin is determined to find Nemo. In that journey he meets another fish named Dory. Obstacle after obstacle happen as these two try to find Nemo. On occasion the obstacles they faced were big ones. Dory’s message to Marlin was the same, “Just keep swimming --- just keep swimming.” Lindsay and I made a game of it and would try to sound like Dory as we said, “Just keep swimming – just keep swimming.” Several years later she was serving a mission in Santiago, Chile’. Missions are hard. Disappointments are many. Each week I wrote her a letter and at the end I wrote, “Just keep swimming, Love Dad.” She is now expecting her second child and recently found out that the unborn baby has a hole in his heart and has Downs Syndrome. Once again as I write her trying to help her get through a very difficult time in her life, I close the emails with “Just keep swimming.” I think that is a good message for you and me. Obstacles come into each of our lives, but in order to get where we want to go we must keep swimming. That’s life, also.

Several weeks ago I was assigned to a stake conference in Provo. The Sunday morning welfare meeting was scheduled to begin at 7:30 a.m., so it was necessary that I leave home about 6:15 a.m. Just as I came to an intersection before turning onto the on-ramp to enter the freeway, the light changed to red. As I stopped for the light at that early hour, now about 6:30 a.m., there were no cars in sight. Mine was the only car parked at the stop light.

The thought did cross my mind that if I ignored the red light, no one would be hurt or endangered, for not a car was in sight at that early hour. Nevertheless, I waited out the light change and proceeded on the green light. If I had turned left, no one would have known, but I would know that I was breaking the traffic code, and surely the Lord would know. I was reminded of the scripture which says:

“Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin” (James 4:17).

I was raised on a small farm in northern Utah. We were blessed to have enough land—not enough to make a living, but enough to make work for a young boy. My parents were good, hardworking, industrious people. In order to make ends meet, my father took outside employment. Each morning before he left for work, he would make a list of chores he wanted me to accomplish before he came home that evening.
I remember on one occasion one of the items on the list was to take a small broken part from our hay rake to the blacksmith shop to have it repaired. I was uncomfortable about going. My father hadn’t left any money, and I wondered what I should do. I put off going as long as I could. When all my other chores were finished, I knew I couldn’t avoid it any longer. Father expected the broken part to be repaired when he came home, and it was my responsibility to see that it was done.
I can still remember walking the mile or so to the blacksmith shop. I even remember how uncomfortable I was as I watched him weld the part. As he finished, I nervously told him that I had no money, but that my father would pay him later. I’m sure he sensed my anxiety. He patted me on the shoulder and said, “Son, don’t worry, your father’s word is as good as his bond.” I remember running all the way home, relieved that the part had been repaired and grateful that my father was known as a man whose word was as good as his bond.
As a boy I didn’t fully understand what that meant, but I knew it was good and something to be desired. It was years later that I recognized that a person whose word is as good as his bond is a person of honesty and integrity, a person to be trusted. In today’s world, there are some who think nothing of breaking their word, their promises, their covenants with man and with God. What a blessing it is to deal with those whom we can trust.

Gustavo: Claudiana’s illness hasn’t been our only rough patch. While we were dating, there would occasionally be moments of friction between us. One day we decided to sit down and have a conversation about the things we did that hurt or made the other uncomfortable.
This conversation made a huge difference because we became aware of behaviors we had no idea were affecting our connection. It’s impossible to read someone else’s mind, so it was important to be honest about what was and what wasn’t working in our relationship. As Claudiana and I continue to make our needs known to each other and ask Heavenly Father for help in overcoming our weaknesses (see Ether 12:27), we are able to better navigate conflict and disagreements.

My wife, Kate, and I are both in the medical field. After our marriage, we looked at our circumstances and began to think of how to share our blessings with others. We both worked in the state hospital as a medical doctor and a laboratory scientist. We realized that it would not give us the full opportunity that we needed to share our love with others. After much consideration, we established our own hospital, Ensign Hospital, which has become a great avenue to show our love to others.

It is in obedience to a divine thought that I now share with you a second experience, one that involves my son Sa’olotoga. We call him Sa’o for short. Sa’o is the second of my four sons, and he was born with many challenges, including being deaf and insensate. Though he was physically in the world, he was unable to move or hear or feel the world around him.

Neurologists taught us that we could help Sa’o by using intentional and consistent patterning. Each day, several times a day, I would hold a patterning session with Sa’o using exercises such as these: I would take a cup of hot water and a cup of ice water and put a metal spoon in each cup. Then I would say, “This is hot” and place the spoon from the hot water on the back of Sa’o’s wrist. The spoon was not hot enough to burn but hot enough to recognize the temperature. I would then say, “This is cold” and put the spoon from the ice water on the back of his other wrist. I repeated this pattern using textures, saying, “This is soft” or “This is rough.” Sa’o also had tactile sessions of massage, patting, scratching, and feather rub to help him learn how to feel as well as patterning sessions multiple times a day to help him learn how to move.

Now you might be thinking, Why did you need to verbally tell him what he was supposed to be feeling if he was deaf? I had the same thought when we were taught what to do for him. But I wanted so much to help him and didn’t want my skepticism to prevent his chances of receiving help. So I chose to trust that the medical specialists knew more than I did, and I faithfully followed their instructions.

At the same time, we were doing auditory patterning sessions throughout the day to help Sa’o hear. I would say things such as “This is a handbell,” “This is a sparrow,” or “This is a fire engine.” [Audio clips were played for each sound.] Incidentally, that is when I learned that this is a cougar [an audio clip of a loud meow was played] and this is a BYU cougar [an audio clip of a mighty roar was played]. We would ensure during each auditory patterning session that there were no other distracting noises so that it was easy for Sa’o to discern the sound.

Over time, Sa’o began to show signs that he could hear things. We first noticed it with his startle reflex. I still remember the day when he was about fifteen months old when he startled and cried because someone shut the door loudly. That was later followed by him looking in my direction when I called to him. And then one day when I said, “This is hot,” he reacted before I put the spoon on his wrist. We were able to stop with that specific patterning, but it was still several years before he fully developed the reflex to pull his hand away when he touched something hot.

Over the years Sa’o learned to crawl, creep, walk, and even run—well, it’s more like a trot. He is still nonverbal and has many other challenges, but he can hear and feel the world around him, and he communicates with us in many ways.

There are many truths that I have been taught by the Spirit through this experience. I’ll share just a few.

Once Trent had many friends. There was Martha, who raised hamsters. There was Tommy, the break dancer. And there was Bobby, who was always pulling surprises out of his pocket. Sometimes he had a rubber snake or a lollipop, and once he had a live lizard!
Now Trent had no friends at all. He and his mother had moved to a new city. The apartment house was full of people, but Trent didn’t know any of them.
“It won’t seem like a birthday party without friends,” Trent grumbled.
“Saturday is a long way off,” said Mother.
“But I haven’t any friends here.”
“Maybe you aren’t trying hard enough to make any.”
Coming home from school on the bus the next afternoon, Trent thought about what his mother had said. Have I tried hard enough? he wondered. What can I do? He began thinking of some familiar faces. There was the old lady who sat with her cat at the window of her apartment on the ground floor. There was the red-headed girl he’d seen on the elevator.
Trent looked around the bus. Wasn’t the boy sitting on the front seat the one he’d seen walking a dog the other day? And the boy sitting across the aisle from him got off at the same bus stop that he did. Trent mustered up his courage, crossed the aisle, sat next to him, and said, “Hi, I’m Trent Collins. What’s your name?”
“Jeremy Brown. You’re new at school, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” said Trent. “Here’s our stop.”
They stepped off the bus. Trent pointed to the right. “I live in the next-to-last building on the block.”
“I live around the corner on the top floor of that tall building,” Jeremy said, pointing to it. “We can see the whole city from our windows. If you’d like to come home with me, I’ll show you!”
“I’ll have to call and tell my mother. May I phone from your house?”
“Sure,” said Jeremy.
Trent called his mother, and Mrs. Brown spoke to her, too, saying that she was glad that Trent could stay.
When Jeremy showed him the view from the window, Trent exclaimed, “Wow! You can see the whole city. How tiny everything looks!”
“Use these,” Jeremy said, handing Trent a pair of binoculars. The rest of the afternoon the boys watched the busy city.
When Trent left, he invited Jeremy to come to his home on Saturday at three o’clock. Then, on his way home, Trent saw the boy with the dog. Maybe I should say, “Hi” first to him, too, Trent thought. So he walked toward the boy.
The boy turned his head and quickly walked away.
He’s pretending he didn’t see me, thought Trent. I wonder why.
On the elevator at the apartment house, Trent saw the redheaded girl. She was carefully carrying a white carton with wire handles.
“You must have something special in that carton,” Trent said.
“Fish,” said the girl, not looking up.
Trent’s mother was cooking supper when he went into the kitchen. “Did you have a good time at Jeremy’s house?” Mother asked.
“Yes, he’s my first new friend,” Trent replied. “But the boy with the dog and the girl in the elevator weren’t friendly, even though I was.”
“Maybe they’re just shy,” said Mother.
“I never thought of that,” Trent said. “May I make butterscotch pudding for dessert?”
“If you’ll go to the store for a carton of milk.”
The wind whistled down the street as Trent walked to the store. Walking toward him was the boy with the dog. The wind ruffled the pages of the newspaper the boy carried under his arm. Suddenly the wind tore the paper loose. It flew through the air, flattened against the wall of a building, then took off again. It swooped down and flapped against Trent’s legs. He caught it and quickly rolled it up and handed it to the boy. “Here’s your paper.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m Trent Collins. I just moved here a couple of weeks ago.”
“Hi. I’m Jimmy Boyd.”
“What’s your dog’s name?”
“Skipper.”
“I like dogs,” Trent said, “but they aren’t allowed in my apartment building. May I play with Skipper sometime?”
“Sure. I’m taking him to the park tomorrow after school. Do you want to come?”
“That sounds great,” Trent replied.
After school the next day Trent met Jimmy and Skipper, and they went to the park. They raced with Skipper and threw sticks for him to fetch. Then they played ball.
On the way home Jimmy said, “You’re a good ballplayer, Trent. We’ll have to do this again.”
“That would be fun,” said Trent. “Would you come to my house on Saturday at three o’clock?”
Jimmy said, “Sure,” and they said good-bye.
As Trent neared his home, he saw the old lady hobbling from the apartment, leaning on her cane. “Here, Kitty, Kitty,” she called.
“I’ll find your cat for you,” Trent said.
“Oh, would you?”
The cat’s probably raiding the garbage, Trent thought, hurrying toward the alley. He found the cat sitting on top of a garbage can, licking its paws. Trent picked it up and took it to the old lady.
“You must come and have some milk and cookies,” said the old lady. “I’ll get it ready while you check with your mother. Tell her Mrs. Grable invited you.”
Sitting at the table, Trent and Mrs. Grable got acquainted. “These cookies are really good,” said Trent.
“They taste better when you’re eating them with someone,” replied Mrs. Grable. “You’ll have to visit me again.”
Trent promised that he would and invited her to his house on Saturday at three o’clock.
Stepping into the hallway, Trent met the redhead again. “Did the fish taste good?” Trent asked.
The girl laughed and laughed and laughed. Finally she said, “They weren’t for eating. They’re my pets. I have an aquarium with lots of tropical fish. C’mon, I’ll show them to you. I’m Cindy.”
Trent told her his name, and she introduced him to her dad when they got to her apartment on the eighth floor.
“I didn’t know that there were so many interesting-looking fish,” Trent said. “What kind of fish are they?”
One by one Cindy pointed out the fish. “That’s a swordtail, a molly, a harlequin, a zebra, an angelfish.”
Before long, Trent could identify most of Cindy’s fish. When he left, he said, “Now it’s your turn to visit. See if you can come to my apartment on Saturday at three.”
“OK,” agreed Cindy.
At last Saturday came. Trent waited eagerly for the sound of their buzzer. “Surprise!” he said, greeting each guest and handing out party hats.
Jimmy and Cindy and Jeremy and Mrs. Grable were astonished. “We didn’t know that it was your birthday,” they all said. “We didn’t bring any presents.”
“Yes, you did,” said Trent. “You brought yourselves, the best presents of all. A few days ago I didn’t have any friends, and now I have you!”

My aunt went through a divorce when only her oldest son had been baptized. To maintain a peaceful relationship with her children’s biological father, she wanted to get his permission for their other children to be baptized. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t give permission for many years.

My aunt finally decided that she wanted to have the children baptized despite their dad’s not approving. But after my aunt and cousins fasted and prayed about the decision, everyone received the impression that they should continue to wait.

That same week, my cousins’ biological father told my aunt that he wanted the children to meet with the missionaries and be baptized. I still remember the joy I felt when my mom told me the news. I knew that Heavenly Father had blessed my cousins after many years of patiently waiting.

We may not always know when the Lord will answer our prayers, but I know that He always will. I don’t know why Heavenly Father wanted my cousins to wait to be baptized, but I do know that He blessed them because of their faithfulness.
Bre J., Florida, USA

My whole life I have read about people receiving answers to their prayers, and felt left out and different. It seemed as if everybody always got their prayers answered but me—until I had an experience that changed the way I feel about prayers being answered.
My seminary teacher had assigned us to write a letter to someone in the class about how important it is to read the Book of Mormon. That evening my sister and I were in our room, and I was trying to think of something to write. My sister was on her bed listening to the radio. She suggested that I could write Doctrine and Covenants 1:37 in my own words. I tried, but I was still having trouble. She asked if I wanted her to turn off the radio and go out of the room so that I could say a prayer. I said yes, so she turned off the radio and went out.
I knelt down and, instead of praying in my mind like I normally do, I said the prayer out loud. I think it is one of the most sincere prayers I have ever given in my life.
I asked Heavenly Father to help me know what to write and to be able to have the Spirit with me while I was writing the letter. When I was through with the prayer, I could feel the Spirit very strongly and decided to follow my sister’s advice and write Doctrine and Covenants 1:37 [D&C 1:37] in my own words. After I finished writing I decided to look for more scriptures. As I was looking, Doctrine and Covenants 6:15 [D&C 6:15] caught my eye:
“Behold, thou knowest that thou hast inquired of me and I did enlighten thy mind; and now I tell thee these things that thou mayest know that thou hast been enlightened by the Spirit of truth.”
I couldn’t believe it! I felt like that scripture was a confirmation of the guidance I had been given by the Spirit to write my letter. Through the scriptures, I had not only received an answer, but I had also been able to recognize it.

There is an old Welsh story from the 13th century about a prince who returned home to find his dog with blood dripping down its face. The man rushed inside and, to his horror, saw that his baby boy was missing and his cradle overturned. In anger the prince pulled out his sword and killed his dog. Shortly thereafter, he heard the cry of his son—the babe was alive! By the infant’s side lay a dead wolf. The dog had, in reality, defended the prince’s baby from a murderous wolf.

One evening I was working late in the Church Office Building. When I called for an elevator to go home, my mind was preoccupied. In my absentmindedness, I began to enter the elevator when a hand shot out to shake my hand and a voice firmly said, “I’m Spencer Kimball. Who might you be?” In my surprise, I could not remember who I was. There stood one of my heroes; I finally mumbled something vaguely resembling my name. When I think of President Kimball, I think of The Miracle of Forgiveness, I think of lengthening our stride, “do it now,” the priesthood for all worthy males, and, most of all, conquering adversity. He will always be one of my heroes.

While on a school trip to Las Vegas, my brother and I were wandering along “the Strip” looking for souvenirs and seeing the sights. We proceeded innocently into a large and impressive hotel, which, we discovered only after we went inside, had a casino attached. We had no intention of gambling, but everywhere we turned were opportunities to do just that.
We wandered deeper and deeper into the building, looking for a store with souvenirs we might be interested in. Built like a maze, the corridors of the casino all seemed to lead from one area of slot machines to another. At last we realized we were lost. The lights were dim, and we were surrounded by all sorts of flashy and offensive advertising. We knew that the buses to go back home would be leaving without us if we didn’t find an exit soon.
Finally we found a security guard and asked him about the quickest way out. He had an annoyed expression, but after giving a disgruntled cough he told us the way. The instructions were complicated, and we had to ask him to repeat them several times. Luckily, with his directions, we found a well-hidden set of doors which led out to the sunlight. We found ourselves on the main street and soon met our supervisors.

Nadene Thomas, who leads the mission with her husband, shared one such experience. Two sister missionaries invited her to meet with Susi, because, like her own son, Susi’s son was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.
Sister Thomas said, “I believe Susi moved her feet closer to God because of the heavy burden that she was now feeling daily, keeping her son alive. Susi knew when I looked into her eyes that I understood the gravity of her new caregiver responsibility. Diabetes never sleeps. We FaceTimed Zack who was diagnosed at age three and has grown into a strong and healthy young man. As he spoke of his zest for life and talked of future goals, Susi felt hope for the future.”
Sister Thomas continued, “We opened the Book of Mormon and I shared some of my favourite scriptures that carried me through the hardest years of my life. We cried together, we laughed together, and we felt the Spirit together. The words filled us because they are the Saviour’s words and we rejoiced that we are not alone.”

In another ward, the Relief Society sisters organized to help an ill woman while her husband was out of the home. She was a native of Thailand whose English language skills were limited. She had a disease that attacked every organ of her body. The sisters learned to operate the respirator. They bathed her, combed her hair, brushed her teeth, cleaned her house, and prepared meals as well. I heard this woman cry words of gratitude for the love and patience of those who served her.

Subhash and Roselyn Dass and their sons, Amit and Anand, wanted to travel to the temple to be sealed, but they couldn’t seem to save enough money. When Brother Dass was called as a bishop, he felt strongly that he needed to receive the endowment. The family had enough money for one plane ticket to Tonga, so Sister Dass encouraged her husband to go alone. “No,” he said. “We must all go together. The Lord will provide a way.”
The family fasted for the next two Sundays. At the end of the second week, Bishop Dass’ employer offered to lend him the money for all four plane tickets. “Going to the temple was the most beautiful experience we’ve had,” says Bishop Dass. “We know now that if we seek the kingdom of God first, the Lord will do the rest.”

I walked briskly toward the shore, swinging my pail. Molly had trouble keeping up with me. We were twins, but I was tall for eleven, and my steps were longer than hers, especially when I wanted to get somewhere in a hurry.
“Wait up, Paddy. You not be going to a fire!”
We were on our way to collect periwinkles that hid among the stones at the water’s edge. These we sold to Mr. Moylan. He, in turn, made a profit on them from customers in England and France who enjoyed eating the marine snails. In this way Molly and I earned our pocket money. I was saving for a bicycle; Molly, a fiddle.
“The carrageen moss,” she reminded me. “Let’s be getting that out of the way first.”
Our whitewashed, thatched-roof cottage on the west coast of Ireland was but a hundred yards from the sea. The red carrageen moss drifted in on the water, and all we had to do was scoop it up and stuff it into a sack. Mother cooked it with milk to make a sweet jelly pudding.
As we reached the shore, Molly said, “I’ve worrisome news to tell you, Paddy!” She pushed back her red hair and looked anxiously at me. “Timmy’s brother let it slip yesterday that Tim already had four pounds fourteen shillings saved for that bike of Gerald’s you both be wanting.”
It was bad news. I had just a little over three pounds put away. I couldn’t afford a new bicycle, and Gerald’s was the only secondhand one in the area at the bargain price of five pounds. In good condition, it was up for sale only because Gerald’s rich uncle, who owned a cannery in Dublin, had sent him a fine new bicycle for his birthday.
“I must get that bike, Molly,” I muttered. “I hope I find lots of periwinkles today for Mr. Moylan to buy.”
She nodded. “Me too.”
I really needed Gerald’s bicycle. Molly and I and out two younger brothers had only one bike between the four of us. This fall Mike and Dan would be going to school with us, and we’d be having to take turns riding it to school—two riding double and two walking. It was a forty-minute walk each way. If I got the bicycle, we could all ride to school.
“I guess you want a bicycle as much as I be wanting a violin,” Molly said as we stuffed the moss into a sack. “I’ve but three pounds twelve shillings saved, and it’s grateful I am that Mr. Healy is willing to let me have his fiddle for only six pounds. ’Twill take me a while yet to save it all, but there’s no hurry, since I can practice on it in the meantime.”
Molly took music lessons—her one luxury—and practiced faithfully on the borrowed instrument she hoped to buy. It was her dream to play in concerts—she loved it that much—and she seemed to have plenty of talent for it. If ever a girl enjoyed practicing her music, it was Molly O’Sullivan. I hoped her dream would come true.
We were very close, Molly and I. I loved my brothers, but Molly was special—not just because she was my twin, but because she seemed to understand me better than anyone else; and she had a sweet, loving nature. I never heard her fight with anybody. She was the peacemaker in our family.
Our sack full of moss, we fell silent as we concentrated on finding periwinkles.
Suddenly I glimpsed a claw and shouted, “Hey, a lobster!”
Lobsters were a rare find on our shore. With a stick I poked around under the rock until it scuttled out. I pounced on it triumphantly and dropped it into my pail.
“Good for you!” Molly cried. “Do you suppose there be one for me under that rock?”
I poked under the rock again, but with no luck. Then, glancing up at the sky, I said, “There’s a storm brewing, Molly. We’d best be leaving.”
“But I haven’t found enough periwinkles yet.”
“There’s no time now. We have to hurry.”
We scooped up some salt water into our pails to keep the periwinkles alive longer, then hastened to Mr. Moylan’s cottage. He gave us a few shillings apiece for our catch and a few extra for the lobster. Molly and I got home just as the storm broke.
That night, after a good supper of beef boiled with cabbage and potatoes—and carrageen pudding for dessert—I lay brooding in the big bed I shared with my two brothers. I was still one pound short of the money I needed. I knew I could make sure of getting Gerald’s bicycle by borrowing the money from my father. But Timmy and I were friends, and we had made a bargain. Since we both wanted the same bicycle, we were to save only money we earned ourselves. The first one able to pay the five pounds would get the bike. Gerald had promised not to sell it to anybody else. And now Tim needed only six more shillings!
Borrowing from my father would be cheating, but I needed that bicycle—not just to ride to school but also so I could earn more money for the things my father couldn’t afford to buy for me. I needed it more than Timmy did; he had only one brother to share their one bike. I wished I hadn’t made that bargain with him.
When I awoke in the morning, the bicycle was still on my mind. It was all I could think about as I harnessed the family donkey to a cart holding our water barrel. It was my job to get the day’s supply of water each morning from our well, which was some distance from the house. I had to pump the water into a bucket and then pour it into the barrel. It took many bucketfuls to fill the barrel.
If only I had a couple of hours all to myself each day for collecting periwinkles, I thought wistfully as I pumped and poured. But I knew there was too much work to be done on our forty acres of farmland. We all had our chores—chickens and pigs to feed, the cow to milk, potatoes to dig out of the fields, corn to cut, barley to bind into sheaves, turf to cut out of the earth for the fire, and more.
As soon as I could manage a break in my chores, I hurried out to where my father was reaping barley. Dad’s a big man and a hard worker, but he had hurt his back, and it had slowed him down some.
“Dad, might you be doing me a favor, I wonder? Like lending me a pound?”
“For that bicycle, Padraic?” My father always called me by my proper Irish name.
“Yes, sir. I’ve got to buy it before Timmy does, and he be needing but six shillings more for it, the last I heard.”
My father did not know about the agreement between Timmy and me. He would not have given me the pound had he known. “A bike of your own means a lot to you, eh, laddie? Wish I could get it for you, but I be trying to put money aside for some sheep. ’Tis hard enough to pay for your sister’s music lessons.”
“I know. But she’s deserving of them. Could you just lend me the money? I’ll pay you back from the periwinkles.”
“Very well, Padraic. Run along and tell your mother to take it out of the sheep money.”
“Thanks, Dad!”
I gulped down my lunch in a hurry that day so that I’d have time to go to Gerald’s with the five pounds.
I strode along whistling merrily, thinking of all the good the bike was going to do me. By getting home fast from school each day and having extra time for periwinkle hunting, I’d soon earn enough to buy the pocketknife I’d always wanted, the one with a nail file, a can opener, a tiny pair of scissors, and other useful gadgets. It even had a wee saw. A survival knife, it was called. It made my heart swell just to think about owning such a pocketknife.
But then a still, small voice spoke inside my head. Or was it inside my heart? “You made an agreement,” it whispered, “and now you’re going back on your word. You’re a cheat, Paddy.”
The cheery whistling died on my lips.
“How would you like it if Timmy had got the money from his dad and had already bought the bike?” the voice continued.
Not wanting to think about it, I shrugged and pursed my lips once more. But nothing came out. I no longer felt like whistling, but I pushed on determinedly.
“Listen, Paddy—”
“You hush up!” I yelled at the voice. “I be needing that bike more than Timmy.”
“More than your self-respect?” the voice inside me persisted.
“Hush up! Didn’t I tell you to hush up?”
“Just one thing more, Padraic O’Sullivan. Do you recall a certain scripture you heard in church last month? You even looked it up, remember? Hebrews 13:18.”
It came to me then, those words from the Bible: “… we trust we have a good conscience, in all things willing to live honestly.”
I caught my breath. It was almost as if God were speaking to me! Wasn’t the Bible His holy word, one way He communicated with people? I stood motionless, torn two ways. Finally I murmured, “Good-bye, bicycle.” Then I turned and started for home. At first I dragged a little. But with every step, my heart grew lighter. I returned the borrowed pound, mumbling something about waiting and taking my chances on getting Gerald’s bike. My father gave me a searching glance but asked no questions, for which I was thankful.
A little later I came across a tearful Molly in the barn. “What’s ailing you, girl?” Molly almost never cried. “Sure and it be not bad enough to cry over?”
“Yes it be,” she sobbed. “Mr. Healy sent word he’s moving to Dublin next week to live with his married daughter. ’Tis all so sudden! If I be buying his violin, it must be now. He’s willing to lower the price by half a pound, but ’tis still more than two pounds short I am. And if I don’t buy it, how will I practice?”
Molly tried to stem her tears, but I knew how she must feel. The price of Mr. Healy’s fine instrument was a bargain. With all the hard work and love Molly had put into practicing on it, she deserved to have it for her own. When you come right down to it, Paddy O’Sullivan, I told myself, she’s more deserving of that fiddle than you are of that bicycle.
“If it were just a few shillings, I’d ask Dad,” she went on through quivering lips, “but—”
“I’ll tell you what, Molly girl,” I said, interrupting her. “Let’s really rush and finish the chores today. If we get done early, we can ride double into the village to see Mr. Healy. And bring your money. Maybe something good will happen.”
At Mr. Healy’s, the amount my sister lacked I contributed out of my own savings. What radiance shone out of Molly’s face! Her joy filled my own heart. Surely this made up for the wrong thing I had almost done today.
“Oh, Paddy!” The happy tears in Molly’s eyes were replaced by a look of anguish. “B-But now you’ll be having no chance at all to buy Gerald’s bike.”
“Bike?” said Mr. Healy. “Be ye seeking a bicycle, Paddie? Well now, and don’t I just happen to have an old one sitting out back. You can have it for whatever it be worth to you. Come, I’ll show you.”
The bike was somewhat rusted and missing a couple of spokes, but a coat of paint would do wonders for it. It even had a basket! I handed over the rest of my money quickly, for fear the old man might change his mind.
“Thank you kindly, sir. Come on, Molly. Now each of us will be riding a bike home.”
Molly kissed the old man on the cheek. “I’m sorry to see you leave, Mr. Healy. I hope you’ll be happy in Dublin.” She planted a kiss on my cheek too. “I’m so glad for you about the bike, Paddy. And for myself to be having such a brother!”
I grinned self-consciously. “Turns out ’tis myself I did a favor for. When I came here to help you out, I had no idea ’twould mean a bike for me too. ’Tis almost like … like a gift from heaven!”

Young Men and their advisers from the Sacramento Seventh Ward, Sacramento California Cordova Stake, undertook a five-day, 206-mile bike trip from Lake Tahoe to Yosemite. The trip would take them over six mountain passes.
Eleven riders and two support drivers with vehicles for equipment, food, and room to carry injured or tired riders started on the trip. As they reached the top of each pass with burning lungs and muscles, they exulted in the beauty of the summits and the thoughts of a long downhill run.
Pedaling into Yosemite on the valley floor was one of the more memorable experiences for the group. Pride in their accomplishment combined with the knowledge that, with preparation and determination, they had an experience that will remain with them the rest of their lives.