Gospel Story Finder

There really are many young people who are ready to accept the gospel today and are just waiting to hear about it. Trevor, a friend of mine, probably would have accepted the gospel when I did, but I was too embarrassed to talk to him about it. He had asked about the Church when I joined, but I shrugged him off because I didn’t think he’d really be interested. After years of friendship, I finally asked him if he’d like to hear more about the Church. He said “Sure,” and after his first lesson with the missionaries he told me, “This is what I’ve been looking for all my life.”

“What’s the story?” Ed asked.
“How butter was discovered.”
“You said it was about a frog.”
“So it is. You see, a long time ago, a frog jumped into a bowl of cream that was left by a dairymaid to keep cool at the edge of a stream. All night long he paddled around trying to get out, and when the girl came the next morning to get the cream, it had turned to butter.”
“Was the frog still alive?”
“I don’t remember that, but since there was no cream to spread on the bread, the dairymaid used the butter. She was afraid she’d be scolded for being careless enough to leave the lid off the cream, but everyone said the new spread was better. ‘Betty’s better spread’ they called it and wanted her to make more.”

Our housing office received this letter in September 2004.
"I was a student at BYU-Hawaii 1979-1980, my freshman year. After school was out but before I returned to the mainland I took a case of toilet paper out of a supply closet and together with a couple of friends proceeded to "TP" the open air courtyard of our dorm, Hale II. I am sorry for my actions done at the time. After returning from a successful mission to Brazil, I went to BYU. Now some twenty years later here is the first part of my repentance process. In an effort to correct this juvenile indiscretion, I ask the University's forgiveness and I have enclosed a check to pay for that case of toilet paper, plus interest."

It is hardly necessary to comment on Paul’s sketch of celestial love in 1 Corinthians 13, or his fatherly concern for cooperating and rebellious converts alike. Joseph Smith’s life exhibits the same mature concern for others. For example, he could have escaped from custody at the beginning of the winter of Liberty Jail, but he would not for fear of reprisals on the Latter-day Saints. After their safety was assured by the dissipation of mobs and beginning migration, he tried three jailbreaks, all of them creative, but only the last successful. And at the end Joseph returned from the far bank of the Mississippi, observing that if his life was of no value to his people, it was of no value to himself. The historical documents surrounding this decision prove that he consciously placed himself in the danger of assassination in jail to keep angry troops from coming to Nauvoo to look for him and endanger his people. Time and again Joseph placed his safety second and the welfare of his family and Latter-day Saints first.

Because I live in Shanghai, China, I had the opportunity to go with a school group to Sichuan Province in southwestern China to help build houses for victims of the earthquake that devastated the area a few years ago. We worked hard laying bricks, shoveling mortar, pushing wheelbarrows full of bricks, and handing bricks down “assembly lines” of people. By the second day my back ached, and my gloves were filled with holes. However, the trip was an unforgettable experience for me and strengthened my testimony of my own and each person’s individual worth, one of the Young Women values.
As I worked hard each day, I noticed that my belief in my own worth grew. I felt good about myself because I was doing things to improve the living situation of those less fortunate than I am.

My son Tanner taught me this one day when he was eight years old. Tanner had decided to switch from skiing to snowboarding that year, and it was his first day on the slopes. Now, those of you who have snowboarded know that the first day is typically horrible and painful. In fact, most instructors say that you can’t make a decision about whether you like snowboarding unless you’ve tried it three days, because most people still hate it after the first two days. I still haven’t tried snowboarding, and I’m not sure I ever will. But if I do, I will have to rent one of those giant sumo costumes with all the extra padding just to protect myself from all the falls! I haven’t done it yet.
Well, Tanner’s first day on the snowboard proved to be like most first days—very painful and frustrating. Initially he started down the mountain with his older brother, who knew how to snowboard. But every two or three feet Tanner would fall down, catching a toe and landing on his stomach or sliding his heels too far and landing on his rear end. He was crying and yelling the entire way down the mountain! He got to the point where he didn’t even want to try standing up anymore; instead he just slid down the mountain on his bum. And after what seemed like two hours, he finally reached the bottom of the hill. He was exhausted physically and mentally. He was in pain, and I was very tired of dealing with my cranky son.
Fortunately we were staying in a lodge at the base of the resort, so we decided to take a break. I figured Tanner was done for the day anyway. So, after a good lunch and sitting around a bit, I was surprised when Tanner said he wanted to go out again. I asked him if he remembered what the morning had been like. But he said he wanted to try again anyway. I don’t know what happened, but that afternoon his attitude was completely different. He kept getting up every time he fell, and by the end of the day he could butter down the hill pretty well. And today he can carve a line down any hill his older brothers can ride.

Fifty-two years ago, in July 1964, I had an assignment in New York City during the time the World’s Fair was hosted there. Early one morning I visited the Mormon Pavilion at the fair. I arrived just prior to a showing of the Church’s film Man’s Search for Happiness, a portrayal of the plan of salvation which has since become a Church classic. I sat next to a young man who was perhaps 35 years of age. We spoke briefly. He was not a member of our Church. Then the lights dimmed, and the show commenced.
We listened to the voice of the narrator as he posed the poignant and universal questions: Where did I come from? Why am I here? Where do I go when I leave this life? All ears strained to hear the answers, and all eyes were fixed on the images portrayed. A description of our premortal life was given, along with an explanation of our purpose on earth. We witnessed a touching depiction of the passing from this life of an elderly grandfather and of his glorious reunion with loved ones who had preceded him to the spirit world.
At the conclusion of this beautiful portrayal of our Heavenly Father’s plan for us, the crowd silently filed out, many visibly touched by the message of the film. The young visitor next to me did not arise. I asked if he had enjoyed the presentation. His emphatic response: “This is the truth!”
Our Father’s plan for our happiness and our salvation is shared by our missionaries throughout the world. Not all who hear this divine message accept and embrace it. However, men and women everywhere, just like my young friend at the New York World’s Fair, recognize its truths, and they plant their feet on the path that will lead them safely home. Their lives are forever changed.
Essential to the plan is our Savior, Jesus Christ. Without His atoning sacrifice, all would be lost. It is not enough, however, merely to believe in Him and His mission. We need to work and learn, search and pray, repent and improve. We need to know God’s laws and live them. We need to receive His saving ordinances. Only by so doing will we obtain true, eternal happiness.
We are blessed to have the truth. We have a mandate to share the truth. Let us live the truth, that we might merit all that the Father has for us. He does nothing save it be for our benefit. He has told us, “This is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.”1
From the depths of my soul and in all humility, I testify of the great gift which is our Father’s plan for us. It is the one perfect path to peace and happiness both here and in the world to come.

Some 30 years ago, while working in the corporate world, some business associates and I were passing through O’Hare Airport in Chicago, Illinois. One of these men had just sold his company for tens of millions of dollars—in other words, he was not poor.
As we were passing a newspaper vending machine, this individual put a quarter in the machine, opened the door to the stack of papers inside the machine, and began dispensing unpaid-for newspapers to each of us. When he handed me a newspaper, I put a quarter in the machine and, trying not to offend but to make a point, jokingly said, “Jim, for 25 cents I can maintain my integrity. A dollar, questionable, but 25 cents—no, not for 25 cents.” You see, I remembered well the experience of three towels and a broken-down 1941 Hudson. A few minutes later we passed the same newspaper vending machine. I noticed that Jim had broken away from our group and was stuffing quarters in the vending machine. I tell you this incident not to portray myself as an unusual example of honesty, but only to emphasize the lessons of three towels and a 25-cent newspaper.

Just last year I decided to see how many residential dwellings were still standing from the period between 1950 and 1955 when I served as bishop of that same area. I drove slowly around each of the blocks that once comprised the ward. I was surprised to observe in my search that of all the houses and apartment buildings where our 1,080 members had lived, only three dwellings were still standing. At one of those houses, the grass was overgrown, the trees unpruned, and I found no one was living there. Of the other two houses remaining, one was boarded up and unoccupied, and the other housed some sort of a modest business office.
I parked my car, turned off the ignition, and just sat there for a long while. I could picture in my mind each house, each apartment building, each member who lived there. While the homes and the buildings were gone, the memories were still very vivid concerning the families who resided in each dwelling. I thought of the words of the author James Barrie, who wrote that God gave us memories that we might have June roses in the December of our lives.2 How grateful I was for the opportunity to serve in that assignment. Such can be the blessing of each of us if we put forth in our assignments our very best efforts.

Once while attending church in London, my wife, Marie, and I met a woman named Libby Casas from Maine. Because the Knaupps were the only people we then knew in Maine, we asked if she knew them. Her face lit up: “Know them? Wendy is my dear friend. She introduced me to the gospel!” Wendy had met Libby in a Laundromat—two mothers doing their family laundry—and shared the gospel with Libby just as we had done with Wendy in the train station. What first impressed Libby most about the Church was the power of Wendy’s personal example—as mother, wife, and human being. For Libby, at least at the beginning, Wendy herself was the message of the Restoration.

One year, my family and I drove to Tijuana, Mexico, to visit some members there and drop off some supplies at the mission home. However, once we crossed the border between California, USA, and Mexico, we got lost. None of us had cell phones, so we had no way of contacting anyone for help.
Finally, my sister suggested that we pull over and say a prayer. We all closed our eyes and bowed our heads as she prayed. When she finished, I opened my eyes and the first thing I saw was a taxi with a sticker outline—of the San Diego California Temple! I yelled out, “The temple!”
One of my sisters quickly slipped out of the car and ran up to the taxi, which was stopped in the traffic. She talked to him briefly and then ran back and said that he told us to follow him. We followed as he weaved in and out of traffic and through the streets of Tijuana until we arrived at the mission home.
This experience strengthened my testimony that Heavenly Father lives and is watching out for us. Praying faithfully as a family is the best feeling, and God really does hear our prayers.
Corbin D., California, USA

Not everybody glimpses the glory. Sometimes a lot of people just miss the point. Toward the end of the last century, a Reverend Wright was a leader in the community of Elkhart, Indiana. A man by the name of Professor Kelly visited him. Professor Kelly was a local teacher who was trying to raise money for research in technical matters, and he wanted Reverend Wright’s support. He said that if people concentrated their industrial and technical efforts, they could do unbelievable things to raise their standard of living. He outlined some of the things that he thought might be accomplished. He said that man could increase his life span. He could construct homes that provided unheard of comforts and conveniences. He might even fly like a bird someday.

Reverend Wright said, “That’s an impious thought! I’m not going to support this. Go home and pray for forgiveness. To suggest that man could fly like a bird is to defy the will of God!”

Reverend Wright had two sons—Wilbur and Orville.

Sometimes people don’t glimpse the glory. And sometimes they glimpse a counterfeit glory. They waste their lives searching for the seven cities of gold or the fountain of youth. They’re following an image. They search for fool’s gold rather than the real thing. They have missed the point.

Let’s hope that we can glimpse the true glory and catch the real spirit.

Your generation, and I hope my generation too, could live to see the second coming of the Savior. You may see times of trial that make crossing the plains or an ocean voyage across the North Atlantic look very mild. You will need to have glimpsed the glory to sustain you through such times. If you do that—if you have glimpsed the glory of the gospel, of the Second Coming, of the millennial reign, of the celestial kingdom—it can sustain you as you cross your plains and the dust rolls up in your face. You may have to bury your children on the plains or freeze your feet at Valley Forge or meet whatever your challenge is to be. You will have trials as every generation has had trials. You may have more trials than most generations. You need to glimpse the glory to sustain you through those times.

“I wanted to be Mary, Mommy,” Elizabeth said. “But Julie gets to be Mary, and I’m only the star.”
Mom smiled down at Elizabeth as they walked to the car in the church parking lot. “Well, dear, Julie is six, and you are only four.”
The edges of Elizabeth’s mouth pulled down into a frown. “But Julie gets to wear a pretty blue blanket on her head and hold a real-live baby.”
“Mary was a very brave and good woman,” Mom said. “I can see why you would want to be her. But I think you have the perfect part for you!”
“The star?”
“Yes. You see, whenever anything happens, you are the first to tell everyone. Just yesterday you ran in and told me that Mr. Allen had fallen on his steps. And because you were such a good helper by telling me, I was able to go over and help him into his house.”
Elizabeth grinned. She felt happy when Mom was extra-pleased with her. “But how is that like the Christmas star?”
“Well, many of the people in Bethlehem did not know that Jesus Christ had been born. The beautiful star sparkling in the sky told the whole world that the Savior had been born.”
“And the Wise Men saw it too!”
“That’s right. And even the people in the Book of Mormon who lived far away saw the star.”
“Wow! The whole world saw the star shining!”
Mom smiled at Elizabeth’s glowing face. “See, you do have an important part next Sunday. What greater message is there than the message of the Savior’s birth?”
Elizabeth sat quietly in the car, thinking for a while. Then she said, “Mommy, I’m going to practice smiling so big that everyone will see that I’m the Christmas star and know I’m happy because Jesus Christ was born.”

The most difficult burden I have yet been asked to bear was when my father was diagnosed with leukemia in April 2011. Upon hearing of his diagnosis, I felt the confirmation from the Spirit that his time on earth was coming to an end. He had been sick for some time, but we did not yet know the extent of his illness. He and most of my family remained hopeful that he would not die of this disease.

In the weeks that passed, as he became weaker and stopped eating, I felt prompted that it was time for me to travel back to Rhode Island to be with him. When I arrived, he was quite thin and frail and very anxious about dying. I tried to console him the best I could, but his anxiety regarding his impending death was strong.

I then felt prompted to ask my father if he would like me to give him a priesthood blessing, and—somewhat to my surprise—he agreed.

I contacted the local bishop and asked if he could arrange for someone to help me perform this ordinance. He agreed to do this himself despite his busy schedule.

In the blessing I was prompted to tell my father that he would soon be passing through the veil and that he would be reunited with family members who had already made that journey and who were joyfully waiting to receive him and be reunited with him. This blessing calmed my father greatly, and his anxiety decreased remarkably as he accepted the fact that the Lord was calling him home. He passed peacefully through the veil later that evening.

I was so grateful that this local bishop came to the hospital to help me give my father that priesthood blessing. I did not know him at all prior to this, but he responded to my call for help by performing this sacred priesthood ordinance.

In May 2010, over 1,200 youth from eight stakes in British Columbia and the Bellingham Washington Stake gathered in Vancouver for a temple celebration marking the completion of the Vancouver British Columbia Temple.
The celebration, titled “A Beacon to the World,” highlighted the land, history, and people of British Columbia. Part of the celebration included the youth’s guiding 172 of the area’s oldest Church members down to the floor for recognition. After dancing and performing music for the program, the youth closed the program by joining hands and circling around a replica of the temple.
Sabrina Blackmore, 17, of the Blackmore Ward in the Prince George British Columbia Stake, rode 15 hours on a bus to participate in the event. “This is the best experience ever,” she said.

Irene Kabongo (my co-host) and I were both invited to accept the assignment to present Rising Gen: Europe to an Area Seventy (Elder Alan Philips) who works closely with the Europe Area Presidency. At that point I had been developing the broadcasts for a couple of months with my fellow members of the Europe Young Adult Advisory Council but didn’t expect to be asked. I felt honoured, trusted, a little daunted, but excited to get to work.
Having never worked as an on-screen presenter before, I had to learn a lot of new skills quickly on the job (camera awareness, speaking clearly, interview skills, etc.). The hardest work, however, was definitely off-camera:
putting together an amazing team of videographers and technicians
finding the right people to interview both in and out of the studio
finding lovely musical items
prayerfully consulting with interviewees about what we should discuss in each episode
making sure that what we put on screen reflects Europe’s diverse nations, cultures and people
As both a creatively and technically-minded aspiring-architect, I loved the merging of creative and technical skills that a broadcast like this requires. I love being part of a major Church project which is distinctly European. Furthermore, I learned that I really love to interview people — connecting with them and drawing out their wisdom. Interviewing also reinforced my strong belief in the inspirational influence of the Holy Spirit. There were many occasions where I was blessed with inspiration as to what to ask, what to say, and when.
I have learned so much about Christlike love and conduct from the goodness of our leaders and their families. Up until this year, these were men and women whom I had only ever seen speaking on-screen at general conference, or from a distance at a stake conference. I have now had many interactions with them both virtually and in person, and I count them as some of the most wonderful people I know who want the very best for me and my generation.

Many of us are descendants of hardy pioneers, and we feel grateful and inspired by their faith-promoting examples of sacrifice. My great-grandmother Margaret McNeil Ballard recorded in her journal a pioneer experience of sacrifice that occurred when she was between nine and eleven years of age. She wrote:
“After landing we planned to go west to Utah with the Martin and Willey handcart companies; but Elder Franklin D. Richards counseled my father not to go with them. Afterwards, we were very thankful because of the great suffering, privation and cold weather to which these people were subjected. There were many of the company who were frozen that year on their journey. …
“The company we were assigned to had gone on ahead and as my mother was anxious for me to go with them she strapped my little brother James on my back with a shawl. He was only four years old and … quite sick with the measles; but I took him since my mother had all she could do to care for the other children. I hurried and caught up with the company, traveling with them all day. That night a kind lady helped me take my brother off my back. I sat up and held him on my lap with the shawl wrapped around him, alone, all night. He was a little better in the morning. The people in the camp were very good to us and gave us a little fried bacon and some bread for breakfast.
“We traveled this way for about a week, before my brother and I were united with our family again.”

A second quality was courage. The sisters had an opportunity to demonstrate their fearlessness in the face of physical danger almost as soon as they reached the Arizona border, where the principal obstacles were the crossing of the Colorado and ascending and descending the precipitous range of mountains called Lee’s Backbone. Many a wagon narrowly missed rolling down the mountain into the river below. Here is a typical story told by Harriet Betsy Cook Teeples:
“… when we were ready to go over the mountain called Lee’s Back Bone, we found the road up the side of it to be a series of stone stairs and so steep and high we had to use all the teams in the company to take one wagon up.
“It was one mile to the top, and on the top there was a dugway, one mile long and so narrow that the wagon wheels would be within six inches of the deep edge in places where we could look down and see the river five hundred feet or more below. We dare not have more than one span of animals on a wagon for fear they would go off into the river. I drove a gentle team around the dugway with my baby in my lap. When we got around this, there was a flat place where we stopped and locked all the wheels with chains in order to go down the other side. As I was the last to get around the top, my husband came and locked my wheels with chains to go down the other side, and said, ‘Now you wait here until I help the others down and I will come back and get you.’ I waited until the rest were out of sight and then I started down, and as the road made a sharp turn around a big rock the wheel stuck and stopped, but I did not want to stop there as it was nearly dark so I sat my baby down in the bottom of the buggy, got out, untied the wheels on that side, got in and backed the team far enough so that I could pass the rock by turning them against the hill on the other side, and I got out and tied the wheels on that side, got in and backed the team far enough so that I could pass the rock by turning them against the hill on the other side, and I got out and tied the wheels again, and went on all right. Just after that my husband met me and said, ‘How in the world did you get around that rock?’ I told him how I had done it, and he made me feel it was all worthwhile when he said, ‘Honey, you’ll do.’”9

Ted Jones grabbed the bounding basketball and headed back toward the foul line. If he made this basket, he’d go home. Glancing up, he saw Coach Turner watching him. Ted hoped that the coach had seen him at his best and would let him play sometime when it really counted.
Ted blanked everything from his mind but the orange rim suspended high on the backboard. He was short, barely five feet, and made his shots from the foul line by standing with one foot back and almost lunging forward as he used both hands to push the ball from his chest toward the basket. He did so now, and the ball swished through the net.
Turning to head for the showers, Ted saw his two best friends standing by the bench. The three boys usually walked home together.
“Everybody else is gone,” Danny said. “I don’t know why you spend so much time practicing every day. You’re too short to play basketball, anyway.”
“Yeah, and too skinny!” Keefus shook his head and then burst into laughter.
Ted answered good-naturedly, “You guys laugh now. When I’m the star of the Yellow Jackets, your tune will change.”
Ted loved basketball. Even though he knew he’d probably never be very tall—both of his parents were short—he thought that he could master one part of the game. Each day he stayed after regular practice until he made at least twelve foul shots in a row, and he dribbled over, under, and around all the obstacles he could set up. Ever since he’d gotten his first basketball the Christmas when he was eight years old, he’d made Danny and Keefus—and anyone else he could find—double- and triple-team him to try to get the ball away. He wasn’t fast, but he was quick and almost always got the ball to the open player.
“How are you planning on being a hero?” Keefus asked later as the boys headed for home. “None of us have played for more than twenty seconds in a game unless it’s been so lopsided that it wouldn’t matter.”
Ted answered, “Maybe it won’t be this year, but I’ll be ready whenever it happens.”
“I sure wish it would be tomorrow night,” Danny said. “We had such a lousy start this year that I never thought that we’d even be in the intramural tournament!”
“Yeah,” Ted agreed. “It’s down to us and the Panthers—but they’re unbeaten.”
“Boy, would I like to blow them plumb out of the gym!” Keefus declared.
“I’d just settle for a win,” Ted replied, turning up the walk to his house. “See you guys tomorrow night.”
Nervous tension was as thick as pea soup in the Yellow Jackets’ locker room the next night. The starters were pacing back and forth while the rest of the team exchanged teasing remarks.
“Hey, Michael!” Keefus shouted above the banter, “you’re gonna walk a hole in the carpet!”
Ted looked at the tall center for the Yellow Jackets. Michael was the team’s high scorer. They depended on him to pull them through.
“OK,” Coach Turner called, “gather around.”
The team, dressed in black and gold, huddled around the coach and listened to his familiar pep talk. When they ran onto the floor, the Panthers, in purple and white, were already warming up. Ted got in line behind Danny to start the lay-up drill.
“They look as sharp as ever,” Danny muttered, glancing over his shoulder at the other team.
Ted was determined to think positively. “They can still be beaten, though. We’ll show everybody how much we’ve improved in the last few weeks.”
The five starters formed a circle around Coach Turner for final instructions. Ted took a seat on the end of the bench as the two starting teams met in the middle of the floor. The Panther center matched Michael’s six feet, and Ted wished for the hundredth time that he were tall.
From the first the game was fast-paced and fairly even. By halftime it was evident that it was a shooting match between Michael and a tall Panther called Irish. There were surprisingly few mistakes, and neither team had gotten into the one-and-one bonus. The only problem was that Michael had three fouls.
The score at the beginning of the second half was 20–17 in favor of the Panthers. When the clock ticked down to the final minute, the Yellow Jackets were trailing, 44–42, and Michael had picked up his fourth foul. The crowd went wild when he stole the ball from the Panthers under the Jackets’ basket and stuffed it over the rim to tie the game.
The Panthers threw the ball in and carefully worked it down to their end of the court, obviously intending to hold the ball for the last shot. Ted watched in dismay as Michael hacked Irish on the arm just as the pass came to him.
“Oh, no!” Keefus said, groaning. “Now he’s out, and the Panthers have the one-and-one!”
Ted’s hopes fell as Irish sank the first foul shot, moving the Panthers ahead by one point. The second shot ricocheted off the backboard into the hands of a Yellow Jacket player. He moved the ball past midcourt and called time-out.
Coach Turner paced the sideline, rubbing the back of his head. Suddenly he barked, “Jones!”
As Ted yanked off his warm-up suit and joined the circle crouched around Coach Turner, the coach was saying, “OK, we’re going to keep the ball in Ted’s hands and try to decoy the others so that he’s clear for a shot at the free-throw line. Ted, if nothing happens by the time the clock is down to six seconds, shoot anyway and we’ll try to get the rebound. That means the rest of you had better be close to the basket—now go get ’em!”
The buzzer sounded, and the teams moved back onto the floor. Darryl threw the ball in to Ted. A Panther guard slapped at the ball, but Ted dribbled around him as if he weren’t there. When another Panther came over to help, Ted passed the ball off. It was quickly returned to him as the clock ticked down: ten seconds, nine, eight, seven, six … Ted took aim and let it fly. The Panther guarding him blocked the shot but slapped him on the arm on the follow-through.
Ted stepped to the foul line amid dead silence. Two seconds showed on the clock. The game was up to him.
I know I can do it, he told himself. I’ve been working hard for a long time for this chance.
He eyed the basket, bounced the ball twice, took aim, and pushed it toward the hoop. The ball hit the inside of the rim, wobbled around it twice, then dropped through the net. The game was tied! And, as far as Ted was concerned, the pressure was off.
Grinning happily, Ted bounced the ball, took careful aim once more, and put up his second shot. The ball never drew iron as it swished through the net. String music!
When the final buzzer sounded, Ted was swarmed by his teammates. Later, as they ran toward the locker room, Coach Turner shouted above the uproar, “I knew you could do it. After watching you practice extra every day, I’ve been waiting for the right time to put you in. It finally came.”

At the time, my 21-year-old daughter, KennaDee, was working in a Veterans Affairs (VA) nursing home. KennaDee loves to sing, and she did it often at work. She sang showtunes as the residents ate lunch. She also sang the official songs of the military branches they had served in and took requests during lunch (including a Christian hymn she didn’t know at first but learned for one resident).
One female resident had lived a life full of abuse. She was combative and would not let the caregivers feed, bathe, or dress her. She would fight against taking her medications and any kind of physical exam. One day, acting upon inspiration, my daughter sang her Primary songs from the Children’s Songbook. The woman calmed immediately. She showed a light of recognition in her eyes. The employees discovered that this woman would cooperate as long as KennaDee sang Primary songs. They could dress, bathe, and feed her and give her medications with little struggle or resistance. KennaDee even taught some Primary songs to the other staff members so they could help this woman when KennaDee wasn’t working.