Gospel Story Finder

President Boyd K. Packer illustrated this principle with his story of the little girl who prayed that her brother would not catch birds in his trap. After she prayed, she told her mother that she was positive her brother wouldn’t catch any more birds. Her mother asked her how she knew. The little girl replied that after she prayed, she had gone out and kicked the trap to pieces (see “Prayer and Promptings,” Ensign, November 2009, 46).

When I was recently assigned to a conference in the Mission Viejo California Stake, I was touched by an account of their four-stake New Year’s Eve youth dance. Following the dance, a purse was found with no outside identification. I share with you part of what Sister Monica Sedgwick, the Young Women president in the Laguna Niguel stake, recorded: “We didn’t want to pry; this was someone’s personal stuff! So we gingerly opened it and grabbed the first thing that was on top—hopefully, it would identify her. It did, but in another way—it was a For the Strength of Youth pamphlet. Wow! This told us something about her. Then we reached in for the next item, a little notebook. Surely this would give us answers, but not the kind we were expecting. The first page was a list of favorite scriptures. There were five more pages of carefully written scriptures and personal notes.”
The sisters immediately wanted to meet this stalwart young woman. They returned to that purse to identify its owner. They pulled out some breath mints, soap, lotion, and a brush. I loved their comments: “Oh, good things come out of her mouth; she has clean and soft hands; and she takes care of herself.”
They eagerly awaited the next treasure. Out came a clever little homemade coin purse made from a cardboard juice carton, and there was some money in a zippered pocket. They exclaimed, “Ahh, she’s creative and prepared!” They felt like little children on Christmas morning. What they pulled out next surprised them even more: a recipe for Black Forest chocolate cake and a note to make the cake for a friend’s birthday. They almost screamed, “She’s a HOMEMAKER! Thoughtful and service minded.” Then, yes, finally some identification. The youth leaders said they felt greatly blessed “to observe the quiet example of a young lady living the gospel.”6

I was outside playing with my sisters and brother. It was getting dark, so my mom asked us to go inside, and we did. Then my mom asked me to please close the garage. When I went back out, I saw our bikes and skateboard and a chair outside. I put the toys behind the gate and put the chair away in the garage where my mom wouldn’t hit it with her car. Then I closed the garage. I know that Jesus wants me to do service for my mom.

Robert Crookston, a young coal miner, waited eagerly for the passenger steamer to cross the Firth of Forth into Dysart harbour on a beautiful spring morning in 1841. He had walked from his home in Wemyss to meet a special friend: George Darling Watt, a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Robert’s local minister had been unable to satisfy his honest questions on religion so when his aunt and cousin in Edinburgh wrote to invite Robert to hear their minister, he readily accepted. He was thrilled by the preaching of Elder Watt and said, “I believed every word of it [...] I was converted on the spot and went the same night and was baptised in Duddingston Loch.”
Robert felt the sacredness of the occasion as Brother Watt disembarked. He said, “When he took my hand I felt that he was the only man that held the Priesthood on the north side of the Firth. [...] I rented a large hall for him to preach in and the people flocked to hear the gospel and nearly twenty were baptised then.”

Now 150 years later, the date is June 9, 2006. One more handcart company is leaving Iowa City.
This time the company is made up of about 70 young men and young women from the Iowa City Iowa Stake. Dressed in pioneer clothing, with their handcarts full of supplies, these youth are gathered at the Mormon Handcart Park just outside of Iowa City—the same place from which the first handcart company left exactly 150 years earlier on June 9, 1856. Looking west, they can’t help but think of the original pioneers who stood here so long ago.
After a long day of trekking through the hills of Iowa, the youth now have a moment to reflect on their experience. Emma Pauley rereads Ether 12, a chapter on faith that she remembers learning about in seminary.
“I don’t know if I could have walked the whole way to Utah,” says Emma, “but the pioneers were able to do it, and I know that it was because of their faith. All great things are done by faith.”
The faith of the handcart pioneers enabled them to respond to President Young’s call to gather to the Salt Lake Valley. Their example makes it easier for the Iowa City youth to follow the counsel of the prophet today.
One way young men like Kameron Hansen can follow the prophet is by completing the Duty to God program. As he explains, “When I think of the pioneers and their sacrifice, it makes me want to finish my requirements so I can follow the prophet too.”
Following the prophet is important to these youth, and they look forward to seeing him the following Sunday at a commemorative fireside. The chance to hear the voice of a prophet will be the highlight of the celebration.
The early pioneers must have felt this same excitement as they walked to the Salt Lake Valley, knowing that with every step they were closer to their leader and hearing his voice.
“It is like a treasure waiting for me at the end,” says Skylar Hansen of the Iowa City First Ward.
After walking all day Friday and giving service on Saturday, the youth are happy it is Sunday—time to listen to the prophet in person. Now seated with their families at the commemorative fireside, the young men and young women feel grateful for their new understanding of the handcart experience. The words of President Gordon B. Hinckley inspire them to continue the legacy of faith left by the handcart pioneers. He tells them, “We must ever look back to those who paid so terrible a price in laying the foundations of this great latter-day work.”

Joseph Smith’s life was an example of unselfish sacrifice for the gospel of Jesus Christ. Though the Prophet Joseph suffered greatly, he remained optimistic and overcame many persecutions. Parley P. Pratt tells of a heartrending experience of being with the Prophet in jail in Missouri in the winter of 1838–39. Those six months of suffering and confinement tutored this foreordained, preeminent Prophet.
In the jail the Prophet and his brethren had listened to the boasting and the despicable abuses the guards had committed among the “Mormons.” Finally the Prophet could abide their sordid cursing no longer. Suddenly, he stood and in “a voice of thunder” said: “ ‘SILENCE, ye fiends of the infernal pit. In the name of Jesus Christ I rebuke you, and command you to be still. …’
“He stood erect in terrible majesty. Chained, and without a weapon; calm, unruffled and dignified as an angel. … [The quaking guards shrank] into a corner,” dropped their weapons, “begged his pardon, and remained quiet till a change of guards.”
Brother Pratt writes further: “I have seen the ministers of justice, clothed in magisterial robes … ; I have witnessed a Congress in solemn session … ; I have tried to conceive of kings, of royal courts, of thrones and crowns … ; but dignity and majesty have I seen but once, as it stood in chains, at midnight, in a dungeon in an obscure village of Missouri.”

I remember distinctly the time and place I found my spiritual second wind, my more sure witness of the Book of Mormon. I was in Scotland in my first assignment as a missionary in a little town called Barrhead just outside of Glasgow. I had been challenged by a Scotsman asking me how I knew the Book of Mormon was true. It was at that point I realized I had never received a sure witness or even put the book to the test as Moroni challenges us in Moroni 10:3–5. You first have to have a sincere desire to read the Book of Mormon; then you study and ponder the message with real intent and pray in faith, asking the Lord if it is true—something I had not yet done.
It was later one evening as I was kneeling by my bed in humble prayer that I received a feeling so powerful, so sweet, and so warm that it was as if I had just reached the crest of a hill in my spiritual race for truth and understanding. The Holy Ghost bore witness to my soul that the Book of Mormon was true. Like my physical second wind, no one can tell me that I imagined this witness. It was real! I knew it, and no one could take it away from me. From that point on, I had no problem bearing testimony of the Book of Mormon, living prophets, and the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. I could never deny it!

“I didn’t really think I was on social media that much until I was asked to track my usage, and that’s when I realized how much of my life social media was consuming.
“As soon as I started really focusing on reading the scriptures every day, I felt such an eagerness to read the Book of Mormon, and I wanted to learn from it. As I read for 10 minutes each day, I became more and more invested in the stories. About halfway through I decided that, before I read, I would pray that I would find answers to my questions, and without fail I received those answers through the Holy Ghost.
“I know that God speaks to us through the scriptures and that the Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ. It can truly bless our lives through fervent and prayerful study. I am so grateful for the opportunity I had to participate in this, and I invite everyone to do the same. It was a life-changing experience.”
Sydney B., 16, Arizona, USA

By noon, the Columbia Ward was headed back from Nashville. But instead of going straight home, they took a detour to Lawrenceburg. The youth there wanted to return the favor of being invited to the hayride, so they had invited Columbia to a late afternoon picnic. While everyone was gathering at the chapel, the Lawrenceburg youth shared some of their thoughts about being a Latter-day Saint in Tennessee.

Paula McGuire, 15, talked about the closeness she feels in her ward and between the two wards.

“I love to be with the youth of the Church,” she said. “Other kids at school see us and think we’re strange to be so close. But in the Church you do seem closer. We really are like brothers and sisters.”

Regina Luker, 16, the Laurel president, told about her efforts to tell an atheist friend about the gospel. “It’s hard to get her to believe in the Lord,” she said. “But I obey the commandments, and I try to be a good example. We need to show we can be trusted.”

And Paul McDow spoke again, this time about teaching a lesson about the Church in his history class at school, about reading the scriptures, about saving money for a mission, and about living in the hills of Tennessee.

“I love it,” he said. “I couldn’t live anywhere else. The only thing that would make it better would be if there were more Church members.”

The youth from Lawrenceburg took the youth from Columbia on a quick tour of their town, then over to Davy Crockett State Park, where they ate fruit, sandwiches, and cookies. There was a short program, featuring Paul dressed up like a frog, “Davy Croak-it”; and by the time the sun set, the two groups went their separate ways, promising to get together again soon.

My father worked long and hard practically every day of his life. I’m certain that on the Sabbath he would have enjoyed just being at home. Rather, he visited elderly family members and brought cheer into their lives.
One was his uncle, who was crippled by arthritis so severe that he could not walk or care for himself. On a Sunday afternoon Dad would say to me, “Come along, Tommy; let’s take Uncle Elias for a short drive.” Boarding the old 1928 Oldsmobile, we would proceed to Eighth West, where, at the home of Uncle Elias, I would wait in the car while Dad went inside. Soon he would emerge from the house, carrying his crippled uncle in his arms like a china doll. I then would open the door and watch how tenderly and with what affection my father would place Uncle Elias in the front seat so that he would have a fine view, while I occupied the rear seat.
The drive was brief and the conversation limited, but oh, what a legacy of love! Father never read to me from the Bible about the good Samaritan. Rather, he took me with him and Uncle Elias in that old 1928 Oldsmobile along the road to Jericho.

Many teens volunteered to help others make the tour through the temple. Even though most of them had been on the temple tour with their families or with their seminary classes, they still found that helping someone else see the temple made the experience even better for themselves.
One group was asked to help the physically challenged American Fork special education seminary students take the tour.
Branden Madsen, 18, of the American Fork Central Stake, helped Natalie Shultz. Although Natalie couldn’t really talk to Branden, he said, “Her love and excitement were contagious. I had been through the temple four times before, but this was my best experience because of the sweet spirits of the special education students.”

Let me tell you about some people I know. One is a woman who served a full-time mission when it was not fashionable to be a sister missionary. She received no financial support nor spiritual encouragement from her family. Upon returning, she worked her way through college and graduate school, marrying when most considered her rather old. After her children were born, her husband lost his job; he has yet to find permanent employment. However, by taking temporary jobs here and there, including those the family could do together, this woman and her husband have survived financially for several years. The couple serves faithfully in Church callings, finding numerous opportunities to encourage and assist those who are in need. Whenever I visit their relatively small and humble home, I am struck by their simultaneous expressions of gratitude, peace, and joy and their enthusiastic pursuit of knowledge.

“Now, listen up, guys. This is the last game of the season,” Coach said. “We’re tied for first place with the Grizzlies. If we win today, we’re in first place. We can do it! Just go out there and play the kind of baseball we’ve been playing all season. OK now, let’s go!”
We huddled around the coach, listened to his pep talk, then broke with a big yell—it always gives me gooseflesh.
We were scoreless for the first two innings. Then the other team got two in the bottom of the third and one in the fourth, and it stayed 3–0 through the fifth. We were really down.
But in the sixth inning my dream came true. The Grizzlies pitcher was tiring, though I don’t know why—we certainly hadn’t overworked him—and walked the first batter. Then Tubby hit a line drive for a base hit. Tyler hit a long fly ball to center field, and the guy out in the daisies dropped it. I couldn’t believe it!
So the bases were loaded with no outs, and I was up.
“Stee-rike!”
I pushed my hair back up under the batting helmet and crouched lower.
“Stee-rike two!”
I hadn’t made the strike zone small enough.
“Ball.”
That was better.
“Ball two.”
“Ball three.”
The three-two pitch was on its way. I connected with a crack you could hear two blocks away! The roar from the crowd was like nothing I’d ever heard before. They knew it was a home run before I got to first base. I flew around those bases, almost catching up with Tyler. Thanks at least partly to me, we’d won four to three! We were the Bridgeville Little League champs!

It’s easy to get along with Grandpa. But my big sister, Stacy, gives me problems. Ever since she came home the other day with braces on her teeth, she won’t smile. And you can’t understand anything that she says because she won’t open her mouth enough to sound out the words.

Stacy is being especially mean to Grandpa. Mom told her that she had to have her teeth straightened because she takes after Grandpa’s side of the family. He does have crooked teeth that stick out a little, but I never noticed it until Mom mentioned it to Stacy.

“I don’t like wearing these awful things,” Stacy mumbled protestingly to Mom. “I’d rather have crooked teeth.”

“It’ll take a while,” Mom tried to console her, “but eventually your teeth will be beautiful, and then you’ll think it was worth it.”

“But they’re so ugly now!” Stacy wailed. She glared at Grandpa. He smiled back at her, but Stacy started to cry and ran from the room. Grandpa lowered his gaze, and he looked as sad as I’ve ever seen him.

I raced up to Stacy’s bedroom. “You stop being mean to Grandpa!” I yelled at her. “It isn’t his fault that you have to wear braces.”

“It is too. You heard Mom. Grandpa’s crooked teeth got passed right on down to me. I just hate them!”

Stacy’s bad temper went on for several days, and finally Mom told Stacy to keep her feelings to herself and to quit making Grandpa feel bad.

“Right,” I said. “He feels bad enough already.”

Mom told me to keep out of it, but how can a guy keep still when his best friend is being hurt?

One evening Grandpa stood out on the porch with his thumbs in his braces, leaning against the porch post. He didn’t joke with me as he usually does. I didn’t see how all that thinking could do any good. After all, how can you change what has already been passed down to your grandchildren?

“Don’t fret about it, Grandpa. Stacy’s just a big baby,” I said to him. “She doesn’t mean what she says.”

“It does seem unfair, I guess, to a girl Stacy’s age,” Grandpa said.

“But you can’t do anything, Grandpa. Why worry over it?”

“A body can always do something, Son.”

Well, I put the whole bunch of nonsense out of my head for a while. Then one day the telephone rang. It was Grandpa, and he told me to gather everybody into the living room. He was coming home in a few minutes, and he had a surprise for us.

I bet he bought us all ice cream, I thought. What with Stacy being told not to eat gum and candy on account of her braces, ice cream was about the only thing she really loved that she could still eat.

Anyway, I did what Grandpa said, and told everyone to sit down and wait. Naturally Stacy started grumbling, but a couple of warning looks from Mom settled her down.

I watched out the window, and when I saw Grandpa coming, he seemed a lot happier than he’d been in a long time. But he wasn’t carrying anything—not a package or a grocery bag or anything!

It seemed forever before he came through the front door. When he did, he just stood there and looked at each one of us. I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Come on, Grandpa! What’s your surprise? We’ve been waiting and waiting!”

Finally Grandpa looked straight at Stacy. I looked at Stacy, too, and suddenly her mouth dropped open and her eyes got big and round. I looked back at Grandpa. He was smiling wide—and his smile was all covered with metal! Grandpa was wearing braces! Not just his trousers braces, but braces on his teeth, just like Stacy’s!

Now, what happened next I will never figure out. Stacy’s face kind of crumpled, and she started to cry. She ran to Grandpa and threw her arms around him, and Mom and Dad laughed and wiped their eyes. Me, I was glad to see Grandpa smiling again, and I couldn’t help it if I got something in my eyes, too, could I?

Grandpa explained that he’d always wanted to get his teeth straightened and that if Stacy was brave enough to do it, so was he.

The best part is that I think that Stacy finally knows that Grandpa is her best friend too!

Let me illustrate with one last story. In the summer of 1842, the British Government produced a report on the appalling conditions for the children of very young ages who were working in the English coal mines of the Industrial Revolution. The report is an extremely weighty one, running to hundreds of pages. It includes interviews with many of the children who suffered unbelievable conditions as they worked in almost total darkness to help eke out a living for their families.

I want to read you an extract in the report, the testimony of one boy who began working in the mines at the age of 8. This is what he said in 1841 when he was questioned about his work. The language is in places obsolete and the occupational terms unfamiliar, but you’ll get the gist of it.

“I became a door keeper on the barrow-way four years ago. I got up at four o’clock, took breakfast, walked to the pit by half past four; began work at five. I had no candles allowed at all, except my father gave me any; he gave me four, which burnt about five hours, and I sat in darkness the rest of the time….I used to sleep; I could not keep my eyes open. The overman used to bray us with the yard wand; he used to leave the marks; I used to be afraid. The putters sometimes thumped me for being asleep….We loose at five and come home. I got my dinner, washed; I took off all my clothes, and then went to bed about eight. I did not go out to play; the more we play, the more we sleep in the pit.”

That testimony was given by 12-year-old John Otterson. The father he refers to and who gave him four candles each day, was my 3rd great grandfather, Nicholas Otterson. Not surprisingly, that 12 year old boy didn’t want the life of a miner. Instead, he joined the Royal Navy where he served on a man of war – not in itself an easy life either, by the way. His wife died young, but he remarried and moved to the great English naval port of Portsmouth. He was 81 when he died - from a fall down the stairs of his home. And everything I have just told you came from the Internet.

I'd like to share another example. There was a young mother that came in and confessed to having had an abortion three years previously. Her soul had been “racked with torment” for three years! It was not a fun experience for her to bare her soul, and go through the painful process of repentance. But, the same thing happened to her that happened to Alma the Younger. He said (as I quoted before) and this sister felt, “I could remember my pain no more; yea, I was harrowed up by the memory of my sins no more. And oh, what joy, and what marvelous light I did behold; yea, my soul was filled with joy as exceeding as was my pain!” (Alma 36:19-20).

This courageous young Mom shared later, that she had finally been able to sleep peacefully through the night, for the first time in three years! She did not forget the sin, but she was not “harrowed up by the memory” of her sins anymore! Young people, and us older ones, if we truly want happiness and joy in our lives, we must repent of our sins. It will not be “fun;” but it is essential to enjoying true happiness.

After the war, her family rebuilt their lives. One day, Vinca and her parents were staying in a summer home in Aarhus in Jutland. There they happened to meet a pair of missionaries, who were seeking a place to stay. The young men were so kind and friendly, Vinca’s parents agreed to let them board in the guest quarters.
“I attended church with them for a short time,” Vinca recalls, “but my family wasn’t really into religion at all. My father was of Jewish descent, and my mother was Lutheran, but we weren’t raised in a religion. And then I had to return to school.”
The missionaries later visited her briefly in Copenhagen. Although Vinca enjoyed the visit, she was not yet ready to accept the gospel.
“I moved to Salt Lake City around 1950,” Vinca says. “I was a nurse, but I had to renew my certificate to practice in the U.S.”
The move gave her a chance to learn English better. It also gave her another opportunity to learn about the Church. She lived in the Beehive House and worked at a doctor’s office across the street. She also played the cello in the Utah Symphony and made a number of good friends.
“I attended church with them too. And I walked on Temple Square during my lunch hour every day. But I still thought of religion as something you could decide to make a part of your life as you liked.”
After two years in Salt Lake, Vinca moved to Sacramento, California, USA, and lived for a short time with the family of one of the missionaries who had taught her in Denmark. When she made enough money as a surgical nurse to support herself, she moved out on her own. She and the missionary dated and eventually became engaged.
“Things didn’t work out,” Vinca recalls, and when they broke off their engagement, she moved on, losing touch with Church members.
Not long after, Vinca met Ward, a dentist and oral surgeon who was born and raised in Sacramento. He was a strong, handsome man who had served as a navy officer during the war. Though 11 years older than Vinca, he swept her off her feet, and the two were married in 1954.
They bought a home not far from his practice. Though they could not have children, they had a wonderful, loving marriage. They worked, they traveled, he painted, and she continued to play her music. Life was good for many years.
Ward passed away in 1985. Vinca lived on in their home until about 1999, when she started feeling anxious to move. Her home was large, more than she needed, and she felt a desire for change. She discovered a small town that suited her in Haines, Alaska. She retired there, and so things would have ended if the missionaries had not come knocking on her door once more in 2006.
At last, after many chances and many years, the timing was right.
“I never really had known much about religion,” Vinca says, “but I knew some things that made me ask questions, things that disappointed me or seemed strange.
“When I learned about this gospel, everything just made sense: the plan of salvation, what is expected of us, the promises made, the Book of Mormon. I like especially the Church doctrine of temple work for those who pass away who have not been introduced to the gospel. I felt at ease about it; it was something I could accept because it was clear and open to me, like coming home.
“I finally did what I should have done a long time ago. I don’t know why it took me so long. I had met a lot of wonderful people, and they all had some influence in my decision to join the Church. It did take years, but getting baptized was the best thing I ever did.”
Vinca was baptized on October 14, 2006—on her husband’s birthday. Just a year later, she attended the temple for the first time and was sealed to Ward (by proxy) for time and all eternity. For Vinca, the experience of attending the temple and of being sealed to the love of her life “was unbelievable, beautiful.”
Having gained this supernal blessing of being sealed to her beloved husband, Vinca desires now to share temple blessings with her relatives. Though she is 86 years old and suffers from kidney failure, she is motivated.
“I hope my husband and his parents and my parents and my own brothers and sisters will accept the gospel. I have a lot of temple work to get done.
“One of my main projects in life now is to do as much temple work as I can, as much genealogy as possible. I feel I have a reason for living here. Even if I live to be 100, it’s all right. I have things to do now. It feels good, really, to be able to do it.”
As Vinca turns her gaze back to her house to head inside, she is filled with the hope that comes from the gospel of Jesus Christ. Being a member of this Church “has been a blessing in so many countless ways. You feel peace of mind. You feel stronger. When things are absolutely gorgeous, you feel, ‘Oh boy, this is heaven.’ It makes you feel grateful for living.”
Vinca lives with a grateful heart—because the fire of the gospel and the hope of eternities with her loving husband burns bright within her.

During this difficult period, Jirí and Olga sought legal permission many times to leave their homeland, citing religious persecution. But their requests only triggered new interrogations and further persecution. Since there was no private enterprise in Czechoslovakia, Jirí was a government employee, devoting his career to agricultural and water research. His own supervisors were summoned by Communist leaders and were told to financially punish him. “Heavenly Father protected us,” says Jirí. “Our bosses were our good friends, so we weren’t harmed financially.”

In 1968 they abandoned their efforts to leave Czechoslovakia. “We felt we needed to stay in our homeland because our brothers and sisters would need us,” Jirí says. “We couldn’t leave them.”

When I was a young mother of several small children, at the end of days filled with diapering, dish washing, and disciplining, no one sang more emphatically the Primary song “I’m so glad when daddy comes home.” I’m sad to admit, however, I was not always cheerful when Craig seemed to bounce through the door after a hard day of work. He always greeted each of us with a hug and kiss and turned many difficult and sometimes disastrous days into delightful daddy times. I wish I had been a little less preoccupied with the endless list of to-dos still to be done and had more wisely focused, like he did, on things that mattered most. I would have stopped more often and enjoyed sacred family time and would have thanked him more often for blessing our lives!

Some time ago when my youngest daughter was faced with the reality of attending a different school, she looked forward to the new experience with the usual anxieties and concerns.
Before the long-awaited day arrived, a special evening was planned to help give her spiritual comfort and guidance. As she retired to her bed, seemingly all was well. But about an hour later she appeared at my study and said, “Dad, I don’t feel well.”
I went back and rested on the bed with her and gave what fatherly counsel I could to reassure her. Finally she fell asleep.
The next morning she appeared at breakfast and said, “Dad, I don’t think I had better go to school today.”
I said, “Why not?”
She said, “I think I am going to get sick.”
Somewhat reluctantly, she later agreed to have me drive her to school. As we got in front of the school building, tears started to come into her eyes. After we had gotten out of the car and walked about ten feet, she grabbed hold of my leg. She looked up at me and said, “Dad, if you really love me, don’t send me in there.”
I said, “Honey, this may be beyond your comprehension, but it’s because I do love you that I am taking you in there.”
Inside the building, she grabbed hold of my other leg and held on. Numerous students came and went, and suddenly the little miracle happened that changed everything: There came a delightful, wonderful friendshipper, a fellowshipper who knew how to lose herself in serving others, who would act upon the admonishment of the Savior to strengthen her friends. With the exuberance of youth, this little girl said, “Kellie, how are you?”
“Fine.”
“Which is your homeroom?”
Kellie told her.
“Tremendous, I had that homeroom last year. Come on, I’ll take you to it.”
And before Kellie knew it, she had let go of my leg and walked about ten paces away. Then she realized what she had done. She looked back and said, “Oh, Dad, you can go now; I don’t need you anymore.”
Thank God for the little people as well as the big people who know how to friendship and fellowship.