Gospel Story Finder

One young man changed forever my feelings about the value of that gift, and what it means to be a child of promise. Bob Allen was an undergraduate at Stanford University when I was his bishop. He left his schooling to serve a mission in Japan. He came back to school, took up his studies, and lived in a world of too many demands and too little time.
One day I was sitting at my desk in the graduate school of business at Stanford. I looked up and saw two people. I remember that their faces seemed to shine. Suddenly, Bob Allen stepped between them and, smiling as broadly as they were, said, “These are two new bishops from Japan.” They could speak little English, but I could tell they loved Bob Allen and, because of something he must have told them, they loved me. I thought then, as I have many times since, how remarkable it was that he had found time to spend days with those young men from Japan.
I spoke in a sacrament meeting in Tokyo ten years later. The person who had introduced me mentioned that I had been at Stanford. Two young people, a couple, rushed to me after the meeting and said, “Did you know Bob Allen? We love him.”
Later I was in Tokyo again. Of all the excellent presentations made to me, one seemed most remarkable. I asked to see the man who had made it. He was introduced and then said, “We have met before, at Stanford University.” He was the young man, now older, who had stood with his fellow bishop in my office door. He told me about his life, and the life of the other man, now a great leader in Japan. In that moment, I learned again, in my heart as well as my head, what it means to have a royal inheritance of time, and how a child of promise, who believes the promises, can invest it to produce returns for eternity.

Marny and Nancy attend early-morning seminary with one other student. It’s at 6:30 in the morning, and they have evolved a creative way of dealing with the early hour. They arrive at seminary with their hair undone, their makeup unapplied, wearing sweat suits or whatever else they can throw on. Then, after seminary, they both go to Nancy’s house, where they shower and dress for school.
Melissa attends a once-a-week seminary class, doing the rest of the work through home study. Both classes are taught by a Sister Babcock who is, by all accounts, a real ball of fire. She used to be a champion sprinter, and she still keeps things moving fast. “We never fall asleep in her lessons no matter how tired we are. She makes it so interesting, and she’s so enthusiastic. It gives you a real boost. We also have Mutual, and that helps. But I especially look forward to Sundays. Sunday is WOW! Supercharge! You come home from church a mile high! Getting together with LDS friends has the same effect. It’s like being in a desert and seeing water. ‘A Mormon! Talk to me!’”

Then there is the example of two young men not too many years ago-before you were born, maybe even a little before I was born—but not too many years ago. Two young Mexicans down in Mexico gave their lives rather than deny the faith. Many of you have perhaps seen the film produced here on campus, And Should We Die. Let me just read a couple of passages from that film:
The two young Mexicans talk together about what they will do if they really are to be killed for their religion.
Elder Monterrey says, “I have a good wife and children. I would love to see them grow tall, but the Lord has given me a testimony, and to deny it would be worse than death.”
His companion speaks of how much joy he has found since joining the Church. He says he does not want to die, but he could never deny the faith that had brought him so much happiness. They pray for strength and ask the Lord to bless their families, ending with “Thy will be done.”
The two young men are marched out into a field by Pancho’s men with guns, followed by a number of women and a few men and children. Monterrey’s wife falls on her knees beside the leader and begs for her husband’s life. He tells her, “I have offered them life. It is their decision.” He then gives them one last opportunity to give up their religion.
Elder Monterrey answers, “We cannot deny Jesus Christ nor the testimony we have of the truth.”
They are then asked if they have a last request. Elder Monterrey says, “Yes. We would like to pray.”
The leader says, “Well, pray and get it over with.”
The elder says, “Our Father in heaven, we approach thee in the final moments of our lives. Bless us with strength, and forgive these men who are about to take our lives. Bless our families with health and strength that they may live good lives.” His mother and wife stand together, watching, as the guns are fired and the two men drop dead.
These men exemplified honesty, integrity of the soul, integrity of the heart, integrity of the intellect.

Erin’s grandmother lived in the country in an old-fashioned house. When Erin spent the night there, her bed was covered with fluffy fat quilts, and she could look out the window at millions of tiny twinkling stars. A big grandfather clock always ticked off the minutes and bonged out the hours.
In the mornings Grandma made warm slices of bread all buttered and sprinkled with sugar for Erin. Then Grandma always hugged her and said, “Bless your heart.”
One morning Erin’s mother told her that Grandma was going to move.
“Move!” Erin said, not understanding how Grandma could do that.
“Yes. She’s moving to an apartment in the city,” Mother explained. “Won’t that be nice?”
Erin didn’t say anything. She didn’t think it was nice at all. She was sure an apartment would not have hiding places under the stairs or a big pantry full of fruit smells or a table that could open up so big that twenty people could sit around it or a dark mysterious broom closet.
Erin went to her room to think, and the more she thought about it, the more she didn’t want Grandma to move.
A few days later Erin’s mother said, “We’re going to Grandma’s for dinner. You can wear your new dress.”
Erin didn’t want to wear her new dress. She wanted to wear the old faded jeans she always wore to Grandma’s so she could ride on the rocking horse in Grandma’s basement. She wanted everything to be just as it always had been.
Erin was unhappy all morning. When she climbed into the car and her father headed in the opposite direction to Grandma’s farm, Erin could hardly hold back the tears. She was afraid Grandma would be as different as her new house.
Father drove the car through the big city and stopped in front of a tall building and parked his car. When Erin got out of the car and stood on the sidewalk, she looked up. The tops of the buildings were hidden in the clouds. Looking up made her dizzy.
When they went inside the big building, Father pressed a button on the wall and suddenly Erin heard Grandma’s voice coming out of a little box.
“Hello,” she said.
Father answered by telling Grandma they had arrived.
“Come right up,” Grandma’s voice replied.
Erin and Mother and Father stepped into an elevator that went so fast Erin’s stomach felt quivery. The elevator stopped on the twenty-ninth floor. They stepped out onto a carpet so thick that Erin’s feet didn’t make any noise at all as they walked down a long hall.
Erin’s father pushed a button by the door. When Grandma opened the door, she hugged Erin, pulled her inside, and showed her all around the apartment.
“It’s very nice, Grandma,” Erin said politely. But she felt lost and sad. Nothing was the same as it used to be.
Suddenly there was a loud buzz and Grandma said, “When people are downstairs, I can talk to them from way up here. Do you want me to show you?”
She brought a stool for Erin to stand on and showed her how to press the button to talk. A delivery man downstairs had some flowers for Grandma. When he got off the elevator on the twenty-ninth floor, Erin looked at him through a little peephole in Grandma’s door.
“You can see out,” Grandma explained, “but he can’t see in.”
Erin liked the mysterious hole in the door until she thought about Grandma’s door in the country with its stiff scratchy lace curtains and a big china knob. Erin missed that door.
Soon Grandma said it was time to wash for dinner. Erin went into the bathroom and switched on the light. It was the brightest light she had ever seen and it seemed to warm the whole room.
I’d like to take a bath and then stand under that light, Erin thought. It would make me feel good.
After dinner Grandma said, “Now you must let Erin stay with me tonight. I have everything ready for her in the extra bedroom.”
After Erin’s parents left, she watched television for a while, answered the door buzzer twice, and helped Grandma put the dishes in the dishwasher. Then Erin lay on Grandma’s soft deep living room rug and listened to the chrrg-ssh, chrrg-ssh of the dishwasher. Grandma sat in her same old rocker and knitted.
Before long Grandma said it was time to go to bed. She filled the bathtub full of warm water and put in some sweet-smelling bath salts. The warm light felt good as Erin got ready to take a bath and even better afterward as she stood under it and dried herself with a big fluffy towel.
Erin was happy when she went into Grandma’s extra bedroom. There was the same old bed from Grandma’s other house, with creaking springs and the same big fluffy fat quilts on top. She crawled under the covers and snuggled down in the familiar bed. Through the window Erin could see thousands of tiny twinkling stars in the sky.
Soon the door opened and Grandma came in. She leaned over the bed and gave Erin a big hug.
Erin heard the grandfather clock bong nine times, and when Grandma kissed her goodnight and said, “Bless your heart,” Erin knew her Grandma was just the same as she had always been.

Ms. Ward stood at the front of the room. She held a big jar full of small folded papers. “It’s time to pick our homework winner,” she said.
Sam, Miles, and Jake sat up in their chairs. Every day they spent part of school in a speech class together. And every time they did their class homework, they got to put their name in a jar. At the end of the week, Ms. Ward drew a name out of the jar, and that person won a prize.
Ms. Ward put her hand in the big jar to pull out a name. As they watched, each boy was thinking about what he wanted to win.
“I hope it’s a race car,” Miles said.
“I want a coloring book,” Jake said. “What do you want, Sam?”
Sam looked at the big jar. He hoped the prize was candy. He could almost taste it.
Ms. Ward took a name out of the jar and held it up. “Sam is our winner this week,” she said.
Sam grinned when she handed him the prize bag. And when he saw what was inside, he grinned even more. There were five pieces of yummy-looking candy! He didn’t know if he could wait till the end of class to eat them.
Then Sam looked at Miles. He looked kind of sad. And Jake was just staring at his workbook.
Sam thought about it. He won the candy for himself. But there was plenty to share. He knew Jesus said to treat others the way we want them to treat us. And when he looked at Miles and Jake, Sam knew what he should do.
When the bell rang at the end of class, Ms. Ward said, “You may eat your candy now, Sam.”
Sam smiled. “Thanks, Ms. Ward. But I don’t think I should eat it all.” Then he handed two pieces of candy to Miles and two pieces to Jake.
“Wow, thanks!” they both said as they opened their candy.
Sam looked down at the one piece of candy left in his hand. He slowly took the wrapper off and popped the candy in his mouth. It was just as good as he had hoped. Sam smiled as he looked at his friends eating their candy. Sharing the candy seemed to make it taste even better.

Even in rich nations little children and youth are impaired by neglect. Children growing up in poverty have inferior health care and inadequate educational opportunities. They are also exposed to dangerous environments in their physical and cultural surroundings and even from the neglect of their parents. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland recently shared the experience of an LDS police officer. In an investigation he found five young children huddled together and trying to sleep without bedding on a filthy floor in a dwelling where their mother and others were drinking and partying. The apartment had no food to relieve their hunger. After tucking the children into a makeshift bed, the officer knelt and prayed for their protection. As he walked toward the door, one of them, about six, pursued him, grabbed him by the hand, and pleaded, “Will you please adopt me?”

In May, 2009, Kelsey Briggs of Bend, Oregon, received her Young Womanhood Recognition at the same time as her grandmother, Jeanie Bean. Then, just under a year later, Kelsey’s mother, Cindy Briggs, received her recognition: it was three generations of women in the same family in the same ward growing spiritually—and growing together.
Kelsey, who fulfilled her Good Works project by serving about two hours a week for two years as a “big sister” at the local Boys & Girls club, said, “This program has been enlightening for all three of us. It’s a lot of work, but the rewards are great.”
Kelsey’s mother, who is a Young Women leader in her ward, said, “When I received the new materials and booklets last year I was determined to finish up the Personal Progress program, not only to satisfy my own objective but to set an example for the girls I’m privileged to work with in our ward, and keep pace with my own daughter and mother.”

It is important for each deacon to be guided to a spiritual awareness of the sacredness of his ordained calling. In one ward, the lesson was effectively taught pertaining to the collection of fast offerings.

On fast day, the ward members were visited by deacons and teachers so that each family could make a contribution. The deacons were a bit disgruntled, having to arise earlier than usual to fulfill this assignment.
The inspiration came for the bishopric to take a busload of the deacons and teachers to Welfare Square in Salt Lake City. Here they saw needy children receiving new shoes and other items of clothing. Here they witnessed empty baskets being filled with groceries. There was no money exchanged. One brief comment was made: “Young men, this is what the money you collect on fast day provides—even food, clothing, and shelter for those who are in need.” The Aaronic Priesthood young men smiled more, stepped higher, and served more willingly in filling their assignments.

I have a five-year old grandson named Carson. A couple of years ago, when he was about three, his sister came into the house with a bag of fruit snacks. When her mother asked where she had gotten the snacks, she reported that Carson had given them to her. On further investigation, his mother discovered he had been sharing these fruit snacks with several of the neighbors. His mother called him in and questioned him about where he had obtained the snacks since they did not have any. Carson replied that he was getting them out of the neighbor’s garage. His now concerned mother said, “Carson, you can’t go in the neighbor’s garage and take things that don’t belong to you.” Carson replied, “But I just love ‘em.” Sometimes, we are tempted to be dishonest because we want something that is not ours just because “we just love 'em.”

Henry and his friends were excited to visit a farm.
First they played in the pumpkin patch. “Look at that big pumpkin!” Henry called.
“And there’s a little baby one!” Adalynn said.
Then they went to see the goats and chickens. “The chicks are so fuzzy,” Peyton said.
Next it was time to ride the train. “All aboard!” Mom said.
The train chugged past horses and apple trees. It chugged past a big roll of hay that looked like a pig.
The train stopped at the corn maze.
“Hooray!” Henry said. This was the best part.
They followed a sign into the corn maze. Trails were everywhere. Some trails led to other trails. Some trails just ended. Henry and his friends walked and walked.
After a while, they all felt tired. “How do we get out of the maze?” Henry asked.
“I’m not sure,” Mom said.
Henry couldn’t see over the corn stalks. His heart beat fast. Maybe they were lost!
“Let’s say a prayer,” Mom said.
“OK,” Henry said. He bowed his head. “Heavenly Father, please help us get out of the corn maze.” After he said, “Amen,” Henry felt warm and happy.
Soon Henry heard someone shout, “Here’s the way out!”
Henry knew Heavenly Father helped them.
At bedtime, Henry said a prayer. He thanked Heavenly Father for helping him.
He smiled. It felt good to know that Heavenly Father loved him. And that Heavenly Father could always hear him pray, even in a corn maze!

The Empty Pot by Demi The Emperor had given each child a seed. “‘Whoever can show me their best in a year’s time,’ he said, ‘will succeed me to the throne.’” At the end of the year, all the other children had pretty flowers to show the Emperor. Only Ping had an empty pot. But Ping was chosen to be the next Emperor—because of his honesty! Truly beautiful art illustrates this truly beautiful Chinese tale.

Mike Downey of the Arlington Texas First Ward, Fort Worth Texas Stake, smiled as he listened to his newfound 93-year-old friend talk about turn-of-the-century dating customs. Down the hall, Diane Honeycutt of the Second Ward, and Kelly Molen, a First Warder, listened with interest to anecdotes and memories shared with them by 71-year-old Grace Minor. Twenty-five other young men and women in the stake were elsewhere in the building taking notes and recording reminiscences of members of the local nursing home in Arlington. It was all part of a unique and very successful service project originated by stake clerk (and genealogy enthusiast) David Hedgpeth.
A few days later, each of the 16 nursing home residents was presented with family group sheets, pedigree charts, a cassette recording of his personal history, and a copy of the Book of Mormon. Inside each book was a photograph taken during the interview and the handwritten testimonies of the interviewers. In addition, 42 new genealogy sheets were sent to the Genealogy Department in Salt Lake City and the genealogical section of the Fort Worth Public Library.
The experience was a rewarding one for everyone involved. Said Second Ward member DeAnn Boyer, “It was exciting to see the joy in the older people’s faces when they saw that there were young people who cared about them.” Another added: “The experience made me feel good all over. I learned a lot about real values in life.”
About a month was spent in preparing the questions and interviews. Topics of discussion included such questions as “What have you learned from life that you feel would help others?” and “What special memories do you have of your grandparents and parents?”
“I want to do an interview with my own grandfather,” decided one of the young men after the completion of the project. “I’ll bet he has many exciting stories he could tell about our own family.”

When I returned home, I felt the desire to share the gospel with my family—especially my brother. He had been skeptical when I first joined the Church. He didn’t understand why I was so passionate about it. But instead of forcing him, I decided to live by example.
One evening, I sat down with him and shared my testimony. I told him how the gospel had changed my life. To my surprise, he listened. We discussed the Book of Mormon, the teachings of Jesus Christ, and the Restoration of the gospel. It wasn’t a quick process, but over time he started reading and praying on his own.
Months later my brother made the decision to be baptized. I couldn’t have been happier. I saw him changing, growing, and the same light I once felt began to shine in him.
Eventually, he felt inspired to serve a full-time mission as well. He is currently serving in the DRC Kinshasa West Mission.
It brings me so much joy to see how far he has come. I know he will touch lives and help others find the same peace that comes from knowing Jesus Christ.

I have a conviction from retrospect of my own life that all these blessings we are talking about, and they ultimately become all blessings, are indeed conditional. But the Lord surely knows who he has sent into the world and where they are. And the Lord surely knows, even when you do not, that the gold is in the mine. In my case, I received what one of my friends would call an "iffy" blessing. So many "ifs" that I wondered if I could ever really inherit the promises. "If," one paragraph begins, "you are faithful" (this is when I was 17) . . . "If you are faithful and true and studious and diligent and humble and prayerful then . . . ." Well, good heavens. But the "then" came true because I tried to be those things. And that is true of you—of you.

In my eyes, Sunshine was about the most popular girl in sixth grade. She wore nice clothes and walked around with other popular girls, giggling and chattering. I always feared they were talking about me.
Imagine my horror when one day my mother told me that she would pick my brothers and me up after school and Sunshine would be riding home with us! My mom had agreed to tutor her in drawing as part of a program for gifted students.
I was terrified of Sunshine because she was so popular. The dreaded time came for the first drawing lesson, and my cheeks burned with embarrassment as Sunshine climbed into our very unglamorous old brown van. I imagined she was used to sleek sports cars. My mind raced the whole way home as I tried to think of what to say to someone so popular. But besides a forced “hello,” I could find no words for Sunshine. I was afraid she might think anything I said was stupid. When we arrived at my house, I quickly escaped into my room.
Years later, as seniors in high school, Sunshine and I ended up being co-editors of the school paper. This meant we had to spend some evenings together each month working on the layout of the paper. By this time, I had a little more confidence, and I actually enjoyed the time I spent with Sunshine. I found we had quite a bit in common. One day as we were talking, the subject of the sixth grade came up. I mentioned how glad I was to be done with that awkward stage of my life. “Me, too,” Sunshine said soberly. “I had no friends at all then.”
I was shocked. I remembered all the rides home when I thought she didn’t talk to me because she was stuck-up. Had she felt awkward and afraid to talk to me, too? Had she felt alone that year, as I had, even though she always seemed to be surrounded by people?
I wonder if Sunshine and I might have become friends back then if I had not been too worried about myself to think about how she was feeling. Since that conversation, I have tried to remember to follow the Savior’s example and reach out to everyone, not just to those who obviously need help. I have realized that no one is too popular for kindness.

“Have a soda, Marco,” Mike said.
I looked up, surprised. I was pretty sure he said my name funny on purpose, but it was nice of him to give me a soda. My family had just moved to the United States from Italy, and it was my first day at my new school. It had been OK, but I was glad to be on the bus going home.
“Shake it first,” Mike said. “It makes it taste better.” The boys sitting next to him giggled.
I wasn’t sure what was so funny about opening a can of soda. In Italy I had always drunk soda from a bottle. But things were different here. So I shook the can.
“Harder!” the boys yelled. I shook the can harder.
Then I lifted the tab.
Pffssssst!
Orange soda squirted all over! Everyone screamed as the soda shot into the air, hit the ceiling, and rained down on the seats around me. The bus driver slammed on the brakes. I couldn’t understand what he said as he marched toward me, but his face said I was in trouble. All I could do was hold up my dripping can of soda and point to the boys laughing at me. The driver yelled at them instead. Mike glared at me, and I sunk even lower in my seat.
Finally the driver sat back down and started driving. At last we reached my stop. I hurried off the bus, embarrassed and sticky. Soda trickled down my forehead as I ran up to our apartment. This had been a rotten first day.
“Why do kids have to be so mean?” I asked my mom as I wiped sticky orange soda off my bag. Mamma helped me dry off my wet books on the balcony.
“Usually it’s because they’ve been hurt.”
“But I didn’t do anything to them,” I said.
“When someone is mean to you, it’s easy to feel like being mean to others,” Mamma said. “It’s called a vicious cycle.”
“But I wasn’t the one being mean.”
“Maybe other people have been mean to those boys, and they decided to be mean too. But you can choose the right even if someone does something mean to you. You can start a good cycle.”
A few weeks later, my brother Tony had a birthday party with cake, ice cream, and soda. When my brother reached for his can of soda, I knew just the funny trick to play on him. “Shake it!” I said.
Tony shook his soda. “Now what?” he asked.
I was just about to tell him to open it. But then I pictured Tony and his birthday cake both covered in sticky soda. The trick didn’t seem so funny anymore. It hadn’t even been funny the first time.
“Don’t open it!” I said. “It will spray all over you.” I handed him a new can. I didn’t want to ruin his day.
Tony smiled as he opened the new can of soda. Then he cut a piece of cake and handed it to me.
This is a better cycle to start, I thought as I ate my cake.

When I was in fifth grade, I wasn’t what you would call “popular.” I was just known as a smart kid. I had a talent for cartooning, so one day I started drawing pictures of kids at school. I showed some people my drawings, and I was instantly popular. This was a dream come true! I couldn’t wait until lunch to draw more pictures. Then I remembered that I had promised to watch over the younger children on the playground during lunch break. But I still wanted to hang out with my new cool friends. What could I do? I prayed to Heavenly Father to ask. The answer didn’t come until lunchtime. I was eating and was about to choose to stay with my friends when I had a feeling that I should go do my job. I knew that the Holy Ghost had given me my answer. I watched over the children and knew in my heart that I had made the right choice.

Just before Don was released from military duty, he wrote to my wife and me.

“As you know,” he said, “I am the only member of the Church in my family. I had been saving part of my paycheck so that when I get out I would be able to pay cash for a new car. But now I’ve decided to use the money for something better—to support myself on a mission.”

Ken also decided to serve a mission. After their missions, both Ken and Don were married in the temple, and both have served faithfully in many Church callings.

A story from the National Baseball Hall of Fame may illustrate how a clearer vision gives us an edge in the fight for right. A generation ago, Ted Williams was a household name in America. The veteran slugger for the Boston Red Sox proved his talent, integrity, and commitment year after year. In 1941, after only three years in the majors, Ted was hitting an incredible .39955 entering the last day of the season. Few hitters have ever come near to batting .400 in a season. Ted’s manager, the legendary Joe Cronin, offered to bench him for the last day of the season so that his average would round up to .400, knowing that if he had a bad day he would miss the mark altogether.
Not a chance, Ted replied. If he couldn’t hit .400 all the way, he said he didn’t deserve it. So he played.
Williams got six hits in eight times at bat during a doubleheader on that last day and ended the season with a .406 batting average. That record still stands. During a career that spanned 22 years, interrupted by 5 years of service as a military pilot in two wars, Ted averaged .344 at bat and hit 521 home runs. Even in his last season, at the age of 42, Ted hit .316, an exceptional average for most baseball players.
Ted Williams’s secret was his keen eyesight. After the pitcher threw the ball, Ted could see the stitching on the ball and could tell by the direction the ball was spinning whether it was a curve, slider, knuckleball, or fastball.
Do not suppose that Ted Williams relied upon his exceptional vision alone. He was known as the hardest worker in the major leagues. He combined personal integrity and tireless preparation with his love of the game to become one of the greatest players ever.

I will never forget that morning. I was the first customer in the restaurant when it opened at 5:00 A.M. As I sat down at a booth I noticed my reflection in the window. I looked like something that had just crawled out from under a rock. It was my last semester in college, and I had stayed up all night working on a midterm project. I was tired and in a terrible mood. All I wanted was my breakfast and some peace and quiet. I decided to pamper myself, so I ordered a huge breakfast of eggs, pancakes, juice, and toast. I knew it was extravagant on my student budget, but I was too exhausted to care. As soon as I had ordered, I noticed a recreational van pull into the parking lot. It was one of those 30-foot monsters, the type you always get stuck behind when going up a long hill. Out jumped an older couple, probably in their sixties. As they walked into the restaurant I could just feel their energy. At a time when I wasn’t even sure my heart was pumping blood, the last thing I needed was to be exposed to the type of optimism they seemed to exert. I shuddered to think that my morning privacy was about to be violated.
There were six booths along the east wall and I had taken the most remote one. I could not understand why the couple chose the booth right next to mine. Irritated, I began a cold, critical analysis of these people in my mind.
The man’s hair was cut short in a crew cut. I was sure he was president of an Elks or Eagles Club somewhere in America’s heartland. He wore nondescript black oxfords with white dress socks, green polyester slacks, and a J. C. Penney’s sport shirt buttoned to the top button. As one would expect, he wore a leather string tie with a gaudy turquoise center piece. I guessed that he had been up since 4:00 A.M., run six miles, sung in the shower, and just couldn’t wait to hit the road. I secretly vowed that I would never, even if my life depended on it, be like that man.
I looked at the Mrs. in amazement as she sat with a road map fastidiously calculating the mileage for the day’s trip. She was a bundle of energy with makeup that didn’t cover the wrinkles, a yellow ‘smiley patch’ on her windbreaker, and an endless stream of conversation.
When they had finished their breakfast and were getting ready to leave, I made my final assessment. Who were they? I imagined he was a retired independent businessman, probably had his own tool-and-die shop in an Indianapolis industrial park. He was no doubt a good Republican, a retired colonel in the National Guard, and had the best-trimmed lawn on the cul-de-sac. She must have served on a thousand PTAs and would consistently have the Christmas shopping done by mid-July. Together, they were a tribute to the virtue of hard work, reaping their rewards as they discovered America in their Winnebago II, I thought sarcastically. They epitomized the kind of smug, self-satisfied materialism that takes good care of itself but ignores the poverty, pain, and sorrow of the rest of the world. Oh, they might give to the United Way or help organize a cancer drive, but I was willing to bet the price of my meal (considerable by my standards) that they wouldn’t recognize a real human need if it walked up and punched them in their middle-class noses.
As they paid their bill, I noticed the lady speak to her husband and then to the waitress. Then, looking a little flustered, the waitress left the register, hurried over to my booth, picked up my check, and returned to the couple. I had no idea what was going on. I felt myself getting angry. What right did these people have to ruin my breakfast? Why didn’t they just quietly leave and let me be?
Finally, they left and I calmed down. A minute later, the waitress returned to my booth and set my check on the table. I didn’t bother to ask what the commotion had been about. I finished my breakfast, picked up the check, and headed for the cash register. Just as I reached the waitress I noticed that my check had “Paid” written across the top. As I began to question the waitress, the Mrs. walked through the door and headed for her booth to get something she had left behind. The waitress then explained to me that the couple had paid my bill. Completely chagrined, I turned and tried to mutter some sort of thank-you to the lady as she passed by me on her way out the door.
“Oh, you’re more than welcome,” she said. “We have a grandson in college, and we know how hard it is. We love ya, study hard!” A second later she was out the door and into the waiting van.
As I watched that long van signal and turn onto the dark highway, I again made a secret vow. I pledged that I would never, even if my life depended on it, forget those two people and the lesson I had just learned about judging others.