Gospel Story Finder

There is a boy at school who found out I don’t swear. The day he found out, he made a game out of trying to get me to say bad words. But I didn’t swear the whole day at all. Today, it’s still kind of a game—and I’m winning! He’ll say something to try to get me to swear, but I’ll say something funny back and everybody will laugh. He’s not offended, and I’m not swearing. It works for everybody.
Eden S., age 11, New South Wales, Australia

Illustration by Tracy Walker
I was 14 years old when I experienced my first Christmas without snow. My family had just moved from the mountains of Utah to Texas, USA. To me, Texas felt too flat and hot. It was hard to feel the Christmas spirit when I had no friends at my new school and especially when there was no snow on the ground. I felt like I didn’t fit in anywhere, so I often felt lonely and sad.
Despite my gloom, Christmas was only a week away, and I was depending on our Christmas family traditions to lift my spirits. The fun activities my family did together in past years always made me feel so happy. Traditions were a big part of how we celebrated Christmas, so I thought I had nothing to worry about. They were called traditions for a reason, so I knew they had to be kept.
The days leading up to Christmas crawled by slowly. We hadn’t done anything together as a family yet to celebrate, so I was feeling pretty defeated. When Christmas Eve finally arrived, I waited all day for something to happen—anything that would show me that our cherished family traditions could still be kept in our new home. I’m sure I could have spurred these treasured traditions on my own, but I didn’t want to. In a way, I was looking for a sign to show me that the Christmas spirit was still alive.
Day faded to night and I grew more and more upset. Tears welled up in my eyes as my family gathered together to say our evening prayers. My entire home felt cold and empty, even with all of us living inside it. Suddenly, my dad pierced the silence with one question.
“Would anyone like to receive a priesthood blessing?”
My heart skipped a beat. I had worried so much about whether or not we would be putting up Christmas lights or baking holiday cookies that I had forgotten about one very special tradition we did every Christmas Eve—we all received a priesthood blessing. Receiving a blessing from my dad in the past always gave me peace, but not everybody in my family enjoyed receiving one. Sometimes my siblings and my mom would say they didn’t feel like they needed one. I didn’t want to get my hopes up again if everyone else was going to turn it down.
But this time was different. My mom stood up and sat down on the chair my dad had brought out for us.
“I would like one,” she said softly.
We were all very surprised, but my dad didn’t even hesitate. He placed his hands on my mom’s head and began to speak. I could sense how tuned in my dad was to my mom’s feelings and personal struggles. He spoke words of comfort and peace to her during this time of change.
I suddenly felt a burning sensation within my chest—almost like someone had lit a match inside of me. I knew I was feeling the Holy Ghost, even though the burning in my chest wasn’t the way I had always felt the Spirit before. It was like Heavenly Father was speaking directly to me, and it wasn’t even my priesthood blessing!
As my father quietly said “amen” and I opened my tear-filled eyes, I realized that my whole family was crying. We had all heard the Spirit speak to us in a tender and loving way that everything was going to be OK. My mom and dad hugged, and I felt like the raincloud that had been hanging over my head for so long had finally given way to sunshine.
We may not have kept every tradition that year, but we always remembered how it felt to witness the power of God flow through my dad’s priesthood blessing. I will always remember how it changed my feelings of sadness to peace and joy. I also learned a valuable lesson about the power of the priesthood. When everything around you seems to be going the wrong way, a priesthood blessing can remind you of the Lord’s watchful and loving presence in your life.

Please allow me to share with you an incident from my life where I refused for a time to look.

When I was not much older than many of you, my husband was enrolled in a demanding doctoral program at Purdue University far away from our families and familiar surroundings. We had two small children, very little money, limited time to spend together as a family, and we were having difficulty balancing the rigors of graduate school, family responsibilities, and church assignments. Does this situation sound familiar? Well, this daunting task began to take its toll, and I found myself feeling very overwhelmed with my responsibilities as a wife and a "stay-at-home mother." The feelings I felt were not necessarily unique to me or my circumstances. Many of you may experience some of these same challenges and emotions while you are here at BYU–Idaho.

After considerable contemplation, I remember asking my husband for a priesthood blessing. In this blessing I was promised that I could begin to better cope with my difficulties if I would exercise consistently, get more sleep, eat properly, have meaningful prayer night and morning, and engage in daily scripture study. The reason I remember so vividly the instruction I received is because I thought afterwards: "This is going to solve my problems? These are standard 'Sunday School' answers. Besides, I'm already doing some of these things." Does this attitude sound a bit hard-hearted? Maybe if the message had been to take a vacation to the beach, or sign up for an art class, or have my nails done, I would have been more receptive to the counsel. I guess I was searching for different solutions, and I balked at the banality of what I had been counseled to do.

I pondered the blessing, and over a period of time I came to know and understand that these inspired admonitions were plain and simple, yet profound. As I moved from casual observance to a more steadfast and heartfelt implementation of these principles in my life, I discovered a sense of emotional peace, a feeling of physical well-being, and a spiritual confidence that brought tremendous blessings to my life. Like those in Moses' day, all I had to do was to "look!"

In a video series on mormonchannel.org, a young man named Bubba shares his story about how his life was headed for disaster.1 He had grown up in a violent home, where his father was murdered when Bubba was only three years old.
Bubba grew up choosing the same life he’d always seen. He joined a gang and started fights with anybody who crossed him. By high school he figured he would end up in prison before long. And he didn’t care.
God intervened. At this dangerous crossroads in his life, Bubba met a Latter-day Saint family who showed him loving kindness and goodness. He’d never been around people like this before—people who showed compassion and love. He started spending as much time with them as possible. When he asked the family why they acted the way they did, they said it was because of their faith in Jesus Christ.
He wanted to find out what they knew. He began praying and studying the scriptures. And soon he felt something he’d never felt before. “Surely there is a God, and He loves me!” Bubba says. With God’s help, Bubba began to build his life over again with Jesus Christ as the foundation, leaving his old life behind.
“My nature changed. Who I am as a human being is different than who I was. Now I have a purpose. I have a destiny,” he says. “I have somewhere that I’m going.”
These days Bubba sees his future with brightness, faith, and hope. “I know that it is only through Jesus Christ, my faith in Him, that will help me get to where I want to get to,” he says.2

When I visited the different campuses, the recruiters tried to show me a good time, and it always seemed to include drinking. When one took me to a bar, I said, “Please don’t offer me a drink, because I don’t drink.” I can remember thinking, “This is going to be just like high school with everyone trying to get me to be a part of a lifestyle I’m not interested in.”
Then BYU flew me in to visit their campus and meet the coaches. What a difference! The whole atmosphere was refreshing. People were genuinely friendly, and I was treated with courtesy and respect. I was not taken any place where people were drinking, and I was never even offered a drink. I couldn’t believe it, but it felt so good. The coaches were great, and their winning record was impressive. But then again, there were some impressive things about the other schools too.
When I returned to Texas I had narrowed it down to two colleges, BYU and one other. I decided to pray about which one would be right for me. After the prayer I knew it had to be BYU.

My mother taught us when we were very young that we must never ridicule the unfortunate. Her mother died when she was six. My mother worked in the fields from a very early age. One day some teenagers were picking fruit. One of the girls laughingly mimicked one who suffered from cerebral palsy, saying, “Look who I am,” and she named the handicapped person. They all laughed as she threw herself into a stumbling walk. Suddenly she fell as if struck down. They gathered around her in great fright. Presently she recovered, but there was no more fun at the expense of the handicapped. Mother never forgot what she saw, nor to teach a lesson from it.

When I was in first grade, nobody was playing with Jack,* so I decided to play with him. The first time we played together, we played firemen, because that’s what he wants to be when he grows up. I want to be an inventor—Jack’s going to help me, of course. The next time we played together, Jack brought his football to school and we played with it at recess. Ever since then, we’ve played together at recess and after school. We are still good friends, even though other kids don’t play with him. They laugh at him when he talks, and some don’t want to sit by him at lunch. But Jack is a good friend and a very smart boy. I’m glad I can be his friend.

The Dragon Boat Festival is held May 5. This festival honors a great poet named Wat Yuen who lived more than a thousand years ago. He tried to persuade the king not to go to war, but the king at that time was very wicked and didn’t care whether the people were killed or mistreated. Wat Yuen was so sad about this that he jumped into a river and was drowned. All the people grieved over the death of this great man, and in his honor they still hold the Dragon Boat Festival.

Shortly after finishing my mission, I met a friend who had grown up in the same ward and attended the same schools I had. We had shared many experiences through the years. However, he chose not to answer the Lord’s call to serve a mission. At the time of our reunion he was on a 30-day leave from the army and was on his way to the combat zone of Vietnam.
He told me, “The dumbest three things I ever did in my life were quitting college, joining the army, and getting married (his wife had divorced him within the first year of their marriage). Not only that, but I did them all in the same week!”
“Why?” I asked.
“I was mad at my mother,” he answered. We looked at each other for a few moments and then began to laugh. “I sure fixed her, didn’t I?” he said. “I sure fixed her.”
Now that it was too late, he realized that his spiritual blind spot came in the form of anger. His eagerness to show his mother that he was in charge of his own life led him to pursue a course that he later regretted and that led him away from Church activity.

I have a very good friend who served as a Congregational minister for over 26 years. He had one of the largest churches on Long Island, New York, at one time. He became acquainted with the Mormons by visiting Salt Lake City and receiving visits from Latter-day Saint missionaries in his home. He developed a great admiration for the programs of the Church, primarily because of the fruits he saw that were produced by the Church. So he thought to borrow these programs and adopt them into his own church, which he tried to do. But he found that they did not work. His statement to me was:
“It was somewhat of a jolt to discover that the genius of Mormonism was in its theology, not its methodology, and that the amazing vitality of the Church sprang from the commitment of its members to the Restored Gospel of Jesus Christ received by revelation. It became obvious that one could not have the fruits of Mormonism without its roots.” (John F. Heidenreich, “It May Change Your Life.”)

President Aires is a friendly, outgoing man who radiates genuine love for people. But he was a skeptic—an atheist from a family of atheists—when he met the LDS missionaries. The missionaries first contacted his wife, Domitila, who warned them her husband would not want to hear their message. So they made three visits without discussing religion, getting to know him, before he asked what they wanted. As predicted, he told them he was not interested, but he gave permission for them to teach his wife. During the third lesson, however, the gospel message began to reach him too. He and his wife were baptized in July of 1977.
Brother and Sister Aires were the first Portuguese couple called to serve as missionaries, in 1984. Maturity and ability with the language gave them advantages over younger missionaries. They benefited, too, from knowledge of Portuguese society and culture, especially in dealing with married couples.

Several years ago the former Director of Admissions here at BYUH and I were on a trip to New Zealand, Australia and Fiji, recruiting future students from these areas. It was a particularly lengthy trip conducting interviews with students and parents. Firesides in the evening made for a very long day, eventually going on to three weeks. As we neared the end of our recruiting with Fiji as our last stop, we had planned three days on the island — two days in Suva and one day in Nandi.

By the time we had concluded our interviews in Suva, we just wanted to go home. We missed home, our families, and especially our own beds. When we arrived in Nandi we had only one appointment. Quietly amongst ourselves we were hoping the interview would not happen so we could go directly to the airport. The appointment was set for 11:00 in the morning.

When we arrived at the small little chapel in Nandi the gates were closed and locked. We waited for some fifteen minutes and it appeared no one would arrive. We quickly packed our gear, anxiously running to the car. As we headed towards the main road from the chapel, we noticed a young girl and an elderly woman walking with large handbags at their side. I believe both of us hoped it was not the young lady and we tried to focus more on getting to the airport, as we stopped to merge onto the highway, simultaneously together we looked at each other and said, "do you think she is the young lady, we both said "no it isn't her!"

But, the urgency to inquire was too great, I slowly rolled the window down from the driver's seat and inquired with the young lady, "Excuse me, are you here for the interview with Brigham Young University Hawaii?" She appeared perplexed looking back at the elderly woman, stating, "I am sorry sir I did not hear you!" I again repeated my question. With that she beamed in her reply, "Are you from the BYUH campus?" I replied yes! She said, "Yes sir, I am here for the interview!" We drove back to the small chapel, somewhat disappointed in having delayed our departure.

When we returned to the chapel, to our amazement the gates were unlocked and the chapel doors opened. We walked in, being welcomed by an elderly brother, a custodian of the chapel. He apologized for being late, but hoped it did not create a problem; we assured him it didn't because no one was here to be interviewed.

Well, as we sat down with the young lady, we both indicated we can make this interview go fast, with the simple question of why do you want to come to BYUH? I want you all to know we two were somewhat assured anything she would say would not convince us she could come to BYUH.

She began by apologizing to us for being late to her appointment. Then she started to weep. "My mother and I have been walking for three days and nights to come to this appointment. I am the youngest of my siblings and my mother has always desired for me to attend university, but not just any university, but Brigham Young University Hawaii to be with the Saints of the Church."

She paused, and wept some more, always apologizing. As she paused, my companion asked her why did she and her mother walk. She appeared a little embarrassed by the question, but, quietly replied, "We could not afford to pay for bus fare and my mom did not want me to miss this appointment, so we started walking three days ago, sleeping on the side of the road when we could. She didn't want to miss the appointment like last year when BYUH came to Nandi. We inquired did you walk then? She replied, "Yes. We missed the visit of the two recruiters by half-an-hour, so my mother wanted to start earlier."

We two found ourselves looking down on the floor of the chapel, holding back our tears, because we were complaining about our discomfort and wanting to go home, when we forgot the reason why we were on the Lord's errand.

In our mind we could think of no one more worthy than her to be within the fellowship of this University. I heard a quiet rebuke from an example of the apostle's story returning to Jacob's well with the Samarian woman in John 4:31-34, and I read:
In the mean while his disciples prayed him, saying, Master, eat. But he said unto them, I have meat to eat that ye know not of. Therefore said the disciples one to another, Hath any man brought him ought to eat? Jesus saith unto them, My meat is to do the will of him that sent me, and to finish his work.

President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008), writing about the association said, ”The British Mission Association is active in keeping alive the happy memories of saints and missionaries who have lived in Britain. More than that, it is endeavouring in every way possible to cultivate the spiritual interests of its members.“
To the latter end of President Hinckley’s statement, its first annual winter social recreated a traditional British event—the fish and chip supper. At the door, the members paid 15 American cents and received in exchange one British penny, to be placed on a counter between vinegar bottles and salt shakers in payment for fish and chips, served in a piece of the previous day’s newspaper. That was the easy bit. In order to buy fresh suitable fish, it was necessary to telegraph to Seattle and import it by special delivery, a distance of 800 miles!
Dancing followed and the evening closed with the singing of “God Save the King.”
As one lad from Lancashire left, he opened the kitchen door slightly, took a deep breath and remarked, ”Eh, ba gum, ’twas a good party.“3

I didn’t know yet if the gospel was true when I was about seven and a half years old. I thought that if it was good enough for my parents, then it was good enough for me. One night, as I was pondering my life, my mind focused on thoughts of religion. I wondered if I was in the right one. I remembered Joseph Smith and that he had had the same thoughts. Thinking about this, I decided to follow his example. I got out of bed and began to pray. At first, I had a hard time concentrating on praying because it was pretty cold that night and I wanted to get back into my warm bed. After I finished my prayer, I listened for the Holy Ghost to tell me what to do. Finally, just as I was about to give up, I felt an amazing feeling. It was as if my heart was about to explode with joy! When I am in doubt of the scriptures and am not sure if Heavenly Father is really there, I look back at this time and remember that wonderful night when I first felt the Spirit for myself.

Many years ago, I traveled on a small plane with a newly certified pilot at the controls. At the end of our flight, we were cleared to land. But as we neared the ground, I heard an alarm in the cockpit warn the pilot to “pull up.” The pilot looked to the more experienced copilot, who pointed in a downward direction, away from the runway, and said, “Now!”
Our plane rapidly moved to the left and down, then climbed back to an appropriate altitude, reentered the landing pattern, and arrived safely at our destination. We later learned that another aircraft had been cleared for takeoff. Had we followed the instructions of the alarm, we would have veered into, rather than away from, the oncoming plane. This experience taught me two important lessons: First, at critical moments in our lives, we will hear multiple voices competing for our attention. And second, it is vital that we listen to the right ones.

Far away from home, Eric wraps himself in a blanket from Ghana as he prays. “The blanket reminds me of my earthly home,” Eric says, “and prayer reminds me of my heavenly home.”
When 21-year-old Eric Ayala of Techiman, Ghana, was 3, he and his mother were at a street-side market when a car veered out of control and struck them.
“It hit my mother first and broke her leg,” Eric says. “Then it dragged me a long way before my body rolled into the gutter. I was pronounced dead and taken to a mortuary. The mortician was preparing my body when he discovered I was still alive. I was rushed to a hospital.”
Now paraplegic, Eric faced challenge after challenge as he grew up without the use of his legs. He eventually obtained leg braces that allowed him to stand, but he soon outgrew them and couldn’t afford replacements. He was given a small wheelchair, but outgrew that too. His legs withered, sometimes shaking with spasms, and his feet became deformed.
In Ghana, those with disabilities are often considered a burden. Eric’s family had little money, not enough to pay for medical treatment. When Eric was about 10, he developed pressure sores caused by lack of movement and by sitting on wood and concrete. The sores festered, oozing constantly, and they smelled terrible.
The open-air shed where Eric lived for years still stands behind the family home.
As a result, Eric lived outside, on a bench in an open-air shed. His mother, Lucy, and his sisters brought him food, washed his clothes, and helped him bathe. Eric was often drenched by rain and shivered from cold in the night. He learned to love morning sunshine because it brought warmth. Too poor to go to school and unable to work, he spent years in that shed, occasionally venturing into the neighborhood on his wheelchair.
Rather than becoming resentful, “I started to love and believe in God,” Eric says. “Nobody taught me about Him, but I could see His creations, and I could see the good and bad in people. Sometimes it is hard to believe in Him when life is hard. But then I would see something good come into my life, and I would say, ‘See, God is here, and it is wonderful.’”
Eric had not been formally taught how to pray, but he began calling upon God. He received answers—when he was sick, an unanticipated opportunity to see a doctor; when he asked for relief from his sores, they went away; when he outgrew his small wheelchair, a kind stranger brought him a larger one. “God did many good things in my life,” he says.
Still, sometimes Eric would get discouraged. He found himself crying when he was in pain and hungry. “I decided if I was going to be happy, it was up to me,” he recalls. “I forced myself to smile. If I didn’t, I was afraid I would turn to something bad.” In particular, he saw friends using alcohol and drugs, and, “my heart told me that was wrong.”
Then, in what seemed a miracle, at age 14, Eric was accepted for school. His mother, by cooking for others, had scraped together enough money to buy him a uniform and pay for books and tuition. At school, “I couldn’t go out and exercise with the others,” he explains, “so I stayed inside and studied all the time.” He amazed his headmaster by receiving top scores in math, reading, and writing.
A nun from the hospital donated a new tricycle that Eric could pedal with his hands, making it easier for him to go to school. But as Eric went back and forth, pressure sores opened again. Infection returned, along with the putrid smell as the wounds leaked. Students complained about flies constantly buzzing around Eric. He was 17 when the headmaster told him to go home and get well, or he could not return to school.
Eric’s father had a tiny farm out in the country. He had taken the family to work on the farm, but Eric remained at home in his shed, alone. Meanwhile, his sores enlarged to huge wounds and infection entered into his bones, a life-threatening condition called osteomyelitis.
When he was 18, Eric saw his friend Emmanuel Ofosu-hene speaking English with an obruni (white man). The obruni was a Mormon missionary, Elder Old. “I only spoke Twi, but Emmanuel interpreted for me: ‘I am so sick I think I will die. Can you help me know what to do so I can go to heaven?’
“Elder Old and his African companion sat with me and taught me. For some reason, they started with the Word of Wisdom. I knew they were speaking the truth because I already knew coffee and tobacco were bad.” They also gave Eric a brochure about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and invited him to church.
“When I went, I saw this Church was different,” he says. “It was reverent.” Even though it took him an hour to push himself to church in his wheelchair, Eric loved the meetings. “I wanted to go up front and be with people,” he says. “But I stayed at the back because I knew I smelled bad.”
Eric told the missionaries, “What I am learning is true.” He also told them he wanted to be baptized, but doctors had warned him not to get his wounds wet. “I will rely on God to provide answers,” he said. He attended church for about a year and then became too ill and weak to wheel himself there.
Eric’s mother, Lucy, met the missionaries, studied the gospel, and was baptized in 2015. But because her broken leg had never been properly set, it was painful for her to walk. Attending meetings was a challenge for her, as well.
Eventually, Eric was taken to the hospital again. In Ghana, patients have to provide their own water, food, bedding, medicine, and bandages. If they have no money, they are not treated. Eric’s mother and sisters did what they could. Eric received food and medical attention infrequently, so he grew weaker.
Then Eric received some unexpected visitors. Missionaries, Sister Peprah and Sister Nafuna, had seen his photograph at the church and came to see him in the hospital and brought him food. It had been a year since he had been to church, but he told them he still wanted to be baptized.
A few days later, Eric’s sister visited him and found him very ill. She ran home and told their mother. Though their mother had suffered permanent leg damage in the accident with Eric, she walked to the hospital, wincing with every step. “You must come home,” she told Eric. “If you’re going to die, I at least want you near.”
The next morning, the sister missionaries came to the house. “You weren’t at the hospital,” Sister Peprah said. “So we came here.” With them were Elder and Sister Wood, senior missionaries from New Zealand. They took inventory of needs and promised to return.
A few days later, Eric’s father took the family back to the farm—except Eric, who found himself alone again and without food or water. When Elder and Sister Wood returned and discovered Eric alone and hungry, they brought him food and water. They returned the next day and noticed fluid running down his leg and found a huge open ulcer on his thigh. They immediately took Eric back to the hospital.
The Woods learned of a medical humanitarian team from the United States that would be coming to Ghana. The team would perform surgery for Eric without cost. The surgeon treated the ulcer on Eric’s leg. But when he saw the severity of Eric’s wounds, as well as the osteomyelitis, he determined he could not do all the necessary procedures in Ghana. Based on his recommendation, the humanitarian organization initiated a process that would eventually bring Eric to the United States to receive additional treatment and permanently close his wounds. In addition, a shelter in Winneba, Ghana, run by members of the Church, agreed to have Eric live there when he returned so that he could attend school and complete his education.
While in Utah for surgery, Eric visits the reflecting pool near the Salt Lake Temple. Eric says he loves the feeling of peace he finds at the Salt Lake Temple.
Elder Wood, an engineer by profession, rebuilt Eric’s hand-pedal tricycle. He performed a similar overhaul on his wheelchair. He also counseled with President Cosgrave of the Ghana Kumasi Mission, a medical doctor. They felt Eric could be baptized if proper precautions were taken.
Eric shows his tricycle to his mother and siblings after senior missionaries repaired it.
“Elder Wood wrapped my body in plastic, with tape around the plastic,” Eric explains. “Then he carried me into a font filled with water treated with disinfectant. I was baptized on June 26, 2016.” Eric had relied on the Lord, and the Lord had provided a way.
Today, Eric is studying to become a computer technician. But also feels he can influence others through music—he likes to rap in Twi. His upbeat message talks about how God rescued him. One of his favorite scriptures says, “Look to God and live” (Alma 37:47). And he still says, “I see God in everything.”
He adds, “I don’t want anyone to think the way Heavenly Father has blessed me is identical to how He will bless them. But He will bless those who trust Him. When you have to deal with hard things, pray and trust God.”
Eric looks forward to a bright future. He’s studying to be a computer technician and also feels he can inspire others with music.

I wish I could get in touch with the person whose letter was published in the September 1986 feedback section under the title “I wish I had a friend.” I had a very similar experience in my lifetime. When I was nine years old we moved from a ward where I had wonderful friends to a ward 30 miles away from my old one. I never fit in with the large crowd of kids my age in my new ward. I struggled along for nine years, never really quitting, but sometimes attending Mutual and Sunday School only half of the time.

But I consider myself a survivor. When I moved away to attend college I made a new beginning, and I did my best to be the “Marcy” in my student ward. I sought out those who sat alone or seemed shy, and I tried to be a friend to them. By doing this, I built up my own confidence and again found myself confident around anyone in our ward.

My story has a happy ending. I have since married in the temple and have had three children. If I could make contact with the writer of “I wish I had a friend,” maybe we could compare experiences and learn from each other and perhaps bring about a happy ending for this story, too.

Although you can save money by purchasing items at a reduced price, don’t buy something just because it’s on sale. Keep in mind the strategies that many stores use to encourage you to buy their products. I learned this lesson when my aunt sent me to the grocery store to buy garlic. When I got there, I found it was on sale: buy three for $5. So what did I do? I bought three. When I returned, though, I found that my aunt needed only one small clove. “You don’t have to buy three just because they’re on sale,” she told me.

I understand the young man who wrote this song had lost his father not long before and was expressing his deep feelings. They are most meaningful to me because I lost my dad, very unexpectedly, when I was only thirty-one. I thought my dad would live forever. He was too big, too strong, he was my hero, and yet without warning he was gone. Though I was married with children of my own, I missed him so much. I just craved to have him hold me once again. Please live each day so that you will not have regrets, no matter what may happen.

The large classroom in the hospital for crippled children is full of children and laughter and clowns with rainbow-colored wigs and giant smiles.
The children have already laughed and shouted through exploding balloons and fun games. Now it’s time for clown bowling. The clowns are the bowling pins. A nurse is invited to bowl. She successfully aims a large ball at the clowns. But it never makes contact because the clowns jump and twist out of the way.
Now a little girl tries. Sitting in her wheelchair, she pushes the ball at the clowns as hard as she can, but it dribbles weakly off her lap and barely reaches the human bowling pins. The little bowler sighs, underestimating clown magic. As the ball gently nudges the foremost clown he hurls backwards as if struck by a truck, knocking down a second clown who ricochets into a third. The whole clown pile explodes like a grenade and falls apart, vanquished. The children cheer. When clowns are present, children always win.
When this day’s performance ends, the clowns move among the patients, making balloon animals and objects—dogs, cats, swords, giraffes, airplanes. They’ll try anything the children request, and even the failures are good fun. They also draw clown stars on the children’s faces.
All too soon the good times must end. The nurses who have laughed and cheered right along with their patients begin taking them away for medical treatment. The children devise delaying tactics, stretching out the farewell moment as long as they can. One little girl hugs a clown tight, then looks into his eyes. “I love you, clown,” she says. Finally, all the good-byes are said. The children go back to their rooms, feeling as if they have been touched by some special magic.