Gospel Story Finder

1 At the edge of the Congo rain forest near the equator, where the days are hot and steamy and the nights are cool and damp, Little Gorilla sleeps snuggled next to his mother on the jungle floor. Night sounds around him of softly moving leaves and a far-off leopard’s roar soon become the morning noises of chattering monkeys and twittering birds.
2 Before long Little Gorilla and his mother are following their troop leader, Silverback, in search of food. Moving slowly through the forest, they nibble leaves, wild celery, bamboo shoots, and blackberries.
3 Little Gorilla’s mother discovers more fruit in a nearby tree. She is too heavy to climb the tree, so Little Gorilla climbs the tree and gathers the fruit for both of them.
4 At midmorning the adult gorillas stop in a clearing to rest. For a while Little Gorilla plays with the other young gorillas, wrestling, sliding down a log that is slick with moss, and playing tag. Then he goes over to his mother, and she grooms him. It feels good as she parts his fur with her fingers, cleaning him from head to toe before his nap.
5 At midafternoon it is again time to search for food. As the gorillas follow Silverback, he stops abruptly and begins hooting. He places a single leaf between his lips and beats his chest. The other gorillas run to hide in the underbrush.
6 Silverback’s usually gentle brown eyes now stare in anger from under the thick, bony ridge of his forehead. He thumps the ground with his hand and begins ripping up bushes and throwing them around.
7 Little Gorilla and his mother peer between the leaves of their hiding place and watch Silverback run sideways, then charge toward a leopard. The spotted cat snarls at Silverback but swiftly retreats. Cautiously the rest of the gorilla troop again fall in line behind Silverback in search of food.
8 As Little Gorilla follows his mother, he watches Silverback. He had been depending on his mother for everything, but now he is older and will soon leave her. Part of him wants to grow up and be a fearless leader like Silverback. And part of him wants to remain a baby and stay with his mother.
9 It is hard to let go for both Little Gorilla and his mother, but tonight Little Gorilla is to sleep by himself, up in the trees. He has been practicing how to build his nest of twigs and leaves, and he can do it very well. Sitting in his nest, he hears the sound of the distant river. He is lonely.
10 Climbing down to be with his mother, he finds that she does not welcome him as she once did. She will not let Little Gorilla sleep in her nest. It is hard for her to send him away, but she must. Little Gorilla once again climbs the tree to his own nest, where he listens to the river’s current until sleep comes.

I love fast and testimony meetings! February 5, 1984—my first experience attending The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was a dramatic turning point in my life. I felt the Spirit and did not even recognize it, because I did not know the Spirit. The Savior speaking to his disciples about this precious gift of a member of the Godhead said, “Even the Spirit of truth; whom the world cannot receive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him: but ye know him; for he dwelleth with you and shall be in you” (John 14:17). The Lord in his tender mercies reached out to me through President Allen and the two other members who bore pure, heartfelt testimonies about the Savior Jesus Christ and the Book of Mormon. I felt the still, small voice assuring me that I was in good company and those people were my brothers and sisters regardless of our diversity. The feeling of being in a servant relationship, which almost took me out of the chapel, vanished. I made up my mind that day, that this was the church I wanted to belong to.

Let me share a personal experience I had in which the Lord’s hand was clearly manifest. Several years ago I took a trip with my family to Mesa, Arizona. We enjoyed renewing acquaintances, getting caught up on everyone’s lives, and spending time in the swimming pool, a necessity on a summer day in Mesa. My two-and-a-half-year-old nephew Ryan was afraid of the water, so his mom spent one morning in the pool with him trying to get him to overcome his fear. During the time he wasn’t learning to swim with his mother, my two-and-a-half-year-old son was teaching him how to maneuver himself over the locked fence that protected the swimming pool. After spending some fun time in the pool, we retired to the house to eat and relax.

I was enjoying reading a book in the living room. After reading for some time, I took a short break and just sat in the reclining chair enjoying my time away from work. While I was relaxing I had the distinct impression that I should go look in the swimming pool. I thought to myself, “That is strange; no one is currently swimming in the pool.” But fortunately, I followed the prompting and got up out of my chair. I looked out the kitchen window and noticed that there were waves in the pool. The thought again came to me that it was strange for there to be waves in the pool, since no one was swimming. I went outside to check things out more closely, and as I went out the door, I could see a small body floating in the pool. I ran to the side of the pool and saw Ryan, a couple feet from the edge of the pool, floating lifeless in the water. I immediately grabbed him, pulled him out of the water, and began administering CPR. Interestingly, about two weeks prior to our trip, I had just completed a Red Cross CPR refresher course offered at my work.

After a few breaths into Ryan’s lungs, he spit up a significant amount of water and started breathing again. I yelled to some of the kids playing nearby to call 911. They ran in the house and frantically told my wife to call 911. Within a matter of minutes the paramedics had arrived and started Ryan on oxygen and an IV. Shortly thereafter, a helicopter landed in the street next to the house and whisked Ryan off to the hospital. As a family we knelt in prayer and asked for the Lord’s blessings to be with Ryan. We didn’t know at that time what would happen to him. However, after we ended the prayer, a sweet, peaceful spirit settled in upon us. I knew at that time that he would be fine. To all of us present that day, there was no question but what the Lord was with us.

Where was the Lord’s hand more plainly manifest in this event? Was it the fact that modern medicine had advanced to the point that the doctors and paramedics could treat Ryan such that he would fully recover? Was it the fact that we could fly a large metal object through the air, maneuvering around trees and powerlines, land it in the street, then fly it to the hospital? Or was it the still small voice of the Spirit that made the rest of these miracles possible? I personally see the hand of the Lord in all of these things and have thanked Him numerous times for His loving kindness and mercy in this event.

Often times when things go wrong in people’s lives, they ask, “Why me, God?” I have found myself asking that question relative to this situation. “Why me? Why was I blessed with this wonderful experience? Why did the Lord see fit in His infinite wisdom to touch my life with this sweet outpouring of His spirit?” I don’t know all of the answers, but as I have contemplated the happenings of that day, a couple of things have come to my mind.

First, I was available. The other people in the house at that time were preoccupied with making meals, cleaning, etc., and were caught up in doing the chores of this life. The things they were doing were good things, but they were concentrating so much on their work that they were less available to the Spirit.

President Boyd K. Packer stated it this way:
The Spirit does not get our attention by shouting or shaking us with a heavy hand. Rather it whispers. It caresses so gently that if we are preoccupied we may not feel it at all.21
Second, I firmly believe that the Lord, for whatever reason, just wanted to share with me one of His tender mercies. I have looked back on this experience many times in my life as a reminder that He truly is there, that He truly does care for me, and that He is genuinely interested in me. This experience has been a foundational spiritual experience that has helped me weather many of the storms of life I have faced since that day. I don’t know all of the answers to “Why me?” but whatever the reasons may be, I am eternally grateful to know that a loving Father in Heaven is there to help us—personally and individually—when we need that help.

During the visit my wife and I had with Wilford and Alice, Alice told us of a similar experience she had had. I share it with her permission.

Last year she was on an internship in Berlin. While attending a Church meeting one Sunday, she was introduced to a Chinese woman who, after shaking hands, said, “Wait—you served a mission a year ago, right? You are the first missionary who taught me the first lesson!”

Alice did not recognize the woman at first glance, but she soon remembered her face, her name, and how they had met near the Hong Kong Temple eighteen months earlier while Alice was a missionary. She remembered how she and her companion had taught this woman the first lesson. It was a powerful lesson, and they gave her a Book of Mormon, but they couldn’t do more because the woman had to return to her home country the next day.

What Alice didn’t know was that after that initial lesson, the woman had returned home, but she wasn’t able to attend church meetings or learn the gospel because the Church is not recognized there. When she later moved to Germany for her graduate studies, she immediately found the Church in Berlin, was taught, and soon was baptized. And there she was when Alice “randomly showed up in Berlin” (to use her words) because of an internship.

There were at least two Latter-day Saint connections to the Titanic. Both illustrate our challenge in understanding trials, tribulations, and tragedies and provide insight as to how we might deal with them. The first is an example of being appreciative for the blessings we receive and the challenges we avoid. It involves Alma Sonne, who later served as a General Authority. He was my stake president when I was born in Logan, Utah. I had my mission interview with Elder Sonne. In those days all prospective missionaries were interviewed by a General Authority. He was a great influence in my life.

When Alma was a young man, he had a friend named Fred who was less active in the Church. They had numerous discussions about serving a mission, and eventually Alma Sonne convinced Fred to prepare and serve. They were both called to the British Mission. At the conclusion of their missions, Elder Sonne, the mission secretary, made the travel arrangements for their return to the United States. He booked passage on the Titanic for himself, Fred, and four other missionaries who had also completed their missions.

When it came time to travel, for some reason Fred was delayed. Elder Sonne canceled all six bookings to sail on the new luxury liner on its maiden voyage and booked passage on a ship that sailed the next day. The four missionaries, who were excited about traveling on the Titanic, expressed their disappointment. Elder Sonne’s answer paraphrased the account of Joseph and his brothers in Egypt recorded in Genesis: “How can we return to our families and the lad be not with us?” He explained to his companions that they all came to England together and they all should return home together. Elder Sonne subsequently learned of the Titanic’s sinking and gratefully said to his friend Fred, “You saved my life.” Fred replied, “No, by getting me on this mission, you saved my life.” All of the missionaries thanked the Lord for preserving them.

But Te Oranoa M., age 17, from New Zealand has a different take on things. “What inspires me about this scripture,” she says, “is that it doesn’t say they are lost forever.”

What an incredible insight! And it’s one that comes from personal experience. “I, myself, fell away from the Church,” she says, “but I have been able to come back.”

Te Oranoa grew up in the Church and talks about gaining her own testimony and even setting spiritual goals. “But that testimony grew cold,” she says.

In some ways, she found common ground with Amulek, particularly in the way he described himself to the people of Ammonihah: “I did harden my heart, for I was called many times and I would not hear; therefore I knew concerning these things, yet I would not know” (Alma 10:6).

For Te Oranoa, that scripture hits close to home. “Just like Amulek, I knew all these spiritual things, and the Spirit was telling me to do certain things, but because I was being a bit stubborn and a bit prideful, I wouldn’t do them. Afterward, my testimony kind of faded away.”

In the end, Amulek’s story would become more than merely familiar to Te Oranoa. It would also become a turning point on the road back.

Even during the time when her faith had grown cold, she could still remember sweet experiences from before. Te Oranoa never forgot how she’d felt when attending the temple with her youth group or going to a youth conference.

“There was a pattern,” she says. “I’d feel really good when I came to church, but I didn’t feel good when I missed church.”

There finally came a day when Te Oranoa decided to see if she could connect with those good feelings again. The first thing she did was to read through recent general conference addresses.

An October 2016 general conference address, “Learn from Alma and Amulek,” by President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, woke something in Te Oranoa’s soul. She recognized a lot of her own life and feelings as President Uchtdorf described how Amulek’s faith had faded. She also remembered more strongly than ever the happiness she had enjoyed when her faith was stronger. Instantly, she wanted to make some changes.

“I was hoping to find something to reignite that fire of my testimony,” she explains, “so I read President Uchtdorf’s talk, and yes, I felt on fire!”

Te Oranoa’s path back to faith hasn’t always been easy, but there is a particular light at the end of the tunnel that keeps her going: the hope of an eternal family.

“Families can be together forever,” she says. “That’s my biggest dream, my biggest hope in life. Whenever I want to learn about something, or I find a doctrine hard to understand, I try and relate it back to eternal families. For example, why is Jesus Christ’s Atonement important to me? For one thing, I need His Atonement in my life so I can be worthy to enter the temple and be sealed to my family for all eternity.”

It’s perhaps worth remembering that the people in Lehi’s vision who fell away after tasting the fruit did, in fact, still taste it. They must have known of its goodness, even if only briefly. And they can discover it again. That’s the hope Te Oranoa clings to, for herself and for others.

“You don’t have to keep going down those forbidden paths for the rest of your life,” she says. “You can turn back to the Lord whenever you want.”

When he returned home, William picked up his music career where he had left off, gaining a strong fan base through self-released albums. His incredible talent with the piano enabled him to compose his own New Age-style pieces, while at the same time performing classical pieces to perfection. His unique style soon caught the attention of producer David Foster, senior vice president of Warner Brothers records, who happened to be in Phoenix for a charity event.
“I was introduced to David four hours before the event, during sound check. The person who introduced me asked, ‘Could he play your piano?’ and David said, ‘Yeah, yeah, bring him up.’” David put William on stage and instructed him to “play something.”
“I definitely felt like this would be a good time to not mess up,” William says. He began to play a song he had written called “Within.” After just a few seconds, David led the band on stage to play along.
“I’m totally playing my heart out, and the next thing I know I’m playing with this world-class band, and they join in on the spot, while David’s conducting over me. And, when I finished, everyone in the room was clapping. He gave me a high-five and said, ‘What was that song?’ I said that it was a song that I wrote, and he said, ‘I want you to come back tonight for the show.’ It was the biggest show of the year in Arizona, and he said, ‘You’re going to open the show.’”
After a successful performance at the concert, David Foster signed William to a record deal, and they produced an album in only two months. He opened for Josh Groban’s 2004 tour, and toured with Clay Aiken in 2005.

Taking second place at the state wrestling meet without legs was a challenge. But so was learning to walk on prosthetics, and doing a hilly paper route in a wheelchair, and completing a 50-mile hike on his hands.
Kacey can’t remember a time when there weren’t challenges. But if there’s anything he’s learned from wrestling, it’s that eating the mat isn’t any fun. He’d much rather come out on top.
The first year Kacey wrestled, he won only once. Some thought he should give up. Others doubted he’d ever be very competitive. “I wasn’t very good at first,” he laughs. “But I stuck with it and got a little better every year.” After years of hard work and a lot of time in the weight room, he won 39 matches during his final year and lost only one.
“He’s finished everything I’ve seen him start,” says Kacey’s wrestling coach, Tony Oliff. “Kacey’s got that attitude. He’s upbeat, and a lot of kids lean on it. He’s positive about life and fun to be around.”

Hey, Sam!
What’s wrong?
I can’t find Floppy, my elephant from Great-Aunt Alice!
I’ll help you look.
We’ll never find him.
Let’s say a prayer for help.
Heavenly Father, please help us find Floppy.
Hmm …
Sam! Look!
You found him!
Let’s say a prayer to say thank you.
Heavenly Father, thank you for helping me find Floppy.
Now there’s one more thing we should do.
Can I play too?
Heavenly Father cares about what we care about! We can pray to Him anytime, anywhere, about anything.

In the depths of World War II, I experienced an expression of true friendship. Jack Hepworth and I were teenagers. We had grown up in the same neighborhood. One afternoon I saw Jack running down the sidewalk toward me. When we met, I saw that there were tears in his eyes. In a voice choked with emotion, he blurted out the words, “Tom, my brother Joe, who is in the Navy Air Corps, has been killed in a fiery plane crash!” We embraced. We wept. We sorrowed. I felt highly complimented that instinctively Jack, my friend, felt the urgency to share with me his grief. We can all be grateful for such friends.

Five-year-old Wesley Larsen of Layton, Utah, lies in a hospital bed surrounded by balloons, posters, get well cards, and large stuffed animals. But the thing he keeps closest to him is a small, homemade, brown double knit teddy bear. The bear is a gift from the paramedics, but Wesley does not know the bear is also a gift from the West Point Utah Stake Young Women.
Wesley tosses his red hair as he tells about the day three weeks earlier when a little girl chased him and tackled him during recess. He becomes sad when he talks about how bad his leg hurt. His freckled face shows surprise as he exclaims, “I didn’t know a girl could be that strong.”
Wesley tells about the paramedics who came to school to take him to the hospital and gave him the small bear because he was “brave.” The humble bear gave the little boy something else to think about instead of his fractured left femur. During the weeks he spent in traction, the bear was never far from his side.

Decisions, when made in earnest, when made with one's whole heart, are extremely influential in our lives. I decided to be married to Shauna Sizemore in the Salt Lake Temple in 1971. I decided that I would love her, cherish her, pray for her, pray for us, provide for her, be a good example for her, and be attentive to her needs and deepest desires. Only she could say how well I have done that (and I have no plans to give out either my phone number or e-mail address!), but I have really tried to make her happy and secure. All of that because of a decision.

I decided when I was very young that I would observe the Word of Wisdom all my days, that I would abstain from alcohol, tobacco, coffee, tea, and habit-forming drugs. My wife and I made a decision, before we were married, that our marriage would indeed best be visualized as a triangle representing Shauna, Bob, and the Lord. Our individual lives and our marriage would belong to him. We decided that we would welcome children into our home, pay a full tithing, be active and involved in the Church and accept and magnify callings. We have been married now for a little less than forty years and, despite the challenges and pain and vicissitudes of life that inevitably come to every marriage, ours has been a happy union. We have had our differences, our disagreements, our diverse views on things, but the idea of throwing in the towel and choosing to divorce has never been an option. We feel the influence of that Holy Spirit of Promise, to whom it is given to bind and seal couples and families for eternity. We made an eternal decision. We have stuck with it. And that has made all the difference.

My parents took back my credit card, my cell phone, and my car. They ignored me for a few months and would not let me speak to my brothers. My sister also found it difficult to accept me for a while. I moved to Utah for college, where I met a wonderful man and fell in love. My parents would not meet my husband when we were married, but now those tensions are slowly resolving, and I am in hopeful pursuit of my eternal family.

When Miss Nonchello asked the class to bring a treat to share in honor of Thanksgiving, Ying was excited to ask her mother to bake bread.
“I will make a special bread for your class,” Mom said before Ying went to bed that night.
Ying spent the night wondering what kind of bread Mom would make. She pictured herself taking cinnamon bread to class. Everyone would like cinnamon bread. Or what if Mom made honey bread, like Emily’s mother made? Her classmates would like that too.
Thinking about it made Ying’s tummy rumble. The next morning, Ying imagined she could smell the aroma of baking bread. Then her eyes popped open. She really was smelling something!
Ying jumped out of bed and got ready for school. Hurrying to the kitchen, Ying saw Mom wrapping something in foil.
“What did you make, Mom?” Ying asked eagerly.
“Bread,” Mom replied as Ying peeked under the foil.
Ying jumped back, staring at the flat pieces of bread she saw. It wasn’t honey bread or cinnamon bread. She didn’t think it was bread at all!
“That isn’t bread,” Ying said, disappointed. “It’s like pancakes.”
“Well, in the Chinese culture, we consider it like bread,” Mom said.
“My classmates won’t want to eat it,” Ying said with a frown. She was worried about seeming different.
“You never know,” Mom said, smiling. “Different can be good, and this bread is part of our family’s heritage.”
With a grumble, Ying took the Chinese bread to school. She knew Mom wanted her to be proud of her family, but she could only imagine her classmates laughing when they saw her treat.
A few of the students brought pumpkin pie. Others brought popcorn and candy. Seeing how different her treat was, Ying tried to hide the bread behind the large punch bowl at the back of the classroom.
“What’s that?” Steve asked.
“Bread,” Ying murmured.
Before Ying could stop him, Steve opened the foil and took a sniff.
“Ooohh!” Steve said loudly.
A crowd of classmates gathered around to stare at the flat pieces of bread. A few tears formed in Ying’s eyes as she braced herself for laughter.
“That looks wonderful!” Miss Nonchello said. “Who made this?”
“My mom did,” Ying said, blushing.
“It smells delicious,” Miss Nonchello said. “Ying, why don’t you tell us about it?”
“My mom said it was Chinese bread,” Ying said quietly. “But it doesn’t look like bread to me.”
“I think everyone is excited to try some,” Miss Nonchello said.
And with that, the feast began. Ying’s classmates all took a piece of the bread. Afraid to try it herself, Ying nibbled on popcorn and pumpkin pie.
“This is good!” Steve called out.
“Yeah!” Emily said as she took another piece of bread. “It’s even better than my mom’s honey bread!”
“Really? You think so?” Ying asked.
“We all think it’s great,” Miss Nonchello said with a smile. “Come have some, Ying.”
Ying nervously lifted one piece of the flat bread from the pile and took a bite. It was delicious!
“I guess Mom was right,” Ying thought. “Different can be good.” She smiled as she took another bite, proud of her family and their delicious heritage.

It was probably the most spiritual experience the youth from the Baton Rouge Louisiana Stake can remember. Nearly 200 of them piled into five buses and traveled to Dallas for a few days of temple work and scripture study.
When not doing baptisms for the people on the four-generation sheets they’d prepared, they were reading the Book of Mormon, studying it, discussing it, even making skits from it. With each person in the group reading assigned pages, they read the Book of Mormon in a combined effort more than five times during the trip.
For many, it was their first time in a temple.

Then a year or two ago, almost 30 years after Evan’s death, I dreamed that I was driving my car on a business trip up old Highway 101 in northern California, near the Oregon border.
I was traveling along admiring the beautiful coastal view. I had the radio on, and I was just driving along in the dream.
Suddenly, I took my car into a rather sharp bend. As I did so, coming toward me on the ocean’s side of the road, on a packed ten-speed bicycle, was Evan. He was a full-grown adult, but I recognized him immediately.
Quickly I found a wide spot in the road where I could turn around, and I went back. He had seen me too and had stopped, hoping that I would turn around.
I jumped out of the car and raced to him, and we hugged and danced like two little boys who had just captured their first pollywogs. Then we stood arm-in-arm, face-to-face, with the mighty Pacific Ocean as a backdrop and visited eagerly for about 15 minutes.
Never mentioning death, or “it’s good to see you after all of these years,” or anything like that, he finally said to me, “Well, I’ve got to be going.”
Knowing and feeling that to be true, I said to him, “Where are you headed?”
“To take care of some business,” he stated simply. I knew better than to ask any more. He was about his Father’s business. My heart told me so. I know that to be true of Jared also.
I still remember how wonderful it felt in that dream to see Evan again, to hug him and talk with him after all those years since he died. The Spirit bore witness to me that Evan and I will meet again someday and that meeting will be as sweet and natural as it was in that wonderful dream.

Dora Valencia, who had lain four years in the Ajax Ontario Hospital, mustered her courage and fulfilled the desire to attend. From her hospital bed, which was wheeled into the celestial room, she not only basked in the spirit found there, but she also helped to provide that spirit. As I walked past her, upon leaving the room, and gazed at her expression of profound gratitude to the Lord, I bent low and took her hand in mine. Heaven was very near.

When I was a junior in high school, I had a seminary teacher who changed the course of my life. He was able to look past my fashionably long hair and mildly rebellious attitude and somehow instill in me a desire to start reading the scriptures. Because of his influence, my life literally changed as I became converted and committed to the gospel of Jesus Christ. I was invited to participate on the seminary council the following year and, because I admired him so much, was looking forward to working closely with him.
Near the end of the summer, but before school began, the new seminary council gathered for our first meeting of the year. This teacher was fanatic about starting class on time and would often good naturedly embarrass any latecomers. When the entire council arrived on time and he did not, we could hardly wait to let him have it. After about a half an hour, there was still no sign of him. I called the seminary principal to see if we had misunderstood the date. The principal apologized for our inconvenience and then told us that this teacher would not be teaching again. I learned later that during the summer, he had been unfaithful to his wife and excommunicated from the Church.
You can imagine that this was very disturbing to me. I could not understand how this good man could have done such a thing.

We just celebrated Pioneer Day a few weeks ago. May I share my own pioneer-like experience with you when I went back to grad school? At the time, I was newly divorced with 3 children and living in North Carolina. Through many sleepless nights, I made the decision to take my kids and go to Utah State to finish a masters and PhD in Mathematics so I could teach at a university. We started across the country in an old Oldsmobile station wagon, which didn't get out of Tennessee before it started having problems. The trip was one adventure after another until we finally reached Logan and marveled at the beauty of the place. We were especially amazed at the number of LDS churches; it seemed like one on every corner. We were all excited to start over and make Logan home for a while. We were alone, I and three kids, and 2000 miles from any family that I had. I had no support group but the members of my ward. A part of me was terrified that I might fail and what would we do then. We certainly had no money to get back to the east coast.

I studied and studied for my classes, taught classes as a TA, and tried to be both mother and father to my children. It was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. There were many, many nights when I cried myself to sleep, begging the Lord to help me get through. I really did try to do my best, and though my efforts didn't always seem very effective, I did learn some Mathematics and my children survived. I know that there were times when the Lord held me up by my arms and gave me strength when I had none. I know that there were times when I couldn't remember something on a test and then it would come to my mind or I would remember how to figure it out on the spot. I can honestly tell you that I worked well beyond my capacity and that I relied on the Spirit and the power of the Atonement to complete my work there. I know how I got through the program, on my knees and by the blessings of a loving Heavenly Father who wanted me to succeed as much as I did.

As I've had time to reflect over the years since then, I can see that the Lord has been beside me in every trial and in every success. I have never seen a burning bush. I've only audibly heard a voice speak to me once in my life and that was a life-threatening situation that called for immediate action. Instead, I have tried to figure out what was the best thing to do and sought confirmation by prayer. Sometimes, foolishly, I haven't waited for an answer. Sometimes, I've felt like I wasn't really sure what was best, but I've learned without a doubt that the Lord would take care of us and that has built my faith to move forward and how the blessings have showered down!

Someone was laughing. How could anyone laugh at a time like this? I looked up. Uncle Al, Grandma’s younger brother, was telling stories about her.
“Me and Annie got dancing so fast,” he was saying, “that she fell right off Aunt Lizzie’s porch and broke her arm. Aunt Lizzie was mortified, not because Annie broke her arm, but because she was doing that awful dance, the Charleston.”
Charleston? I thought. Grandma didn’t look like the Charleston type. Around our house, we always heard her “whatever happened to the waltz” sermon.
The next speaker took his time getting to the podium. He was close to a hundred years old. He had been Grandma’s bishop when she was first married and was still her bishop when she sent her first son on a mission. Even now, everyone still called him Bishop Jensen.
“I loved Annie when she was a teenager,” he said hoarsely, his brown hands trembling. Then he chuckled. “Oh, she wasn’t my girlfriend, mind you. She had pluck. When it was haying time, she’d offer to help us and everyone else in the valley. And I remember the day she came racing over to our house on that chestnut horse. She wanted us to be the first to see the saddle she won at the rodeo.”
Grandma had won a saddle? I shook my head incredulously. Maybe old Bishop Jensen wasn’t remembering quite right.
I left the funeral feeling as if I had forgotten something. One sentence by the last speaker had caught me, as if Grandma were speaking to me. But now his words were gone from my mind. It’s no use anyway, I thought. There’s nothing I can do for Grandma now. I can never wipe away last Saturday at the corral.
“I never knew Grandma had a chestnut horse,” I said to Dad as we drove to the cemetery.
“I think I only heard her talk about that horse once,” he said.
“And the saddle?” I asked.
“That was news to me. With me being the youngest of seven boys, I guess she was tired of telling the same stories by the time I came along.”
Several horses were dozing against the pasture fence as we turned into the cemetery. A stylish palomino raised its head. It looked like the horse owned by that blonde down in Glenville.
“You better not let her beat you at the barrels,” Grandma had said.
There is something I can do for Grandma, I thought. I can beat the rodeo queen in the barrel racing competition.
I was next. Ginger knew it too. She kept prancing sideways and tugging on the reins.
“Easy, girl. Don’t get all worked up before we get out there.”
The afternoon was warm. Sweat was already seeping from under Ginger’s saddle blanket. The reins felt sticky in my fingers.
The crowd roared as last year’s rodeo queen zoomed out for her turn at the barrels. I could see her blonde braids streaming behind her. She zipped sleekly around the first barrel and bolted for the next.
This blonde and I were the last two barrel racers. The other competitors’ times had been mediocre, so I felt Ginger and I still had a chance.
The rodeo queen circled the second barrel without a hitch. Uneasily, I eyed the last barrel. Maybe she would tip it over and get disqualified.
I could see the girl and her horse lean together around the third barrel. It was too close. The barrel rocked wildly. But it didn’t go over. At least it might have knocked a couple of seconds off her time. The crowd thundered as she spurted toward the finish.
I’ll show them, I thought, as I positioned Ginger for a run into the arena. But I was scared.
I charged out. The flag dropped at the starting line as Ginger and I flashed past. I hadn’t thought of Grandma until that very second. Suddenly I had a feeling that beating this rodeo queen was not what Grandma had in mind.
Ginger’s black mane flew in my face as I reined her low around the right barrel. She veered around it smooth and tight—just like a pro. I didn’t feel as much like a pro. I was slightly off balance and bumpy as we raced down the arena to the far barrel. Ginger went a little wide on this barrel, but we were still on target.
Now for the last barrel. I was in her rhythm again, so my confidence rose. “Dig, Ginger, dig,” I whispered, leaning over her neck.
She flicked her ear back briefly. I felt the tremble before blastoff.
Then we were hurtling toward the last barrel. Too fast. I tried to check her, but we were already swerving steeply around the barrel. I was off balance, askew in my stirrups. Ginger was sliding. Too far. We were falling. In slow motion, we were crashing into the barrel. Grandma’s sad gray eyes flashed before me. “You can do it,” she was saying.
“I’m sorry, Grandma. I thought I could beat her.”
I was falling.
“I was never too good with words,” said Grandma. “But you are.”
“No, my words hurt you.”
Falling. Falling.
“It’s okay,” whispered Grandma. “I know you can write it.”
“Write what?” I muttered.
Then I hit the barrel.
When I came to, I was deep in rodeo arena dirt, and Ginger’s hot breath was in my face. But I knew what I needed to do.
A cowboy was leaning over me. “Write what?” he said.
“Did I say something?” I asked.
“You keep saying you need to write something.”
I rolled to my feet. “That’s right. I do need to write it.”
“You all right?” he asked.
“I’m just fine.”
I started by interviewing Grandma’s seven sons. They each gave me a different view of Grandma’s life.
“Mom was the only widow I knew who could get seven kids ready for church and still be five minutes early,” said Uncle Orvil.
“Mom would feed every hobo who’d come along the tracks,” said Uncle Russ. “I was scared of them and would hide behind her skirts. But she wasn’t scared. She’d just put them to work chopping wood.”
“I remember Mom telling me that she wanted to be Annie Oakley when she was little,” said Uncle Rolfe, “so she took her stick horse and ran away. She was gone for most of the day. Half the county was looking for her. They finally found her fast asleep in a pasture full of unbroken mustangs.”
“Long before anyone had heard of family home evening, Mom had what she called family time once a week,” said Uncle Matt. “There was no getting around it. We had to be there.”
None of my uncles knew much about the chestnut horse or the rodeo saddle.
“Mom kept pretty silent on some things,” said Sid, my oldest uncle. “All I know is that she didn’t have that horse very long.”
He motioned to several boxes of scrapbooks and letters. “But you might find something there. You’re welcome to take them home with you.”
Digging through the scrapbooks, I finally found a small picture of Grandma on her chestnut horse. “Me and Flash, 1930” was scrawled on the back. I was surprised how much Grandma looked like me sitting on that horse. Straight brown hair and freckles.
When my great-uncle Al came to town, I asked him, “Do you know any other stories about Grandma besides the ones you told at the funeral?”
“Oh, I’m chock-full of tales about my sister,” he said. “I remember her first date with your Grandpa.”
Date? It had never occurred to me that someone would actually remember Grandma going on a date.
“To be honest, I remember her second date better. It was almost the last. Her first date was kind of normal. She came home with this goofy smile on her face and walked past me like I didn’t exist. But on her second date, she came home scratching like a hen in the barnyard. I thought she must have fleas. She kept yelling, ‘I can’t stand it,’ all the while yanking at her clothes and peeling down her socks. Come to find out, Harry’s old Plymouth also served as a truck. He’d forgotten to take the chicken feed sacks out in time for his date. Harry and Annie got covered with chicken mites. They were scratching like a couple of dogs all night and didn’t dare say a word to each other. Luckily, chicken mites would rather be on chickens than people, so Annie got over it quick. But it took a few weeks for her and Harry to get back together.”
Uncle Al and my dad were laughing so hard tears were running down their cheeks. Suddenly I remembered the words from the funeral. “Whoever does Annie’s life story is in for a few laughs.”
Uncle Al knew a little more about her chestnut horse. “Oh, yes, how she loved that little mare. Annie’s dream was to become a trick rider and ride in rodeos and wild west shows.”
“A trick rider?”
“Yep, she got pretty good at it too, considering she didn’t have that horse very long. I did watch her fall a few times in the pasture.”
“Did she barrel race too?”
“Oh, no, that was before the days of barrel racing,” he said. “But she did enter some sort of horsemanship event at the rodeo. Maybe you’ve heard about the saddle she won?”
I nodded.
Uncle Al shook his head. “It’s too bad about that saddle. I don’t think she ever got to use it.”
“She didn’t?” I said.
“Nope. She sold Flash right after that.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I have my suspicions. But the person who might know is my brother Bill.”
I hugged my notebook as I entered the rest home. Uncle Bill, Grandma’s next oldest brother, always made me a little nervous. He tended to get confused when he talked. But today he seemed sharp.
“Why did Annie sell her horse?” he repeated, leaning forward in his wheelchair. “Well, the Depression was coming on. I told her it didn’t matter; I could earn the money myself. But she had already made up her mind. Maybe you know how bullheaded she could be. She wanted to do her part for my mission. She said she couldn’t stand watching Flash eat hay in the barn while I might be hungry in England.”
“And she sold her new rodeo saddle too?” I said.
“Well, I don’t recollect that she did,” replied Uncle Bill, scratching the top of his head. “I think she kept that saddle a long time, hoping to buy another horse so she could be a trick rider. Then later on she hoped to have a daughter to give it to. To be honest, I don’t know what happened to that saddle.”
I had almost completed Grandma’s history by the time I found out what happened to her prize saddle. I ran across a letter from Bishop Jensen in the box of papers Uncle Sid had given me.
“Dear Annie: I know how you like your gifts to be anonymous. But I just wanted to tell you how thrilled the Hansens are with your saddle. They were afraid of paralysis after the accident, but now their little Marie seems determined to put that saddle on a horse. I knew you wanted your saddle to go to a girl who loves horses, and there’s no doubt Marie loves horses.”
I finished Grandma’s history and made copies for my family. Everyone was thrilled, including Bishop Jensen, who turned 100 years old the day I gave him his copy.
By the way, I never did beat that sassy blonde from Glenville in the barrels. She got married that summer and moved away. But the next year, I shortened my stirrups a notch like Grandma said and won second place. First place went to Rebecca Williams, who happened to be “little” Marie Hansen’s daughter.
Grandma’s saddle deserved to win first.