Gospel Story Finder

Several days ago, we were discussing talks during a family meal. Clarissa, our 13-year-old daughter, was preparing a sacrament meeting talk for our branch in Moscow and felt some anxiety. I reassured her that all would be well and released a little anxiety of my own by saying that at least she didn’t have to speak in front of thousands of people in general conference. Clarissa gave me some advice of her own: “It will be OK, Dad. Just pretend it’s a big branch.” Brothers and sisters, you are indeed a very large branch.

Let me share with you a modern-day miracle which occurred several years ago at Murray High School near Salt Lake City, where every person was a winner and not a loser was to be found.
A newspaper article highlighted the event. The article was entitled “Tears, Cheers and True Spirit: Students Elect 2 Disabled Girls to Murray Royalty.” The article began: “Ted and Ruth Eyre did what any parents would do.
“When their daughter, Shellie, became a finalist for Murray High School homecoming queen, they counseled her to be a good sport in case she didn’t win. They explained only one girl among the 10 candidates would be selected queen. …
“As student body officers crowned the school’s homecoming [royalty] in the school gym Thursday night, Shellie Eyre experienced, instead, inclusion. The 17-year-old senior, born with Down syndrome, was selected by fellow students as homecoming queen. … As Ted Eyre escorted his daughter onto the gym floor as the candidates were introduced, the gym erupted into deafening cheers and applause. They were greeted with a standing ovation.”
Similar standing ovations were extended to Shellie’s attendants, one of whom, April Perschon, has physical and mental disabilities resulting from a brain hemorrhage suffered when she was just 10 years old.
When the ovations had ceased, the school’s vice principal said, “‘Tonight … the students voted on inner beauty.’ … Obviously moved, parents, school administrators and students wept openly.”
Said one student, “I’m so happy, I cried when they came out. I think Murray High is so awesome to do this.”
I extend a heartfelt “thank you” to one and all who made this night one ever to be remembered. The Scottish poet James Barrie’s words seem appropriate: “God gave us memories, that we might have June roses in the December of our lives.”

I love to build rockets and learn French and Korean in my spare time. Recently, I felt inspired to help the firefighters fighting the fires in Colorado. I decided to make firefighter grab bags. The bags had water bottles, a bandana, a granola bar, antibacterial wipes, sunscreen, and hand sanitizer. Many people donated money and supplies toward my project. When I delivered the bags a warm, calm feeling touched my soul. Seeing the appreciation in the eyes of the firefighters let me know how important service really is.
Lindsay C., 15, Colorado, USA

Let me say that as a stake president long ago, we had a flood in the Duncan Valley in Arizona. As soon as we overcame the excitement of the first report of it, my counselors and I formulated a telegram and sent it to Salt Lake City and said, “Please send us $10,000 by return mail.” I found that I was learning about welfare programs when no $10,000 came. When President Lee, President Romney and President Moyle came down and took me back in my little office in my business place we sat down around the table and they said, “This isn’t a program of ‘give me.’ This is a program of ‘self-help.’” And so we learned much from those brethren.
The other stakes in Arizona over the weekend gathered many hundreds of dollars and the presidents of those stakes came rushing in and I remember Lorenzo Wright of the Maricopa Stake in Mesa pulling out of his pocket checks, and bills, and cash, and that was all given to us. After we got in gear and saw that the problem was ours and that we had plenty of people who hadn’t been distressed and plenty of people who had the means, we went to work. My office was on Main Street and every day I would see passing my office truckloads of hay and wire and posts going up to Duncan because the flood had washed out the valley fences, barns, and haystacks. It had torn down all the fences, and had left hills where there were hollows and vice versa. Then we got the county to let us use some of their big equipment and it wasn’t so very long until the land was leveled; the fences were built; the clothes had been cleaned that were hanging in the closets and covered with mud; and we had helped ourselves; and we had relieved the problems that had brought distress to so many people.
Now it would have been an easy thing, I think, for the Brethren to have sent us that $10,000 and it wouldn’t have been too hard to sit in my office and distribute it; but what a lot of good came to us as we had hundreds of men go to Duncan and build fences and haul the hay and level the ground and do all the things that needed doing. That is self-help.

Born on January 8, 1805, in Oxford, Connecticut, Orson was the tenth child in a family of eleven born to Nathan and Sally Thorpe Hyde. At seven Orson was left homeless; then his mother died shortly after giving birth to her 11th child, and his father drowned in 1817. Homeless and orphaned, Orson was placed in the care of Nathan Wheeler of Derby, Connecticut, with whom he lived until he was 18. He was apparently happy, but as he matured, a yearning for education made him restless. However, before he could leave the Wheelers to seek an education, Mr. Wheeler’s business failed and the family moved from Connecticut to the cheap, fertile land of Kirtland, Ohio. Orson was 14 years old and walked the entire 600 miles with clothing and food in a knapsack slung over his back. The trip was exhausting but good experience for many similar adventures yet to come.

They’ll tell you about the area’s religious climate and how it once turned chilly. Ideologically speaking, Welch and Pineville are located somewhere near the buckle of the Bible Belt. There’s a church on almost every block. Families can trace their membership in one congregation or another back for generations. These devout neighbors have sometimes had a little trouble accepting the Christian credentials of the Latter-day Saints.
A couple of years ago an anti-Mormon group sprang up in the area, preaching against the Church over the radio and in local congregations. The members responded with an unusual tactic—love. Instead of arguing, they showed increased friendship for their detractors. Instead of boycotting the businesses of these people, they went out of their way to patronize them. They prayed sincerely for the members of the group, both in meetings and privately. They came to dearly love their critics, because the branch had never been more united. As for the opposition group, it melted away without a trace, and some of the Church’s bitterest enemies became its friends.

Morning RecessMandy, Mandy, trick or treat. How many treats did Mandy eat? One, two, three, four …
… eight, nine, ten, eleven—out!Ha ha! Mandy’s a klutz. My turn.
… four, five, six—out!Ouch!
Lunch RecessMandy, when I fell, why didn’t you laugh at me?I almost did, but I remembered that Jesus wants me to be kind.
Why should you care what He wants?Because of what He did for me.
What was that?Let’s share desserts and talk about it.

“It sure will be neat to have a holiday,” Stephanie mumbled, swallowing a bite of cupcake. “Thanksgiving’s almost my favorite holiday—after Christmas, of course, and may be Halloween. What could be better than no school and having all that good stuff to eat?”
Brushing a stray crumb of peanut butter sandwich from her cheek and crunching on a carrot stick, Winona declared, “This’ll be our first Thanksgiving here in Loganport.”
“Well, I’m sure glad you moved here, Winnie. Lunchtime is more fun with somebody like you to talk to. You should see our turkey,” she sighed blissfully, thinking of food again. “Mom says it weighs almost twenty pounds! How big is your family’s turkey?”
“We’re not getting one this year,” Winnie replied.
“Oh, sorry,” Stephanie said softly. “C’mon. There’s the bell. Just two and a half more hours and we’ll be free from school for four days!”
The crisp November air seemed to push Winnie along the sidewalk as she headed home after school. “Hi, Mom,” Winnie called as she closed the door to their apartment.
“I’m in the kitchen, dear,” Mother replied. “How was school? Glad to have vacation for a few days?”
“Uh-huh,” Winnie answered, coming into the kitchen. “Mom, what are we having for Thanksgiving dinner? Stephanie’s family has a twenty-pound turkey.”
“Well, dear, you know we can’t afford to buy a turkey this year. Moving to Loganport took a lot of money. But it’ll be worth it if your father’s work here holds out. It’s a shame the old hotel in Greensburg closed, but we should be glad that Dad likes his new job and that we have a nice place to live.”
“Nice place? This apartment is so plain, Mom. It’s awful! I’d be ashamed to bring anybody here.”
“Your friend Stephanie doesn’t seem to mind.”
“Stephanie understands, I guess. But the other girls at school wouldn’t.”
“Sure they would. Now, how about stirring the soup and setting the table while I put the corn bread into the oven. Dad will be home soon.”
Fifteen minutes later Dad came through the door. “Whew! What a busy day,” he said, hugging his wife. “That kitchen was really hopping today so that everything for the big Thanksgiving buffet tomorrow will be just right. I stuffed so many turkeys I’m going to dream about those birds all night.”
“I wish we were having turkey,” said Winnie.
“We are,” said Mother. “I have a can of turkey noodle soup that I’m going to make into the best turkey corn chowder you ever tasted.”
On Thanksgiving Day Winnie had to admit that the chowder tasted very good. Mom had even splurged and made a pumpkin pie.
Thanksgiving wasn’t bad after all, Winnie thought as she helped her mother with the dishes.
Dad came up behind them and gave them both a squeeze. “Happy Thanksgiving to my two lovely ladies,” he said with a smile. “You know, Mother, our Winona is really turning into quite a good-looking young lady.”
“She’s going to be a teenager before we know it!” Mother declared. She turned and smiled at her daughter. “In less than two weeks you’ll be thirteen years old, Winnie. I can’t believe it.”
“I’d say that calls for a party,” said Dad. “How would you like that, Winnie? You could invite some friends over.”
“A party,” Winnie gasped. “Oh, Dad, that would be super! But—I mean, can we afford it?”
“You and Mother work things out. You’re both pretty good budget balancers.”
The next afternoon Winnie and Stephanie sat at the kitchen table making invitations from colored paper. “Stephanie,” Winnie said after a long silence, “I’m worried. I want to ask the other girls to the party and at the same time I don’t want to. I wish we had a fancier home.”
“Hey, don’t be silly! Anybody dumb enough to worry about what your house looks like doesn’t deserve to be your friend. Besides, everybody likes parties.”
That evening Winnie heard her dad calling as soon as he entered the apartment.
“Where’s Winnie? I have a surprise for her.”
Winnie sprang up and ran to meet him.
“I don’t do this for just any lady friend,” Dad teased, “only good-looking women turning thirteen years old.” He held out a lump of aluminum foil.
Winnie carefully opened the foil. Inside lay ten wishbones.
“From the turkeys at the hotel kitchen,” Dad explained. “You can clean them up and use them for your party.”
“Neat, Dad!” Winnie exclaimed. She soaked the bones and pulled off any traces of meat. Then she put them on a sunny windowsill to dry.
The following week seemed like a blur to Winnie. “They sure have been piling on the homework since we got back,” she remarked to Stephanie at lunch.
“I’ll say! I’m stopping at the library on the way home. Want to come?”
Winnie shook her head. “I have to finish my book report before supper so I can help clean the house for the party. I still can’t believe everybody’s really coming.”
That night, tired but happy, Winnie snuggled under her patchwork quilt. It seemed like only minutes until she heard her mother’s voice. “Time to get up, teenager.”
Winnie scrambled out of bed and got dressed. Today was the big day. Almost before she knew it, she heard giggles on the stairs below. The girls were arriving for the party. Does everything look all right? she wondered. She whirled around and checked out the room: a plate of sandwiches, a bowl of chips, and a lovely cake with pink frosting. Mom’s old tablecloth looked elegant with paper flowers pinned to it. A knock sent her skipping to the door.
The girls bustled inside the apartment and began taking off their coats. “Well, what’s this?” asked Janice Jones, just about the classiest girl in the whole school. She sauntered over to the table. There, suspended on tiny threads above the birthday cake, hung ten wishbones, each tied with a slim pink bow.
“Wishbones,” said Winnie, thinking it was the dumbest thing she’d ever said. Her heart sank. She should have known Janice would think …
“That is absolutely the neatest thing I ever saw,” Janice announced. She made a quick count. “There’s one for each of us.”
“So nobody gets stuck with the short end,” explained Winnie.
“Everyone gets a wish come true today,” Stephanie chimed in.
Winnie knew Stephanie was right. Wishing for a turkey, wishing for a fancy house, wishing for friends—a girl could waste her whole life just wishing. A person thirteen years old ought to get out and do something and be happy about who she is. Reaching up with her scissors, she snipped off a wishbone and handed it to Janice. “Make a wish,” she said with a smile.

An anonymous Church member wrote about the continuous heartache her brother caused her parents. He got involved in drugs. He resisted all efforts at control and discipline. He was deceitful and defiant. Unlike the prodigal, this errant son did not come home of his own accord. Instead he got caught by the police and was forced to face the consequences of his actions. For two years his parents supported Bill’s treatment program, which brought about his eventual recovery from drugs. In summary, Bill’s sister observed: “I think my parents are extraordinary. They never wavered in their love for Bill, though they disagreed with and even hated what he was doing to himself and to their family life. But they were committed enough to their family to support Bill in any way necessary to get him through the tough times and onto more solid ground. They practiced the deeper, more sensitive, and extensive gospel of Christ by loving one who had gone astray.”

S stands for Service in Arizona. All over the state, LDSSA council members are boosting the idea that involvement is joy.
In the Phoenix region, the Latter-day Saint students are concentrating on the underprivileged areas. The main focus of their work has been on community school activities. They started from scratch and have developed a five-day-a-week program for all interested adult members in the surrounding community.
“We beamed with pride when Mr. Fuller, director of the community school, spoke at the institute and praised our efforts,” commented Gordon Paul Sorenson.
Brian Hendrickson, third-year law student, is community project chairman; and, according to Tempe institute director Sherman Beck, Brian stirred up a wonderful storm when he got the community project going. “Working with underprivileged children to lift them to greater heights of accomplishment and to give meaning to their lives is most rewarding,” Brian says.
Erline Hall is a great girl with a heart quick to sense an ache in another’s. She has winning ways with children, too, who clamor to “sit by teacher” as she assists them in reading as part of Safford, Arizona’s Head Start program. Her speciality is the five-year-old Mexican-American students, who are eager to learn.
Winter has come to the desert around Tucson. The morning air is biting to young Lamanites standing in a huddle waiting for their ride to seminary. Their own parents are unable to take them. But there are smiles all around when a long car pulls to a quick stop. It’s Chris, one of the girls who signed up with LDSSA’s car pool project. At seminary the students will be taught by a young returned missionary, also a member of LDSSA.
Every Monday night in Tucson, carloads of happy college students embark upon their most thrilling night of the week. Twenty minutes later they are in a twentieth century ghetto, tutoring elementary and high school students.
One member is teaching piano to four black students; and because no instruments are available in their homes or in the neighborhood, she picks the students up and takes them to the institute, where pianos are available.
“The service we render to others is really the rent we pay for our room on this earth,” said Sir Wilfred Thomason Grenfell. The service we render to others is also an act of love and obedience before our Heavenly Father, who reminds us that to lose our life is to save it.

The branch in Broken Hill is small, and Jared is the oldest Aaronic Priesthood bearer. He’s conscious of the example he has to set for the younger boys, to show his brothers and the other boys “the right things to do.” And the priesthood itself? “It just feels good. You feel special—a lot more confident when you have to do hard things, like tests at school.”
One of those right things to do is home teaching. “I like to home teach,” Jared says. With his senior companion, Lee Robertson, Jared visits five families, offering the prayer when asked. Jared likes people, and home teaching helps him get to know these families better. (It doesn’t hurt that Brother Robertson is also an outdoorsman. He and Jared sometimes talk about hunting wild pigs in the bush, and Jared is looking forward to getting his own compound bow, maybe doing some hunting himself.)
Jared has struck it rich in Broken Hill, all right, but he would also be the first to admit that he brought his greatest treasure with him. The Kowalski home on Cobalt Street is modest, but it’s filled with family and love. As Jared puts it, “We have heaps of fun. We have family home evening, go to the movies. I go camping with my dad.”
The family also reads the Book of Mormon together. Sometimes it makes Jared feel inspired; sometimes it’s hard to understand. But it does help contribute to his growing testimony. “I’ve already got a big testimony of prayer,” he says.
When Jared’s mission call comes a few years from now, it may not be to the jungles of the Amazon. But you know that wherever he goes, he’s going to be happy and successful.
Some people look at a place and think of it as nowhere. Then a guy like Jared comes along and turns it into his own personal somewhere. Like those first prospectors, Jared has found a vein of treasure. He’s rich in the best possible way.

There’s an ancient oriental legend that tells the story of a jeweler who had a precious pearl he wanted to sell. In order to place this pearl in the proper setting, he conceived the idea of building a special box of the finest woods to contain the pearl. He sought these woods and had them brought to him, and they were polished to a high brilliance. He then reinforced the corners of this box with elegant brass hinges and added a red velvet interior. As a final step, he scented that red velvet with perfume, then placed in that setting this precious pearl.
The pearl was then placed in the store window of the jeweler, and after a short period of time, a rich man came by. He was attracted by what he saw and sat down with the jeweler to negotiate a purchase. The jeweler soon realized that the man was negotiating for the box rather than the pearl. You see, the man was so overcome by the beauty of the exterior that he failed to see the pearl of great price.

Let me illustrate this point with a story. A family made plans to go on a fun trip together. They were excited to visit a new place and have some great adventures.

About halfway through their trip, their car broke down. They were sad and discouraged. They felt that all their efforts had been wasted, so they decided to go back home and start their trip all over again.

Now, you may say to yourself, that is ridiculous—why would they completely start over? But don’t we do the same thing sometimes? Sometimes we feel discouraged or falsely believe that one little mistake erases all the progress we have made. But mistakes don’t erase the progress we make as we strive to become more like Jesus Christ. As Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles explained: “Jesus Christ, the Son of God, died so that our mistakes might not condemn us and forever halt our progress. Because of Him, we can repent, and our mistakes can become stepping-stones to greater glory.”3 We need to be patient with ourselves and stay hopeful.

Susan Gong tells of her experiences with a difficult, frustrating missionary companion who was sullen and had a biting tongue. She describes a terrible confrontation they had. She said;

Our argument turned into a high decibel shouting match as we hurled insults back and forth. . . when we finally ran out of angry words, we stomped back to the bus stop in silence and caught the last bus home, glaring at each other all the way. Still fuming when we returned to the apartment, I quickly turned out the lights and offered a very direct, sincere, on my knees prayer. How was I supposed to work with this woman? How could we possibly carry a message of peace and love? She was stubborn, vindictive, hateful, lazy, and maybe even crazy. She was the most despicable person I'd ever known. The answer to my angry prayer came suddenly and clearly by words uttered by a voice I felt in my heart, "She is my daughter and I love her. You shall not speak of her that way."

At the same time, I felt the Savior's love for me wash over and through me. It was immensely liberating revelation. He knew me "my sins, my arrogance, my pettiness" and he loved me anyway. He loved my companion too, enough to tell me, her insensitive companion, that she was lovable, loved by Him. This revelation didn't eliminate our problems, but it helped me want to understand her instead of judge her. It opened my heart to a new kind of compassion. As we grew closer, she confided that she had been abused by her father and brother. She had suffered things I could never truly understand [before]. How could I have judged her?"

When I first joined L?hui I was scared to huli, or flip the canoe. After being in the canoe once it had flipped, I found out there are much worse things to worry about – like trying to get back into it after it has been righted. Falling out is easy – gravity and momentum help with that. However, getting in the canoe is hard. You must work against gravity to do that. But, just like everyone works together to move the canoe forward, everyone in the canoe works together to right it and get everyone back in. The first time getting back in the canoe I needed some extra pushing and pulling to flop myself into the canoe. It was awkward, uncomfortable, and weird. But I was so overcome with gratitude for my teammates not leaving me in the ocean and paddling off without me that the gratitude I felt for them helped make it not weird. Now that I can get into the canoe by myself (mostly), I have much more compassion and grace for those just beginning out.

One of my favorite pioneer stories illustrates this protection principle. It is the story of a pioneer girl named Agnes Caldwell, who was in the Willie Handcart Company in 1856. At the time, she was only 9 years of age. As told in her own words, she related:
Although only tender years of age, I can yet close my eyes and see everything in panoramic precision before me—the ceaseless walking, walking, ever to remain in my memory. Many times I would become so tired and, childlike, would hang on the cart, only to be gently pushed away. Then I would throw myself by the side of the road and cry. Then realizing they were all passing me by, I would jump to my feet and make an extra run to catch up.
She goes on to share,
Just before we crossed the mountains, relief wagons reached us, and it certainly was a relief. The infirm and aged were allowed to ride, all able-bodied continuing to walk. When the wagons started out, a number of us children decided to see how long we could keep up with the wagons, in hopes of being asked to ride. At least that is what my great hope was. One by one they all fell out, until I was the last one remaining, so determined was I that I should get a ride. After what seemed the longest run I ever made before or since, the driver . . . called to me, “Say, sissy, would you like a ride?” I answered in my very best manner, “Yes sir.” At this he reached over, taking my hand, clucking to his horses to make me run, with legs that seemed to me could run no farther. On we went, to what to me seemed miles. . . . Just at what seemed the breaking point, he stopped. Taking a blanket, he wrapped me up and lay me in the bottom of the wagon, warm and comfortable. Here I had time to change my mind, as I surely did, knowing full well by doing this he saved me from freezing when taken into the wagon. [4]
Agnes Caldwell arrived safely in Salt Lake City on Nov. 9, 1856. She later married Chester Southworth and became a mother to 13 children.
Had the driver of that wagon taken Agnes into the wagon without making her run, she would have surely succumbed to the bitter cold. And had Agnes chosen to give up and fall behind, her story may have ended much differently. However, for Agnes this became her defining moment, and though the decision to run did not make perfect sense at the time, she ran anyway with grit, determination, faith, and hope.

Nee-a-ma-ah and his grandparents returned home to Wyoming. Years later, Nee-a-ma-ah longed to return to the Holy Hill where he was healed. He traveled to Utah and found that things in Baa-da-see were very different. Log cabins and houses splayed across the land, and men with long beards had preached to and baptized many Shoshone people.
The sacred Holy Hill was now home to the Logan Utah Temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Through Church missionaries, Nee-a-ma-ah learned many teachings that aligned with his own people’s beliefs. He found that they believed in the same God—a God of healing and peace.
On August 1, 1897, Nee-a-ma-ah was baptized in the Bear River. His name was changed to Moses Neaman. He met and married Rebecca Widgagee, and they were sealed in the Logan Utah Temple.
Moses’s journey of faith has greatly blessed six generations of his posterity. His great-granddaughter Odessa, from Toppenish, Washington, still shares his story today. “Little did Moses know that he would change the lives of his family,” she says. “I am so thankful for my ancestors, my pioneers. They laid the path for me to enjoy all the blessings of the restored gospel.”

During the weekend of the April 2011 general conference, we had a major snowstorm in the Salt Lake City area on Saturday night. When my wife and I got up Sunday morning, we had 10 to 12 inches of snow in our yard, and the power was out. I thought I’d turn on a generator we had for emergencies.
When I tried to start the generator, the battery was dead. Later I found that there was a circuit that had drained energy from the battery. Although the generator had a charger to help keep the battery fully charged, someone had bumped the cord, so we ended up getting ready for general conference without any electricity.
Thinking back on that experience, I see that the generator and the battery are like our spirituality. Our spiritual batteries need to be charged all the time.
A battery can’t charge itself. For the battery on my generator, I had to buy a charger, connect it, and keep checking it. Keeping a battery charged isn’t something you can do just once and forget about it.
Since that experience I had at April general conference, I’ve been consistent in making sure the charger is plugged in and that the battery is staying charged. That’s the kind of discipline we all need for our testimonies—we need to work on them consistently. And in the doing comes the blessing of having your batteries charged.

Robbie wiped the sweat from his face. The sun beat down on him as he played ball with other fourth-grade boys.
Seth threw the ball to Robbie. A boy on the other team lunged for it, but missed. Robbie dove for the ball and caught it before it hit the ground. The other boy called Robbie a mean name.
“Don’t let him get away with saying that, Robbie,” Seth said.
Robbie ignored the mean name and took his position. Some of the boys snickered.
Robbie couldn’t get the word out of his mind. When his team won the game, he didn’t feel like celebrating with his teammates.
That evening, Robbie told Dad what happened. “Why did he call me that word?” Robbie asked.
“Not everyone believes what we do,” Dad said. “Some people think using words like that makes them seem cool. Words have a lot of power. They can build people up or tear them down.”
“Seth told me not to let the boy get away with saying what he did,” Robbie said.
“What did you do?” Dad asked.
Robbie looked down. “I ignored him and kept playing,” Robbie said.
Dad hugged Robbie. “You did the right thing. I’m proud of you.”
Robbie was happy to hear Dad say that. “I guess you’re right,” Robbie said, smiling. “Words do have a lot of power.”

Sarah quickly finished dressing as the morning sun streamed into her bedroom. She was so excited that she could hardly button her shirt. She’d been counting the days till her tenth birthday for weeks, and it was finally here.
She hurried downstairs to the kitchen. “Morning, Mom; morning, Dad,” she said, planting a kiss on each cheek and slipping into her seat at the breakfast table.
“Happy birthday, honey.” Her mother was making Sarah’s favorite breakfast—strawberry pancakes.
“How’s my birthday girl?” asked Dad squeezing her shoulders.
There it was, next to her plate. A little velvet box. Ever since her best friend, Sally, got a real ring on her last birthday, Sarah had been pleading for one of her own. Sally’s was beautiful—ruby red with a rhinestone on each side that glistened in the sun. Sarah gingerly touched the fuzzy fabric.
“Go ahead—open it,” Mom said from the stove.
Her heart pounding, Sarah closed her eyes and lifted the lid. When she opened them again, her heart sank. Nestled inside the beautiful little box was a plain silver ring with a tiny stone that looked like glass, not the brightly colored gem she had imagined. And the ring didn’t even look new.
“Do you like it, Sarah?” asked Dad.
Hiding her disappointment, Sarah answered, “A ring is just what I wanted.”
“It was your great-grandmother’s, you know,” Mom said, setting Sarah’s plate in front of her. “It’s an heirloom.”
“It’s very nice. Thanks.” Sarah stared hard at the ring in front of her and swallowed the lump in her throat.
“Here, let me.” Dad leaned across the table and slid the ugly little ring onto Sarah’s finger. He stood up. “I have to leave now, but I’ll be home early for cake.” He winked at Sarah, kissed them both good-bye, and left for work.
Sarah walked slowly down the sidewalk toward school, knowing that Sally would be waiting for her at the corner. There she was. Sarah slowed her steps even more.
“Happy birthday!” Sally called, beaming. “Did you get it? Let me see it.” And before Sarah could pull away, Sally had grabbed her hand and was staring at the ring.
Forcing a smile, Sarah mumbled, “It belonged to my great-grandmother.”
Sally shrugged. “It’s nice,” she said politely, admiring her own hand.
When they got to school, Sarah slipped the ring off and tucked it into her pocket.
That afternoon she went home from school to find her mother hanging paper streamers in the dining room.
“Hi, sweetie, how was your day?” Then, seeing Sarah’s hand, she gasped, “Oh no! You didn’t lose the ring?”
Horrified, Sarah remembered that it was still in her pocket. She pulled it out hurriedly as she stammered, “No, Mom. I took it off because I was afraid of … of losing it and … and …” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t dare look at Mom’s face.
Mom sat down and patted the seat next to her. “You’re a little disappointed with it, aren’t you?” she asked softly.
Sarah started to shake her head but then just nodded and looked down at her lap, blinking back tears.
“I’m sorry, Sarah, that we didn’t give this to you tonight, when we could tell you about it, instead of this morning, when Dad and you had to rush off. Let’s see, where should I begin … ? We did tell you that it’s an heirloom. Do you know what an heirloom is?”
Sarah shook her head.
“Now we’re giving it to you. It’s a little piece of our family,” she finished. “Do you understand what an heirloom is now?”
Sarah gazed at the ring still clutched in her hand. Hugging her mother, she whispered, “Thanks for telling me, Mom. I’ll be careful with it.” She slipped it back on, and the sun glinted on the tiny stone for a second. Sarah felt as if she herself was shining.
“You’d better go change, or you’ll be late for your own party!” Mom reminded her now. Sarah dashed upstairs. When the doorbell rang a few minutes later, it was Sally. Sarah held out her hand with the ring on it, proclaiming happily, “Wait till you hear all about my ring—it’s an heirloom!”