Gospel Story Finder

As a social worker working as a child abuse investigator in Southern California, I was assigned to work in the drug unit of a local government agency. One of my duties was to provide services to new mothers who had delivered drug exposed babies. My job was to help the mothers identify their problems, overcome their substance abuse issues, and to reunify with their babies which had been removed from their care. On one occasion, I had a young mother on my caseload that suffered from a severe heroin addiction. She had given birth to a baby boy just days earlier while under the influence of this damaging substance. At her request, I met her next to a trash dumpster in a back alley of a rundown neighborhood. There sitting on the curb she told me that she knew what she was doing was wrong. She knew of the dangers she was inflicting upon herself and her unborn child. She explained to me that she had never wanted to have children due to her current lifestyle, but now it was too late. Now she was a mother. With tears in her eyes she asked me if I could help her become the best mother to her child. I knew she was talking about her divine nature, but she could not know of this—she only felt it. She knew of the important role of being a mother to this new baby and she had work to do to get there. I went on to help her get into a drug treatment program, a parenting class, and counseling. I assisted her along the way. Several years later a co-worker ran into her and she recognized her badge. It was the same type that I had worn when I worked with her. She asked this co-worker to let me know that she was working fulltime and that her son was doing well in her care. She wanted to let me know that she was thankful that I had treated her with respect and like a friend when nobody else would.

Part of keeping the commandments is serving the Lord. President Lugo, the president of the Ilagan Stake, is a tiny little man with great faith. He has the image of the Savior in his countenance. I learned that he had been in a serious cycle accident and had been in the hospital. It was nearing the time in their stake for their yearly trip to the temple to do baptisms for the dead. He was devastated at the thought of not going with the youth, but he could not walk.

His wife said, “You cannot go. If you go, the youth would have to carry you, and that would be asking too much.”

President Lugo said, “If they will carry me into the temple, I will walk out.”

And that is exactly what he did. How can we possibly draw limits on our service to the Lord?

Claudia Laur, a Mia Maid in the Munich Third Ward, Munich Germany Stake, realized there were many activities in the ward for the young ladies but not many for the elderly sisters. Because she felt that particularly those who lived alone might not be benefiting from the same warmth of fellowship, she gathered the Mia Maids and Beehives together and planned an afternoon for the older sisters in the ward. The Merrie Miss Primary class was also invited to participate.
At a planning meeting, a program was outlined, including a difficult-to-learn round dance, a medley of favorite songs from the 50s, self-composed sketches and pantomimes, question-and-answer games in which the older sisters would participate, comedy, hymns (to add a spiritual side to the activity), and of course, refreshments.
Soon they had polished their routines, choreographed their steps, rehearsed their lines, and prepared their props. On the day of the gathering, decorations transformed the cultural hall into a cozy “Café in the Woods,” a comfortable setting for the older ladies to relax in while they enjoyed the show.
“We had a delightful afternoon,” one of the invited guests said. “They welcomed us warmly and escorted us to our tables, which were decorated with flowers and a nice little personal card. Their happy program put us in a joyful mood. We couldn’t help but feel that they served with love. It helped us to feel the unity that can come to sisters in the Church.”
Beehive Andrea Klein agreed: “It was really nice to see the older sisters so happy about such little things. The preparation and practices took a lot of time and required patience and effort, but it was well worth it.”

I know of a couple who lived thousands of miles from the nearest temple. Although they earned little, they faithfully paid their tithing and saved all that they could to journey to the house of the Lord. After a year, the husband’s brother—not a member of the Church—unexpectedly came forward and offered them two airplane tickets. This temporal blessing made possible the spiritual blessings of their temple endowments and sealing. An additional spiritual blessing came later as the brother, touched by the couple’s humble faithfulness, joined the Church.

In a testimony meeting in Bari, Italy, you can imagine my surprise when a young man stood up and said, “If it hadn’t been for the missionaries, I wouldn’t be here today.” He then went on to tell how his mother and grandparents had been found in Paris, France, by Elders Ben Walton and James Paramore 30 years earlier. After many meetings, the family was baptized. Now this son was on a mission. I later learned that over the years more than 170 people had been baptized by that family. I had been privileged to serve a mission, and those two and a half years were crucial to my testimony. I cannot thank God enough.

Sister Bednar and I are acquainted with a returned missionary who had dated a special young woman for a period of time. This young man cared for the young woman very much, and he was desirous of making his relationship with her more serious. He was considering and hoping for engagement and marriage. Now this relationship was developing during the time that President Hinckley counseled the Relief Society sisters and young women of the Church to wear only one earring in each ear.

The young man waited patiently over a period of time for the young woman to remove her extra earrings, but she did not take them out. This was a valuable piece of information for this young man, and he felt unsettled about her nonresponsiveness to a prophet’s pleading. For this and other reasons, he ultimately stopped dating the young woman, because he was looking for an eternal companion who had the courage to promptly and quietly obey the counsel of the prophet in all things and at all times. The young man was quick to observe that the young woman was not quick to observe.

Now before I continue, I presume that some of you might have difficulty with my last example. In fact, this particular illustration of the young man being quick to observe may even fan the flames of controversy on campus, resulting in letters of disagreement to the Daily Universe! You may believe the young man was too judgmental or that basing an eternally important decision, even in part, upon such a supposedly minor issue is silly or fanatical. Perhaps you are bothered because the example focuses upon a young woman who failed to respond to prophetic counsel instead of upon a young man. I simply invite you to consider and ponder the power of being quick to observe and what was actually observed in the case I just described. The issue was not earrings!

“Let’s Create Night has always been one of my favorites. Last time Dad assigned me to be in charge of Let’s Create Night. I decided that it would be fun to challenge everyone to create something beautiful from something that was not so beautiful. I gathered six ugly, dirty rocks and during the week presented one to each member of the family, asking each of them to create something beautiful from the ugly stone. The results were fun and fascinating—real beauty and some unique ideas grew from the rough exteriors of those unsightly rocks.”

When youth in the Union Fort Sixth Ward, Midvale (Utah) Union Fort Stake, decided to enter a local snow sculpture contest, they had high hopes of winning the $50 consolation prize to buy pizza for everyone. Imagine their surprise when they won the $350 second prize!
And so, the prize money for their boat-eating shark sculpture did purchase lots of food. But it wasn’t pizza for the hungry youth. Instead, they voted to donate their winnings to their local Scouting for Food drive. With their winnings, they were able to purchase more than 800 cans of food.

Jamie and Sara picked up rocks while Dan and Beth raked the new garden that Father had plowed for them. Then they marked the soil off in rows.
“The garden is ready!” they all shouted at once when they were finished.
Father held out a shoe box as everyone gathered around. “Since this is going to be your money-making project for the year, you must all plant your own seeds and tend your own part of the garden. You may choose two kinds of vegetables. Whatever you grow you can sell at our roadside stand down by the gate.”
Dan grabbed a packet of tomato seeds and one of pumpkin seeds out of the box. “I’m going to grow the best tomatoes and pumpkins in the whole county!” he declared.
Beth chose green beans and cucumbers. “I’ll make lots of money growing these. Everybody likes them.”
Sara reached for carrots and yellow summer squash. “These are easy to grow,” she said. “I’ll have lots of vegetables to sell.”
Jamie looked at the rest of the seed packets in the box for a long time. She wished that there were more seeds to choose from.
“Why don’t you grow beets and green onions,” Beth suggested.
Jamie shook her head. “I don’t like beets and green onions,” she protested. “And I want something that grows tall.”
“Hurry up and decide so that we can get our seeds planted,” Dan said impatiently.
“You like lettuce, Jamie,” Mother suggested.
“Lettuce is good,” Jamie agreed as she picked up the packet of lettuce seeds, “but it’s not tall.” Then she discovered a fat white packet that had been folded over at the top. Jamie picked it up and shook it. “What kind of seeds are these?”
“Sweet peas,” Mother answered. “I didn’t have room for them in my garden.”
“I like peas,” said Jamie. “Do they grow tall?”
“Yes, very tall,” Mother said, “but—“
Jamie grinned. “Then I’ll plant them.”
Beth laughed. “You can’t eat sweet peas,” she said. “They’re flowers, not vegetables.”
“But I want to grow them,” Jamie insisted.
Father shook his head and smiled. “Let Jamie plant them,” he said. “She can grow whatever she wants in her garden. But, Jamie, you’d better plant the seeds next to the wire fence so that they’ll have something to climb on as they grow.”
Dan and Beth and Sara rushed into the garden to plant their seeds. Jamie got down on her hands and knees by the fence and poked her finger into the soft dirt to make little round holes like Dad had shown her. Then she dropped a sweet pea seed into each hole. After she planted the lettuce seeds, she watered her whole plot. She could hardly wait for the seeds to sprout!
Just a few days later Jamie noticed slender green shoots poking up through the soil by the fence. She watered the little plants every day. The round green leaves began to unfold on her lettuce plants.
One day while Jamie was pulling up weeds, Dan stopped and looked at Jamie’s garden. “You’d better thin your lettuce plants,” he said, “or you won’t have big round heads of lettuce.” He squatted down beside Jamie to show her how. “Leave the biggest, strongest plant, and pull out all of the little lettuce plants around it,” he explained, clearing a space around two nice-looking lettuce plants. Then he stood up and went back to his own garden.
Jamie looked at the little plants Dan had pulled out. She couldn’t bear to pull up any more. They would all die. So she left the lettuce row and went to look at her sweet peas. They didn’t need thinning. They had already put out little green tendrils that curled around the wire fence.
As the weeks went by, everyone worked hard, weeding and watering their gardens. Beans hung like long green fingers from Beth’s plants. Shiny green cucumbers peeked from among the broad leaves of her cucumber vines. Sara’s carrot tops were tall and lacy. There were crooked yellow squash all along her row. Juicy red tomatoes began to appear among the green ones on Dan’s plants, and fat green pumpkins dotted his pumpkin patch. Jamie looked at her own garden. There were only two round heads of lettuce. The rest of the row was filled with tall scraggly plants. The sweet peas had grown to the top of the fence and were covered with flowers in a rainbow of colors. They were pretty, but there were no peas.
One morning at breakfast Dan announced, “Some of our vegetables are ready to pick. May we open the roadside stand today?”
“Yes,” Father said, “but don’t pick more than you can sell in a couple of hours. You can always pick more, and your vegetables will stay fresh that way. I’ll put up the sign for you.”
“But my peas aren’t ready to pick yet,” Jamie protested.
“Those flowers aren’t going to turn into peas,” Beth said and rushed out the door after Dan and Sara.
Tears welled up in Jamie’s eyes. “My garden is no good,” she said. “It’s only flowers, not food.”
“Flowers are like food in a way,” Mother said, “food for the soul. When we see and smell them, they make us happy. I think that that’s why Heavenly Father made flowers so beautiful.”
Jamie sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Then can I take some of my flowers down to the roadside stand too?” she asked.
“Of course,” Mother said. “Take these garden shears and cut the stems long enough to put the flowers in water to keep them fresh.”
Jamie hurried to the garden and filled a small bucket with the colorful flowers. Then she carried them to the roadside stand. “Have you sold lots of vegetables yet?” she asked as she divided the sweet peas into bunches and put them into jars with water in them.
Dan shook his head. “Lots of cars go by, but nobody stops.”
Jamie had just finished setting her flowers on the counter when a car pulled up and a lady got out.
“What lovely sweet peas!” she cried. She chose a bunch and held them to her nose. “My, those vegetables look nice and fresh too.” She bought something from everyone before she drove away.
More cars began to stop. Soon Dan and Beth and Sara had all gone back to the garden for more vegetables. There was only one bunch of sweet peas left when Beth came back with more beans.
“I’m glad that people like your flowers so much, Jamie,” Beth said. “Everybody who stops to buy them buys vegetables too. Better hurry and cut some more.”
Jamie grinned and ran back to the garden for more sweet peas.

It’s time for another family gathering in Hooper, Utah. All the cousins scramble onto the big hay wagon, drawn by a team of Grandpa Parker’s Clydesdale horses, for a ride around the small farming community. During the ride Grandpa says, “This isn’t much different from the way the pioneers traveled across the plains.” The children smile because they know that Grandpa’s bay horses aren’t much like oxen.

Now the horses are ready to take the family for a ride. They trot as though they love to pull in their harnesses, and they are lucky to have someone who loves to train them.

After an enjoyable ride over to the park and back, Grandpa pulls on the right rein for the horses to turn into the area by the corral where he can unhitch them by reversing the harnessing process.

The children slide off the wagon, already looking forward to the next time that they come for a visit to Grandpa’s farm. It was a fun ride, but they are glad that they don’t have to ride on a wagon day after day or walk all the way across the plains as many pioneers did.

The show ended with another hymn from the chorus. Then an eager crowd of young folks swept the chairs back to their appointed places, hooked up the record player, and swirled across the floor in near-perfect ballroom form.
“We heard that elegant dancing is coming back into style in the U.S.,” one brother said. “So we tried it here. We saw the BYU dancers perform once and admired them. Now we dance like this all the time.”

Get tough with yourself. President Spencer W. Kimball gave us a powerful example in a talk to the youth of Stockholm, Sweden. Describing his own boyhood, he said:

“As I was out alone, milking the cows, or putting up the hay, I had time to think. I mulled it over in my mind and made this decision: ‘I, Spencer Kimball, will never taste any form of liquor. I, Spencer Kimball, will never touch tobacco. I will never drink coffee, nor will I ever touch tea—not because I can explain why I shouldn’t, except that the Lord said not to.’ He said those things were an abomination. There are many other things that are, too, that are not in the Word of Wisdom. But I made up my mind.

“That’s the point I am trying to make. I made up my mind then, as a little boy: ‘I will never touch those things.’ And so, having made up my mind, it was easy to follow it, and I did not yield. There were many temptations that came along, but I did not even analyze it; I did not stop and measure it and say, ‘Well, shall I or shall I not?’ I always said to myself: ‘But I made up my mind I would not. Therefore, I do not.’

“I’m a little older than any of you here tonight, and I want to just say that I will soon go into another year and that I have never tasted tea, nor coffee, nor tobacco, nor liquor of any kind, nor drugs. Now that may sound very presumptuous and boasting to you, but I am only trying to make this point: that if every boy and girl—as he or she begins to grow a little more mature and becomes a little more independent of his friends and his family and all—if every boy and girl would make up his or her mind, ‘I will not yield,’ then no matter what the temptation is: ‘I made up my mind. That’s settled.’” (In Conference Report, Stockholm Sweden Area Conference, 1975, pp. 86–87.)

When my son was just six years old, he suffered a physical attack that caused his fragile young mind to “break,” as it were. Prayers and fasting, pleading with the Lord, and years of medical attention and amazing medications have brought him back from a seemingly hopeless place to a happy and healthy life. It was not just prayers that helped him, although those certainly helped. It was a use of the knowledge the medical community has gained that ultimately brought about God’s miraculous gift of healing. We acted instead of just being acted upon.

Through this experience, I learned something about the Atonement that I hadn’t understood before, even after growing up in the Church. I always thought the Atonement was just for sinners. But it goes so much deeper than that. When Christ was suffering in the Garden of Gethsemane, He felt all the pains and sufferings of us all.

Elder Neil L. Andersen said:

Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, through the incalculable gift of His Atonement, not only saves us from death and offers us, through repentance, forgiveness for our sins, but He also stands ready to save us from the sorrows and pains of our wounded souls.

The pain that Christ felt was so great that He bled from every pore. It wasn’t just godly sorrow for wrongdoing—it was the pain of a mother longing for children, the pain of a parent whose child had been harmed, and the pain of a child who suffers trauma. It was all the pain we would ever suffer. And thus the Atonement is for that, too. It can help my suffering heart to heal, it can give me the strength to forgive those who have harmed me or my family, and it can comfort my children through their pains and sorrows. It can comfort you through yours. It is for all of that—not just for sin.

Emily is a young wife who was in search of the truth. Her husband, Michael, was less interested in religion. When Emily became ill and spent some time in the hospital, Cali, a Relief Society sister who is also her neighbor, took the family meals, watched their baby, cleaned the house, and arranged for Emily to receive a priesthood blessing. These acts of charity softened Michael’s heart. He decided to attend Church meetings and to meet with the missionaries. Emily and Michael were recently baptized.

When I was 10 years old, I was exposed to pornography. After that, I became heavily involved in it for two years. When I was 12, my mother decided to have a family home evening on the law of chastity. I realized during this family home evening that I had a problem and that it was unhealthy and wrong. I told my mother about it, and she helped me get rid of the pornographic materials I had. Later that week, I received a blessing from my bishop.
For the next three years, I tried to stop using pornography, but I kept having relapses. One night when I was 16, I was struggling especially hard. I remember falling to my knees and praying for help, because I knew that when we have challenges, we need to pray to Heavenly Father for all things. During my prayer, I received peace and strength.
I then had the idea to fill my time with something good to replace the temptation. I started to work diligently on Personal Progress. As I did, I felt my Savior’s love. Heavenly Father helped me to vigorously focus on Personal Progress instead of pornography. The more I focused on the teachings of Jesus Christ in my Personal Progress, the more I became resistant to the temptations of pornography.
Heavenly Father also helped me in other ways during my struggle. He helped me realize that I couldn’t go on the computer alone or else I would be tempted to search for pornography. I decided that when I wanted to use the internet, I would use the computers at a nearby public library instead of the devices at home so that I would always be surrounded by people.
With the help of the Lord, I finished my Personal Progress and received my Young Womanhood Recognition. I felt so good and proud and thankful to my Heavenly Father for helping me to get this far. My relationship with the Lord felt so strong because I had relied on Him for so much help. Eventually, having become clean and strong, I went on to serve a mission.
Heavenly Father is willing to help us with our righteous desires if we ask Him. I know how important it is to use the grace of Jesus Christ’s Atonement at all times. If we desire to overcome our weaknesses and turn to God, He will help us.

Lydia always remained faithful, but one of her sons, Jesse, not only grew up inactive in the Church but would argue against the Church with his mother. J. William Knight recorded that on his grandmother’s last visit to the Knight home before her death, his father Jesse said:

“Mother, how is it you are not preaching to me as you usually do?” She answered, “Jesse, I have prayed in the Temple for my children many times and on one occasion the Lord made known to me that I was not to worry about you any more, that you would one day understand for yourself.” Father then said to her, “Mother, I know you must be mistaken, for I’m further from the Church now than I have ever been before.” She replied, “I don’t care what you say, I know you will one day see the Gospel for yourself, and I never intend to argue again with you about religion.” [Jesse Knight Family, 33]

Jesse’s mother then returned to St. George and her temple work. On the day that she completed the temple work for the last family name that she had, she went to bed and quietly passed away to go meet Newel and “that God who gave [her] life” (see Jesse Knight Family, 24; Alma 40:11).

A few years later Jesse’s family was afflicted with sickness. His youngest child, about two years old, was the first to become sick. J. William stated that Jennie “was the idol of the whole family” (Jesse Knight Family, 34). When the doctors declared that nothing more could be done to save her, Jesse’s wife insisted that they call the elders to administer to the child. However, Jesse stated: “No, it would be hypocritical, now that the doctors have given her up, for me to resort to such a thing.” “And besides,” he said, “I have no faith in the Church” (in Jesse Knight Family, 34).

Jesse’s wife prevailed, and the elders were called. They administered to the unconscious two-year-old. As soon as they finished, Jennie immediately regained consciousness, sat up, and noticed the flowers in the window. Jesse’s son J. William wrote, “From that very moment, my father’s life was changed” and he “remembered the words of his mother” (Jesse Knight Family, 34). Jesse himself noted:

Soon after the miraculous healing of Jennie, our oldest girl, Minnie, was striken. . . . From the time she was taken ill, Minnie felt that she would not recover. When asked why she felt so, she answered that when Jennie was so bad she had asked God to take her if she would do as well as Jennie; so she counted the days, believing she would live but thirty days from the time she took sick.
Every day she kept the count, and departed as she had said. Her going was peaceful, her breath leaving her as she said the prayer, “Oh God, bless our household.” I remembered now that when she was a baby she had diphtheria, and that then, almost seventeen years ago, I had promised the Lord that if he would spare her life I would not forget Him. I had not kept that promise. How keenly I felt the justice of her being taken from us! I suffered in my feelings. I prayed for forgiveness and help. My prayer was answered and I received a testimony. [Jesse Knight Family, 35–36; original spelling]

While deaths at any time are heartbreaking, the timings of deaths during the crisis of 1918-1920 were sometimes tragic in themselves. In February 1919, John Diston, a native of Sunderland, was faithfully discharged from the British Royal Navy and rushed home to be with his young wife, Beatrice, in Portsmouth. The couple had only been married six months and many of the family were sick with influenza and pneumonia. John finally made it home to Beatrice’s bedside, but he only had five hours with her before she passed away. As they prepared for the funeral, other family members continued to struggle with illness. On the day of Beatrice’s funeral, her adopted brother, George, also passed away. The double tragedy was hard to bear. Of Beatrice’s seven siblings, only one survived to old age.17

I learned about the power of such a vision when I joined my 12- and 13-year-old sons for a 50/20 competition. A 50/20 consists of walking 50 miles (80 km) in less than 20 hours. We started at 9:00 p.m. and walked all that night and most of the next day. It was an excruciating 19 hours, but we succeeded.
Upon returning home, we literally crawled into the house, where a wonderful wife and mother had prepared a lovely dinner, which we didn’t touch. My younger son collapsed, totally exhausted, on the couch, while my older son crawled downstairs to his bedroom.
After some painful rest of my own, I went to my younger son to make sure he was still alive.
“Are you OK?” I asked.
“Dad, that was the hardest thing I have ever done, and I never want to do it again.”
I wasn’t about to tell him that I would never do it again either. Instead, I told him how proud I was that he had accomplished such a hard thing. I knew it would prepare him for other hard things he would face in his future. With that thought, I said, “Son, let me make you this promise. When you go on your mission, you will never have to walk 50 miles in one day.”
“Good, Dad! Then I’m going.”
Those simple words filled my soul with gratitude and joy.
I then went downstairs to my oldest son. I lay by him—then touched him. “Son, are you all right?”
“Dad, that was the most difficult thing I have ever done in my life, and I will never, ever do it again.” His eyes closed—then opened—and he said, “Unless my son wants me to.”
Tears came as I expressed how grateful I was for him. I told him I knew he was going to be a much better father than I was. My heart was full because at his young and tender age he already recognized that one of his most sacred priesthood duties was to be a father. He had no fear of that role and title—the very title that God Himself wants us to use when we speak to Him. I knew I had the responsibility to nurture the embers of fatherhood that were burning within my son.

Stacie’s1 dad was abusive. He told her she wouldn’t be good at anything when she grew up. He made her feel worthless.

When Stacie moved away for college, she was able to think more clearly. She started going to church again and felt God’s love for her and her family. Over time, she found increasing peace in the gospel and her relationship with the Savior.

Today, Stacie is a successful professional with a loving family of her own. Some days are still hard, but she feels a lot of happiness and forgiveness of others.

“I know that Jesus Christ can heal all our wounds,” Stacie says. If there’s one thing she would share with other survivors, it’s to stay hopeful.

“There is always hope in Christ,” she says, “even in the middle of trials that seem like they will never end.”

Mala opened one eye and saw that dawn had lighted the sky. Then she opened the other eye and carefully turned her head from one side to the other. All about her she could see the rest of the family still sleeping on the stone floor of the fale. This was good!
Holding the edges of her sleeping mat closely, she rolled like a cocoon to the open side of the fale. Last night she had put her mat close to the open side so that she could slip out early and alone. She even had a good-sized rock waiting to put on her mat so it would not blow away.
She straightened up and glanced around the village. No fire smoke yet rose, no dog had begun wandering, no pig was yet rooting, and only one chicken was out scratching.
Mala smiled her special secret smile as she silently stole past her friend Fea’s fale, and then just as she was about to slip into the dim shelter of the forest, she heard her mother’s voice, soft and clear, calling, “Mala.”
Instead of answering, Mala dropped to her hands and knees and disappeared under the broad taro leaves. Finally she stood up and reluctantly turned back toward home. By this time many people were awake, and Mala tried to slip back without being seen in order that no one would know she had left her fale early so she would not have to do her share of the work.
But she was too late. Her mother was already caring for the baby, and her big sister, Lila, was ready to scold. Mala hung her head in shame and embarrassment.
“You don’t like to tend the little ones or cut the grass or gather firewood or carry water or gather coconuts or learn to make mats and baskets. You’re a lazy girl, Mala! You don’t like to do anything.”
Mala’s head came up in a flash. “No,” she cried, “that is not true. I like to do many things.”
“Oh? What many things do you like to do?”
“I like to play with the baby. I like to serve my father his food and go to Church meetings in my white dress. I like to sing in the bus going to town, and I like to swim in the sami and try to catch fish. When it’s dark and the grownups are singing and dancing, I like to go in the shadows and dance siva siva too. And most of all I like—”
Mala faltered and stopped because everyone was laughing at her. Even Lila was shaking her head and saying in her grown-up voice, “I think with Mala it is useless to try. I give up on her.”
Embarrassed, Mala dived into her father’s arms and hid her face against his chest. She was glad she hadn’t finished telling her likes, for what she liked most of all was to climb high to the top of Mount Olotele in the early dawn and play with her friends, the little white birds. The birds were so used to her that they would swoop down in a soft flutter of wings and catch the crumbs she threw to them. Then they would play together, girl and birds, darting among the trees and chasing and calling one another.
“My father does not laugh at me,” Mala whispered to herself, safe in his arms. “He taught me how to be friends with the white birds when I was just a little girl.”
Then Father turned her face to his. “Eat some banana, child,” he said kindly. “Then do your work before you play. Today you are to go with your mother and sister and gather matapisu. The good matapisu are at Sliding Rock, but you know that is a very dangerous place.”
“I know,” Mala said, her eyes round with wonder that she would be allowed to go there. “I’ve never gone there before because you have told me I must not.”
“That is so,” Father agreed. “But I think you are big enough now. I am trusting you to be careful. I am also trusting you to work hard,” Father continued. “You can climb the rocks easily because you are small and utu. Go now and help your mother.” And Father gave Mala a hug.
The flat stretch of shore called Sliding Rock is a smooth rock shelf. A low cliff rises on the land side. On the sea side the ocean waves slap at the rock when the tide is low, but when the tide is high, the great waves bash like thunder and come churning hungrily up and over the rock all the way to the cliff. When the tide is high, only a strong swimmer can pull out through the wild waves and swim around the high jutting point, Black Rock, to the quiet tidal pool on the other side.
On Black Rock point Mother and Lila found matapisu most plentiful. Mala soon learned how to pry the little umbrella-shaped shells just right so that she could flip them into her basket.
Mother and Mala worked together.
“I will climb down the ledge, Mala,” Mother said. “You stay here to hand my basket down.”
When the basket was nearly full, Mother called for Mala to take the basket. “The tide is coming in,” she explained, “and I must climb back up before the waves reach me.”
But Mother soon discovered that climbing up was not as easy as getting down had been.
“It’s no use,” she called to Mala. “The tide is too rough. Call Lila to come quickly. Maybe she can reach her arms over to help me. I’ll get beneath the rock crevice out of the spray till she comes. Hurry, I’m afraid I’ve stayed too long.”
“Lila! Lila! Come quickly. Mother will soon be in the sami.”
Lila could not hear Mala’s words, but she knew that her younger sister was frightened. Lila scrambled up and ran to see where Mala was pointing.
The girls flung themselves down as Mother crept out and held herself against the rock. All three strained to reach each other’s hands, but it was no use!
“Run, Mala,” Lila screamed in her ear. “Run for Father while I stay with Mother; I can’t run as fast as you.”
Down over the rocks Mala dashed and scrambled, ignoring all the cuts and bruises on the way. Off across the watery Sliding Rock, slipping, skidding, falling, up and on she went. Finally she was over the treacherous Sliding Rock and racing up through the forest. Vines and bare roots seemed to reach for her nimble feet.
What a long way it is to Father, she thought, and the same long way back to Mother. And then Mala ran even faster—as if the sea were right at her heels.
As she came crashing through the forest, dogs began to bark, pigs ran squealing, and chickens squawked and flopped out of her path.
The people came running to see what was happening. Mala’s father dropped the net he was mending and caught her in his arms.
“Mother!” gasped Mala, “Black Rock! Go, Father—the sami will take her. Run! Run!”
Father let Mala go and ran, shouting to Grandfather without slowing down or looking around. Grandfather dropped the coconut he was husking and ran after Father!
Women and children babbled with questions, but Mala sank down exhausted and weeping in Father’s net. Then as if the net were hot, she sprang up again, gathering it frantically into her arms as she sobbed, “No rope! They have no rope!”
With the net held in a big wad against her chest, she staggered and stumbled away from the fale. Then, getting her balance, she fled through the forest, calling for Father and Grandfather to wait for the net. Already the two men with their strong legs were deep in the forest, and so Mala had to run with the net herself.
When she reached the sami, she could see them far ahead splashing across Sliding Rock, now awash with water. She could see Lila almost lost in spray at the top of Black Rock. Mala’s heart went stone cold, realizing that the waves must be beating at the rock where Mother crouched.
Taking no chances and praying with all her heart, she made her way carefully to the highest places and finally to the top of Black Rock. Looking like a straggle of seaweed, she flopped close to Grandfather.
Grandfather and Lila were holding Father’s legs while he slid farther and farther over the edge of the rock, trying to reach Mother’s hands. Seeing the net, Grandfather shouted and dragged Father back. In an instant the net flew up and out like a round wing of gauze. It flew over the cleft of the rock and landed between waves exactly at the right instant.
It seemed almost forever before Mother’s precious head finally appeared over the edge, and the two strong men carefully pulled her up as she clung to the net. Mother was scraped and cut and half-drowned, but she smiled gratefully.
In the cool dark that evening, friends came from all over the village to hear Lila tell the whole adventure again.
“And after Father and Grandfather pulled Mother out of the sami, we had to get away fast,” recounted Lila. “They carried my mother in the net, for she was sick and badly hurt. The doctor said she must stay in the hospital at least a week.”
“I’m going to help Lila take care of the children and the house,” spoke up Mala.
“Good!” Lila smiled and put her arms around Mala. “I’ll need my sister to help. She is a very brave and clever girl, this Mala. Besides, she’s not fat like me. She is skinny like a spider, and she can run very fast.”
“She can run faster than a spider,” one of the boys laughed. “When I saw her come out of the forest, scaring the dogs and chickens, I thought she was a crazy wild pig.”
Everyone laughed. Then Mala’s father lifted her onto his lap.
What a nice place Father’s lap was for his weary and aching little girl. Snuggling close, warm and happy and sleepy, Mala heard her father say, “I do not think this girl runs like a spider or even like a wild pig. When I saw her zooming out of the forest this morning, she was not running at all. She was flying through the forest like her little white bird friends on the top of Olotele.”