Gospel Story Finder

Upon returning to the university after my mission, I found that academic work was really tough for me. As a science and mathematics student, I seemed to have forgotten my basic knowledge of chemistry, physics, and mathematics while I was on my mission. Although my return to the university was hard initially, the things I had learned on my mission—such as researching to find answers—boosted my morale as I studied in school. I am glad that I placed the Lord first in my life and went on a mission. The article “On the Lord’s Team,” by R. Val Johnson in the March 2006 Liahona, confirmed these feelings.Aristotle Kyeremanteng Fokuo, Ghana

It was that kind of sharing that brought the gospel to the Butty family. Sisters Sandhya and Sudha Butty and their mother and father can hardly stop smiling—they are so eager to tell about how they were introduced to the Church.
“We joined the Church as a family,” Sandhya explains. “We had been looking for the right church for a long time. We knew we needed to be baptized. Then one day our father saw two elders. Their name tags said, ‘The Church of Jesus Christ,’ and he knew he had to speak with them.”
Discussions began in earnest. “We learned that, to do the will of the Father, Jesus Christ suffered for us, accomplished the Atonement, and made it possible for us to return to Heavenly Father by following Him,” Sudha says. With that testimony solidly in place, joining the Church seemed like sailing home through friendly seas, and the Buttys have rejoiced in their decision ever since.

Early in the morning today I went to the municipality offices in Dombo Tombo, and while we were in line a woman dropped a $20 note on the ground. I saw it fall and told her about it. She picked it up and said, “Thank you.”
Many of the other people in line said to me, “You are stupid. You are foolish. Why didn’t you take the money and buy your own things?”
But I said, “No, I shall never do that because I am a child of God.”
When the others calmed down, an older man who was standing behind me said quietly, “Do you go to church? It seems as if you are a good girl.”
And I said, “Yes, I go to church.”
And he said, “What is the name of your church?”
I said, “It is called The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. If you want to, you can come to the Dombo Tombo Hall on Tuesday nights at 5:30 P.M. or on Sunday at half past ten and I will meet you there.”
And the man said, “Oh, yes! I will come!”
So I am very happy about what I did today.

When the Montreal Quebec Temple was rededicated after major renovations in 2015, open houses were organized by our local leaders. It was the ideal time to invite friends to come and see the temple.
I immediately thought of two good college friends who had already asked me about the Church and my beliefs. In the past, both of them had agreed to attend sacrament meeting at Christmastime. I had also invited them to my wedding two years earlier. That had been an opportunity to explain to them why they could come to the reception but not to the sealing ceremony in the temple.1
Still, even though I had talked with them about the Church before, I hesitated to invite them. I feared being in an uncomfortable situation if they refused. Finally, I got the courage and asked them over the phone: “Would you like to see the place where I was married? The temple is open to the public for guided tours. If that’s of interest to you, we could go together.”
The answer in both cases was a swift “Yes! I would like that.”
One of my friends came with her two children, and the other came with her spouse. It was an unforgettable experience for me. I felt immense joy in being able to share my love for the temple with them.

I’m aware of a man who was involved in moral transgressions several years ago. For some time, this man felt too ashamed and too worried to approach his wife and his priesthood leaders. He wanted to fully repent but actually expressed that he was willing to give up his own eternal salvation rather than put his spouse and children through the sorrow, shame, or other consequences that might be caused by his confession.

Finally, this dear man confessed to his faithful wife and his Church leaders, expressing deep remorse. Though it was the most difficult thing he had ever done, feelings of relief, peace, gratitude, love for our Savior, and a knowledge that the Lord was lifting his heavy burden and carrying him caused joy beyond expression, regardless of the outcome and his future.

He had been certain that his wife and children would be devastated—and they were; and that there would be disciplinary action and a release from his calling—and there was. He was certain that his wife would be brokenhearted, hurt, and angry—and she was. And he was convinced that she would leave, taking the children with her—but she didn’t.

Sometimes serious transgression leads to divorce, and depending on circumstances, that might be necessary. But to this man’s amazement, his wife embraced him and dedicated herself to helping him in any way that she could. Over time, she was able to fully forgive him. She had felt the healing power of the Savior’s Atonement for her. Years later, this couple and their three children are strong and faithful. The husband and wife serve in the temple and have a wonderful, loving marriage. The depth of this man’s testimony and his love and gratitude for the Savior are so evident in his life.

After his baptism, Ken wanted his parents to know about the gospel. “I doubt that my parents would ever be interested in becoming Latter-day Saints,” he said. After all, his father held a prominent position in his own church.

But when Ken was home on leave, he asked his parents if they would be willing to have the missionaries tell them about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Being the fine, open-minded people they were, they agreed. Later, Ken had the privilege of baptizing and confirming them. They later became temple workers.

About a month after first stepping into the Angoulême chapel, I decided to be baptized. I was 18 and didn’t need parental permission. But when I called my family in Australia with the joyous news, I was shocked and disappointed to discover they had a negative attitude about the Church and opposed my desire to be baptized.
This weighed heavily on my heart. Should I go ahead against the wishes of my family, whom I loved dearly? Or should I delay baptism until I returned to Australia, where I faced the possibility of greater opposition?
Matthew 19:29 helped me make the decision: “And every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name’s sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit everlasting life.” Was I willing to put the Savior first—even before my family? The answer was yes, and on December 16, 1989, I was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My remaining time in France was filled with a peaceful joy I had never known before.

Covey: I was in one Afrikaans area for a long time, an area I had heard was “tracted out.” I was with a South African companion when we knocked on the door of this lady whose husband had died just a few days before. She was very religious; in fact she was baking a cake for a bazaar in her church. After one month she and her daughter were baptized, and a few months later she was called to be the Relief Society president. She helped bring many people into the Church. All in an area that was supposedly “tracted out.”

Temple work featured in the “perfect day” for Ben and Carol. When Ben retired a couple of years ago, he and Carol accepted callings as temple workers. “The bishop’s assigned ‘perfect day’ happened to be one of the two days in the week that we serve in the temple.
“I serve as a supervisor at the temple, and I was really touched when, in a prayer meeting, the brother offering the prayer asked that the Lord watch over me, as supervisor, and bless me with a special day. He didn’t know about our ‘perfect day’ assignment, but his prayer was very meaningful to me.
“What a special place to be for a ‘perfect day.’ We were there in the Lord’s house, doing the Lord’s work, side by side with wonderful brothers and sisters, helping others on the road to the celestial kingdom.”

A contrasting experience occurred while I was serving as a patriarch here on BYU campus, when a young woman came for a blessing accompanied by her parents. During the time we shared that day, this young woman received a wonderful blessing assuring her of abundant and powerful gifts she would enjoy at the hand of the Lord. Unknown to me, this young woman and her parents were anxiously hoping for one particular blessing. An older daughter in this family had died before marriage and childbearing, and the parents had noted that there had been no mention of marriage or children in that daughter’s blessing. They therefore had reached the conclusion that the absence of these subjects in her blessing foreshadowed her death before marriage. Thus they anxiously waited to hear the words eternal marriage in this second daughter’s blessing, but these words were not spoken.

The family said nothing at the time but agonized all the way home that the blessing had not included the promise of marriage. No sooner did they arrive home than they telephoned me. So focused were they on the hope for a promise of marriage, so eager to hear the exact words, they were unable to appreciate the loving and generous promises contained in the blessing the girl had received. I tried to reassure them in a number of ways. First, I cited statements of the Brethren that the absence of reference to a specific blessing does not mean the blessing will not be given. Second, I pointed out that even if a specific promise of eternal marriage had been stated, there was no assurance that it would be fulfilled in mortality. Third, I noted that the wonderful promises of her blessing, so rich and so plentiful, should afford them great joy and strong personal assurance that their daughter would live to receive all the blessings they desired for her.

Despite my best efforts to help them see that the blessing was a beautiful gift from the Lord, their hearts were so set on hearing a particular promise that they remained somewhat disappointed. Because of the goodness of this family, I am sure that by now they have come to see God’s hand in the gift to their daughter. Their initial reaction, however, in sharp contrast to that of the young woman I first mentioned, denied the gifts of God and made it difficult for them to see this blessing as a manifestation of God’s love for her, reducing her opportunity to profit from the blessing, as Moroni has counseled us to do.

The older members of the Farr West Third Ward, Plain City Utah Stake, were invited to an evening of formal dining and dancing hosted by the ward’s Young Men and Young Women.
The young people, dressed in their best, picked up their special guests in chauffeur-driven cars. They served dinner, provided a photographer to record the event, and led a sing-along.
The young hosts had earned the money to hold the dinner by sponsoring a spook alley during the week preceding Halloween.

When I was about seven years old, my Primary president wanted to help the children be more reverent in our Primary. She made a large bulletin board shaped like a lamb. Whenever a child was reverent, she put a lamb-shaped sticker on the bulletin board next to his or her name. I really wanted one of those lamb stickers. So one day in Primary, I sat quietly with my arms folded and stared at the Primary president so she would notice me being reverent. A taller boy sat in front of me, so I slid down the bench so she could see me.
Then, as I sat there being reverent, the pianist started playing a sweet, quiet Primary song. As I listened, a peaceful feeling came over me, and tears started to come down my cheeks. I didn’t know why I felt so happy and peaceful inside.
After Primary I told my mom about what I had felt, and she told me that it was the Spirit. That day, I learned what the Spirit feels like. Whenever I need to make important decisions and need guidance from the Spirit, I remember how peaceful I felt that day, and I can recognize how the Spirit speaks to me.

I remember years ago of a night when I was driving home from work in late October and the air was crisp and cold as it gets in this area during the Fall. One of the draws that make it wonderful to live and be here. As I drive home, I get into this mode of what will I have to do when I get home, and I wonder what will be for supper? I have animals to take care of and farming needs to complete, running through my mind. As I drove along musing over the next events of the night, I noticed walking south away from Rexburg and in my direction of travel, a young female co-ed. Now this is not unusual for this area, with joggers, bicyclist, and exercise enthusiasts. But tonight the Spirit told me that there seemed to be something a little amiss with this situation. I stopped across the road from her and asked, "Are you okay?" she didn't respond immediately and only walked on slowly looking at the ground. In my mind I knew that on this night I couldn't just drive on. As I continued to seek a response, I encouraged her to cross over to my side of the road and to at least get into my vehicle and warm up. I noticed she had no shoes on and she had no coat. This young co-ed was miles from the campus. At best even if she returned to town that moment she would be freezing before arriving home. In looking into her eyes finally, I saw hurt and sadness which melted my heart. I knew that tonight I would not leave this daughter of God on this road alone. She was on the driver's side of my car and was standing back away from my vehicle but at least close enough to talk. The steam from her breath was an indication of the temperature outside. I asked where she was from, what she was doing out in this remote area, where her roommates were and if I could give her a ride? Our conversation seemed like it was lasting for many uncomfortable minutes with me doing most of the talking. Picture a big guy in an older vehicle talking to a young woman, and encouraging her to get into my vehicle to go who knows where? I wasn't having a lot of success. I assured her I would take here where ever she needed to go, just get into my car and at least get out of the cold. She got closer to my vehicle and I know was analyzing just what kind of man I must be. Had she been told as a youth, "Don't talk with strangers?" And I will admit I am as strange as they get! I shared with her that I worked at the College and was in a campus Bishopric.

She said she needed to go south to an area which I knew was no place for her to be at that time of night. I said I'll take you there, just hop in. Reluctantly she finally got into my car. Noticeably she was appreciating the warmth of the heater and the fact that she was out of the cold. I drove toward her intended destination and continued to share with her all of the wonderfully redeeming qualities which I possess to help her feel safe. I shared with her the fact that I have four children, and there ages and that I am married and had been for many years. I shared everything I could think of to help her feel safe. I think I even shared some of my favorite Kindergarten memories.

When we arrived at the location she said she wanted to be dropped off at I stopped the car and asked, "Well, where you would like to go?" She again hesitated with her determination to get out. I was born in the night, but not last night. I knew with everything that was in me that my duty and my honor was to protect this young lady and help her in her hour of need. I would not leave her here!

I asked her what was wrong. What could I do to assist her? What would she like of me? How could I serve her? She sat quietly looking into her hands as she was rubbing them back and forth warming them up. I said, "You really don't want to be here tonight, do you? She reluctantly said no. I determined she was coming home with me, and when I asked her if that would be okay after a long pause; she said that would be fine. I assured her we would have a warm meal and she could meet my family and enjoy some family time with us. She agreed and off we went toward my home.

Now this seems a good story to this point, but now what was I going to do when I walk in the back door of my house look at my wife and proclaim, "Hi Honey I'm home, look what I found on the road.....can I keep her?" My dear bride, read my eyes, and knew of my pleading for help in assisting this young woman in her hour of need. My wife leapt to her side and enveloped her in the love of our family. I stood back and watched her minister and love this complete stranger into the fold of our family.

We fed her and talked with her and learned about her family and of what she liked and what was important to her. She met my youngest child who is a daughter, who was blond haired, blue eyed and about 1 1/2 years old at the time. This young woman had a sister who was 1 1/2 years old, blond haired and blue eyed and her name was also Meagan. She was missing her as well as the rest of the family and wanted so much to have a moment with her own sister, and God arranged for my little girl to fill the need.

We made contact with her roommates and they drove to our home hurriedly and thankfully. The concern they had in their eyes was notable. Where had she been and what would they do to find her? These are days before cell phones and texting, and to them she was lost! We invited them all in and talked and laughed and enjoyed an evening together. They got ready to leave and we hugged this young woman with all the love we could muster. We invited them to come again any time and we would have a bar-b-q and a meal soon.

We spent a lot of time with this dear little friend. She would come out on weekends, ride the horses have some home cooking, love our children as a big sister and still does. She has attended weddings, mission fare wells and every other activity that families share. We stayed in touch while she was serving a mission and then when she returned to finish her degree at BYU-Provo. We attended her wedding and have been accepted as adopted grandparents to her children, and have loved her and had her as a part of our family ever since that night. We have met her family and as a matter of interest her younger sister worked for me here on campus and is now serving a mission as well.

I do not know what the cause of our paths crossing was to this day, but it doesn't matter. What matters is that we were there for her and continue to be there loving her and ever thankful for her and her family.

There is more to the story that has so touched me with my recent illness. As I opened my groggy pain filled and discouraged eyes, who stood at my bedside but this sweet little girl that I had stopped to help many years ago. She heard there was a need and she came to my rescue. Quietly serving and helping me and my poor little oh so exhausted sweetheart, and then without fanfare left having ministered to us for days with no thought of re-numeration for her efforts. She may never know what she has come to mean with her family to our family! And to think those many years ago........."I could have driven on to my house and never made that lifetime connection!"

“When he was older and wanted to join a baseball team, … the other [boys laughed] at him, … calling him a ‘sissy’ because he could not throw the ball between the bases. His teammates teased him so much that … he … made up his mind that he was going to play with the nine who would win the championship of the Territory of Utah. He purchased a baseball and practiced hour after hour, throwing at a neighbor’s old barn. Often his arm would ache so much he could hardly … sleep at night. He kept on practicing and … improving and advancing from one team to another until he finally [succeeded] in playing [on the team that] won the [territorial] championship!”

I remember the first time Jenni walked into my seminary class and said hi to me. She had a very difficult time speaking, her words were slurred and hard to understand, and she limped and hobbled as she tried to make her legs carry her frail body toward her desk. During Jenni’s first week of “mainstreaming” in my class, she seemed content to be mostly ignored by her classmates, who appeared to be struggling to figure out how to interact with her.
Jenni would try to speak, and very few students could understand her. She had a difficult time keeping her nose wiped, and sometimes she would drool and soil her shirt. The students in my classroom were unaccustomed to the needs and actions of someone like Jenni, so most of them distanced themselves from her both physically and socially and, as a result, proceeded to politely ignore her.
However, they weren’t aware that inside Jenni’s deformed body was a keen mind, a heart of gold, and an indomitable spirit crying out to be heard, to be understood, to be accepted, and to be loved. She wouldn’t be ignored, politely or otherwise.
I’ll never forget the day when Jenni asked me if she could say something to the class. I wondered what she wanted to say to everyone, but I never expected her to deliver the message she did.
“I neeeeed a frrriennnd,” she stuttered. “I neeeeeeeed sommeonne toooo ssiitt bbyy mmee attt lllunnch.”
As she finished her last word, a hush settled over the class. Jenni stood erect and, rather than doing the socially acceptable thing and taking her seat, she waited for a volunteer. Finally, from the back of the classroom, Treasure raised her hand and said, “I’ll be your friend, Jenni.” Jenni responded by asking, “And sit by me at lunch?”
Treasure responded, “And sit by you at lunch.”
“Every day?” asked Jenni.
“Every day,” answered Treasure.
This conversation relieved the class but also gave Treasure’s friend Wendy the confidence to raise her hand and tell Jenni that she would also be her friend and sit by her at lunch every day. The “miracle of Jenni” had begun!
The next day Treasure and Wendy sat by Jenni at lunch and then helped her through the school parking lot to the seminary building. I noticed as the days turned into weeks that Treasure and Wendy began to translate Jenni’s words when we couldn’t understand her.
As the students began to see what a beautiful, intelligent person Jenni was, they began to invite her to activities, to pick her up, to help her with her difficulties. On one occasion, Jenni excitedly told me she had a date with a young man named Kurt. “He’s so cute!” she told me. This led to other dates, more recognition, and more fun.
Often during class when someone would be sharing their feelings and begin to weep, Jenni would, unannounced, get up and walk over to this person and put her arm around them and hold them. This would touch the class, and soon we would all be weeping. Jenni would often bear her testimony to the class. She would express her gratitude for her many blessings, especially her family, and then share her firm conviction of Jesus Christ.
The months turned into years, and soon it was time for Jenni to graduate from seminary. I remember the love I felt for her as she awkwardly walked up to receive her diploma, and I realized all over again how she had blessed my life. As the ceremony and the meeting ended, I encountered Jenni’s mother at the back of the chapel. As we talked, her eyes watered as she said something like this: “You’ll never know what you’ve done for my little girl.”
I replied, “Oh, not me. Look around,” as I pointed to Jenni’s classmates. “They’re the ones.”
Jenni’s classmates helped her realize what a wonderful person she is. They’re the ones who included her in their circle of friends and helped her feel like she belonged; they’re the ones who saw through her handicap to the special needs of her heart—a young woman wanting to be accepted and understood; they’re the ones who came to see into the beauty of her soul; the ones who helped perform a modern-day miracle—the miracle of Jenni.

It sounded simple. For two weeks I was to choose a family member and every day give something small to the person to express my love. I chose my little brother because we usually did not get along very well, and I figured this would be a good opportunity to draw closer to him. I decided to do it anonymously, and for the first week I bought him small bags of candy and various trinkets, leaving them by the side of his bed or under his pillow. After the week was over, I was thinking, Wow, this has got to be the easiest Personal Progress goal ever!
The second week, however, fell during our family camping trip, and the absence of convenient stores seriously complicated things. But I soon found that all it took was a little more creativity. Instead of buying things, I started doing things. I helped him roll his sleeping bag, whittle a marshmallow stick, and untangle his fishing line. Thinking constantly of ways to serve my brother strengthened our relationship incredibly, and I could see clearly the promise being fulfilled: “He that loveth his brother abideth in the light” (1 Jn. 2:10).
The last day of camp I lay in the dark tent, deep in the woods, listening to the soft calls of the birds and the gentle splashing of water from the nearby lake. The wind rustled through the tree tops, and I felt a cool breeze across my face.
“Someone tie up the window,” my brother mumbled sleepily. I felt him shiver beside me and suddenly realized that I had not done anything for him that day. I tied up the window, but since it was the last day, I felt I should give him something extra special. Maybe when we get home, I can buy him something especially expensive, I thought. No, that won’t do. It has to be today, and he is almost asleep. I lay quietly, thinking for a moment, and then rolled onto my side to face my brother.
“Warren,” I whispered.
“Hmmmm?”
“I love you.”
He was quiet for a second before he clearly responded, “I love you, too.”
I lay on my back and looked through the “sun roof” at the clear, dark sky and smiled.

Once when Grandma and Grandpa Wakefield were visiting us from Minnesota, we watched some eggs that were hatching on the wall of our house. Right beside the egg case a spider had built a nest; and whenever a small mantis came out, the spider would dash over and bite him, spin him up in a web like a mummy, and pull him over to his nest. I wanted to squash that spider, but Grandpa said that spiders need to live too.

A convert to the Church, I grew up in Norwich, England, which is about 110 miles from London. During the Second World War, my father served in the British army and was stationed in Italy. In fact, I didn’t meet my father until I was five.
When I was about four years old, Mother would take my brother and me into the city every Saturday morning. At 10:30 we would be walking by a large clock that chimed. Mother would say, “Oh, it’s 10:30.” She would buy us a little something, not anything very significant, but something to try to brighten us up because Dad was away.
One particular Saturday morning when we were about to leave home, Mother said, “I don’t think we’ll go shopping today. I’m going to take you to the woods.”
After we arrived at the woods, we played in the grass and trees and enjoyed ourselves. Suddenly we heard an air raid siren. Planes were coming in overhead, so we hurried home. The next day, we discovered that at 10:30 A.M. bombs had been dropped, demolishing the whole area around the clock in the city.
That incident really had an impact on me. Mother often commented on the feelings she’d had that day. She wasn’t a member of the Church, but, not knowing why, she had had an impression, a prompting, to do something different. That was a great example in my life of parents being guided by the Lord to take care of their children beyond their normal understanding.

I wish to share a story that illustrates the kind of work ethic we should all aspire to in Elder John H. Groberg's book entitled "In the Eye of the Storm," which many of you now know as "The Other Side of Heaven." This book is a record of his missionary service in the Kingdom of Tonga. Elder Groberg's missionary companion was my Grandpa Feki. This record of my Grandpa Feki depicts such a joyful spirit and admirable character.

Elder Groberg writes:
"…we realized we should have our own house.
"To begin construction, we needed several poles of considerable length for the outside supports. Experienced people told us that ironwood poles were best. It grows in the swamps and lasts a long time both above and below ground. Since there were no saws, the only way to get the ironwood out was to wade into the swamps and cut it with machetes. The wood was so hard that the first few blows of even the sharpest machete hardly made a dent.
"Early one morning, eight of us met to go two-by-two into the swamp. Each team was to bring back four ironwood poles of five to six inches in diameter and ten to twelve feet in length. The branch president had made team assignments. I was assigned to a strong young man. We all noticed that Feki was assigned to the laziest one of the group. We smiled, as we knew Feki was by far the hardest worker.
"It gets very hot and the mosquitoes are terrible in the swamp, so we were all anxious to cut the poles and get out as soon as possible.
"Each team separated to a different part of the swamp and started hacking away. I would swing a hundred times or so while my partner rested – if you can rest while knee deep in a hot, smelly swamp with mosquitoes constantly swarming around you! I suppose we were bitten with about the same frequency, whether standing or swinging the machete, but you didn't notice the mosquitoes, the heat, or the smells so much when you were working hard.
"Eventually, we finished cutting our trees. It was probably about three in the afternoon when we came dragging our poles back. One team had arrived shortly before us and another came soon after. We waited and waited, but Feki and his partner did not come. The Relief Society had the meal ready, but we decided to wait until Feki and his partner returned.
"We waited, wove, and talked for a long time. An hour went by – no Feki. We were hungry and the food was ready, but we waited. Two hours. Where was Feki? We all knew what had happened and why it was taking so long. We said as much as we got hungrier and hungrier." Finally after nearly three hours, Feki and his companion came dragging four nice poles. Almost in unison we called out, "Finally! What took you so long?" We all knew Feki had done nearly all the work and we were pushing him to tell us how lazy his partner was, but he just smiled as they placed their poles alongside the others. "We kept pushing him as the Relief Society sisters spread the meal, but he said nothing. Finally I said, "A c'mon, Feki, tell us why it took you so long. Didn't your partner work at all?
"Feki looked me straight in the eye. He looked at the others, too, then softly said, 'What difference does it make to you why it took us so long? We have our poles. The angels have recorded the work done this day, and that is all that counts.' He smiled broadly and sat down. We all looked at one another, somewhat embarrassed, realizing in our hearts that he had spoken the truth and said something quite profound. The atmosphere abruptly changed from one of needling to one of contemplation.
"As dusk deepened to darkness, I looked across the small fire into Feki's dancing eyes, and my heart melted with admiration. He had absolutely refused to downgrade another. I knew I could trust him. Yes, the angels had recorded the work, the words, and the feelings of that day, and they were good."

Cindy nodded slowly. She thought of Mrs. Clark, her friend Linda’s grandmother. Cindy’d seen Mrs. Clark once. She was hunched over in a rocking chair, staring at the wall. She didn’t answer Linda’s questions but just sat there, constantly rubbing the chair arms with her hands. Linda had said that her grandmother seemed happiest when she sat in the rocker. It bothered Cindy; she never visited Mrs. Clark again.

“I’m sure Mrs. Nealy wouldn’t mind your seeing him,” said Mrs. Tyler. “I have their number. You can call from here.”
“That’s OK. I think I shouldn’t bother them.”
“Oh, I see.” Mrs. Tyler busied herself with some packages.
She sees all right, Cindy thought. She sees what a chicken I am. I don’t care—I can’t bear to see Mr. Nealy be like Linda’s grandmother.
As she watched Mrs. Tyler place stamps on the packages, Cindy thought about the first time she saw Mr. Nealy. She’d been too shy to talk to him, and the time had really dragged while she waited for her mother. But after Mr. Nealy made friends with her, that hour flew by. Later she realized that Mr. Nealy enjoyed her company as much as she enjoyed his. Between three and four o’clock was a slow period when there were few travelers. She helped him sweep the floor, wash the windows, check for burned out light bulbs. He talked about trains, and she talked about school.
He was fond of black licorice and often asked her to go to the nearby store and buy him a package of it. She remembered how he always said, “Black licorice, Cindy. Not red. And not the shoestring kind, either.” And he always gave her extra money to buy candy for herself.
As the memories flooded her mind, Cindy saw him standing very tall, with beautiful silver hair and a thick mustache. He was strong, picking up cargo as if the crates were empty. That Christmas she gave him a conch shell that she’d found in Florida while on vacation, and he gave her a pin in the shape of a caboose. She still had the pin.
Thinking of that shell made Cindy smile. Mr. Nealy kept it at his office, where it lay among the forms and tickets and stamps. It looked out of place, but he never moved it, except to put it to his ear sometimes and listen to the sound of the sea. “That’s where I should be right now,” he’d say, “lying on a beach, loafing my life away.” Then they would laugh.
To see him like Linda’s grandmother—Cindy shuddered at the thought. Turning now to go, she said, “It was nice seeing you again, Mrs. Tyler.”
“You, too, dear.” Mrs. Tyler gave Cindy a good-bye hug. “Come back to visit.”
“I will.”
As Cindy passed the train station once more, she tried to not think of Mr. Nealy. But the thoughts kept coming.
The store had not changed. Cindy quickly found the black licorice at the candy counter. Maybe he won’t be as sick as Linda’s grandmother, she thought. Maybe he just started getting that way. And I don’t have to stay long. She fumbled with the licorice, trying to make up her mind. Should I go? She saw a pay phone on the wall. Should I call?
Fifteen minutes later she pushed the doorbell of the Nealy house. Patting the package of licorice in her jacket pocket, she felt good about her decision.
“I’m glad to finally meet you, Cindy,” Mrs. Nealy greeted her. “Henry will love seeing you again.”
“I hope I’m not bothering you.”
“Of course not. As I told you when you phoned, we love to have company. Come in.”
Cindy felt a little strange. She’d never pictured Mr. Nealy having a regular house. The station had seemed like his home—he’d cared for it and cleaned it as if he lived there day and night.
“Mr. Nealy doesn’t get many visitors anymore. At first he might look strange to you, but it will pass after a little while. He’s in the living room.”
Cindy followed Mrs. Nealy toward the sound of a TV. She could see the back of Mr. Nealy’s head as they entered the room. He was sitting in a swivel chair in front of the television.
Mrs. Nealy bent over the chair. “Henry, look who’s come to see you. It’s Cindy.”
Cindy watched the chair swivel toward her. Mr. Nealy was hunched over, his eyes showing no recognition. He pushed the chair around and around, and each time he passed her, his eyes remained blank.
“Sit here, Cindy.” Mrs. Nealy pointed to the sofa. She asked Cindy questions about her new hometown, her school, and her new friends. After most of Cindy’s answers, Mrs. Nealy said, “Isn’t that nice, Henry?” or “Did you hear that, Henry?”
As she watched the retired stationmaster circle that green chair round and round, Cindy thought that it was hopeless to even pretend that he knew what they were saying. Seeing him was worse than seeing Linda’s grandmother, because Cindy could not forget how he used to be. As she talked to Mrs. Nealy, memories of his deep laughter, his wide smile, his stories and silly jokes swirled within her until she could no longer bear the sight and sound of his chair. “I have to go, Mrs. Nealy. It’s getting late.”
She pulled the licorice from her jacket. “Would you give these to Mr. Nealy. He used to like black licorice.”
“He still does. He’ll be pleased.”
“Mrs. Nealy, he doesn’t even know I’m here.”
“In his way, he knows. Please—you give him the candy.” She got up, and Cindy followed her to the swivel chair. “Henry, Cindy has a present for you.” She stopped the chair.
“Mr. Nealy, these are for you.” Cindy waved the candy in front of him, trying to catch his attention.
When he saw the licorice, he grabbed at it. Close to him now, Cindy saw that he wasn’t so different, after all. He still had the lovely silver hair and thick mustache, his eyes were still deep blue, and he still wore his railroad ring.
“Cin, Cin,” he uttered, staring at her.
“Yes, Mr. Nealy. It’s me, Cindy.”
He raised a hand, and Cindy stooped to let him touch her face. He smiled, then pointed to a table. Cindy could not understand his words, but she recognized the conch shell.
“You still have this?”
Cindy picked it up and took it to him. But when she tried to place it in his hands, he pushed the shell back to her.
“Thank you, Mr. Nealy. It will remind me of you.”
He smiled, and Cindy decided that somehow he understood. Then he ripped open the licorice and started his chair whirling again, and she knew that he was back in his own world. She turned to Mrs. Nealy. “It hurts to see him this way—is he in pain?”
“No, Cindy. He isn’t in pain.”
“He isn’t, but we are.” Cindy put the shell to her ear and listened to the sound of the sea. She looked up again at Mrs. Nealy and managed a brave smile. “I’m glad that at least we have some happy memories.”