Gospel Story Finder

But her children had not forgotten her, either. Susan, only seven at the time of the separation, ran away when she was eleven and sought refuge with a Mormon family, hoping to find a trace of her Mormon mother. The baby was already dead; another daughter would die a few years later. But about 1870, a missionary met Susie Williams and mentioned her to the Yates family in Scipio. With so fragile a clue, mother and daughter were reunited in Utah.

I grew up in Tahiti. My mother and father joined the Church when I was a child, but I was not baptized right away. When I was 11 years old, I went to Primary one Wednesday afternoon. We sat on a mat under a mango tree while my Primary teacher told us the story of the First Vision. As she spoke, my heart started to pound. I had a strong feeling that Joseph Smith’s First Vision was true and that he was a true prophet. After that spiritual experience, I told my parents, “I have a testimony, and I want to be baptized.”

For a time, members traveled to the DDR (the former German Democratic Republic) to receive patriarchal blessings; since both nations were governed by Communist regimes, some travel between them was permitted. But when Brother Calvin McOmber visited Czechoslovakia in 1979, he gave Jirí the exciting news that he (Brother McOmber) had been authorized to give patriarchal blessings to the Saints in Czechoslovakia!

“I had been pondering this possibility during that year,” says Brother Snederfler, “and had prayed to know how to write about this to Brother McOmber so the secret police wouldn’t be able to read it in my letter. Finally, I had decided just to wait and talk to him about it when he came. And here he was giving me the news that he was now our patriarch! Righteous ideas are carried by the Holy Ghost from heart to heart—and do not need to be written or spoken.”

While I was on my mission, I missed my best friend’s wedding.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her all day. We’d met as college roommates, and she quickly became like a sister to me. I knew that Heavenly Father had guided me to meet her.
But now, I couldn’t be there to celebrate one of the biggest moments of her life. And I was furious.
Before my mission, my life wasn’t perfect, but it was good. I loved college and had just formed the best friendship I’ve ever had. I was pretty happy.
I knew that serving a mission would be challenging. Still, I had this expectation that serving a mission would be the best 18 months of my life—with minimal hardship.
But six months in, my friend’s wedding became the newest entry in a list of hard things I hadn’t expected. Moving to a foreign country and learning a new language made me lonely and anxious. The rejection I experienced as part of missionary life was mentally exhausting. Honestly, I just wanted to go home.
I was tired and frustrated, and I didn’t feel like God was offering me the hope and happiness that I desperately needed. Only after exhausting every other option did I turn to a promise from my patriarchal blessing: that I would feel Heavenly Father’s love through the scriptures.
I realized that in my anger and loneliness, my perspective had become narrow. I’d been so focused on what I was missing that I’d failed to see what I had gained: a closer relationship with my Savior.
I realized I needed to repent for my poor attitude. It took time, but as I pleaded for my Redeemer’s help, I was reassured that “in this life I shall have joy” (Moses 5:10).
I was still sad that I missed my friend’s wedding, but in time, the Lord answered my prayers. I was so happy for my friend, and I found so much joy in my testimony that Heavenly Father really does see and love every one of His children. I gained so much more than I missed out on.

Coleman does a good job of reminding his parents when it is time for family home evening. At one recent family home evening, Coleman, his brother, and his mom and dad each took turns sharing things they liked about one another.
Coleman liked saying nice words about his family. When nice things were being said about him, he couldn’t hide his big smile. It made him feel good to hear his family say kind words about him.

The balloons made their journeys, and much like the parable in the scriptures, some seeds fell on fertile ground. A message written by Laura West in the Salt Lake Cottonwood Height Stake was found by one who desperately needed her encouragement. Laura had written, in part, “Keep your hopes up and rise like the balloon. Always have faith in Christ and Christ will have faith in you.” Her balloon was found only a couple of miles from where it was released. The man who found it wrote to Laura that he was a member of the Church but had fallen away 18 years earlier while he was in his teens. He told of his struggle to be reunited with his wife and children and the decision he made to come back to the Church. He wrote, “I’ve been reading the Book of Mormon and praying since Sunday night (the day after I got your letter). I went to the bishop of my ward that night and told him I knew it was time for me to straighten out my life. … If only you could feel the peace and tranquility that has come to me since I began the reading and prayer. It’s truly like the difference between night and day. To top off my own feelings that I’m on the right track, I picked up your letter. You said you hoped your letter would brighten my day. It not only brightened my day, it was a godsend! I will remember your letter forever.” He signed it “Your friend you’ve never met” and his name.

As a college student, I spent some time working in the Mutual program at the state training school for the mentally retarded in American Fork, Utah. I quickly learned to accept and love those people. They were remarkable people and their spirituality was stronger than their mental and physical weaknesses.
Except for Ethel—the victim of severe cerebral palsy. I found it very difficult to work with her, or around her. My pity—and my revulsion—were simply too great. She had to be strapped, hands and feet, to a metal frame to keep her from injuring herself. People told me she had a good mind, but it had taken the state workers nearly 40 years to discover that she had a mind at all, it was trapped in such a cruelly crippled body. The workers had finally taught her to speak, though I still could not understand her. I wondered why the Lord had left her here, forcing her to linger when she was obviously miserable.
One day I happened to attend a fast and testimony meeting at the school. At the very end of the meeting, Ethel asked to speak. I wondered why they allowed her to take up time when no one could understand what she said. Then Ethel spoke, clearly enough so that even I could understand her. She said, “I love life!”
I was very startled as I heard her say, “And I love my Heavenly Father!” I bowed my head and wept.
When Ethel finished her testimony, the “kids” sang the song that had fast become their favorite, “I am a child of God, and he has sent me here …” Each time I have heard it since, I have remembered Ethel and the beautiful lesson she taught me.

When a big storm called Hurricane Harvey hit Houston, Texas, USA, many people’s homes were flooded or destroyed. President M. Russell Ballard flew there to help!
As soon as his plane landed, he went straight to the command center where the Church collected supplies and sent out Mormon Helping Hands volunteers.
Then he visited neighborhoods where many homes were flooded. Some of the streets were blocked, so he walked from house to house. He listened to people and shared Heavenly Father’s love with them.
He met missionaries and other Church members who were helping.
He spoke in a devotional and three sacrament meetings so he could share Heavenly Father’s love with lots of people!
When he met an elderly man whose home was damaged, President Ballard said:
I’m one of the Apostles of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. … We want you to know we love you. And we’re here because Jesus Christ would want us to be here.

Bryan’s favorite family home evening lesson was one his mom gave on repentance. She hid paper footprints around the house. Each footprint had a step of repentance written on it. The children first had to find the hidden steps. “I found some and let Rachel find some,” Bryan recalls. Then the family talked about each one and put them in order on the floor. Then each person walked on the footprints, naming the steps of repentance as he or she went.

“I want to be a missionary. I’ve been reading the scriptures to prepare.”

Bryan knows that all Latter-day Saints have been called to be a light to the world and that his home is a “lighthouse” for neighbors and friends. His family is looking forward to going to yet another house of light—the holy temple—where they will be sealed for time and eternity. They want all the light they can get.

Nate was walking home from school on Monday. He saw something shiny. It was a yellow truck in a sandbox. Yellow was his favorite color! He put the truck in his pocket.
At home, Nate took out the truck to play. But when he looked at it, he didn’t feel so good.
On Tuesday, Nate passed the sandbox again. This time he saw an orange truck.
This will go great with the yellow truck, Nate thought. He put it in his pocket. But when Nate got home, he felt bad inside.
The same thing happened Wednesday, when Nate took a purple truck.
On Thursday he took a green truck.
Each time he took a truck, Nate felt worse. But he still wanted to collect more.
On Friday, as Nate reached to grab a white truck from the sandbox, he heard a voice above him.
“I see you like trucks.”
Nate jumped back. A woman was smiling at him.
“My son, Cayden, is about your age,” the woman said. “He has been losing a lot of trucks lately. Do you know where they are?”
Nate gulped. He knew he was in trouble. But he also knew that telling the truth was the right thing.
“I have them at my house,” Nate said. “I’ll go get them!”
Nate ran home. He told Mom what had happened. They said a prayer. Nate told Heavenly Father he was sorry. He asked for the bad feelings to go away. Then they took the trucks back to the sandbox.
“Sorry I took your trucks,” Nate said to Cayden.
“Thanks for bringing them back,” Cayden said. “Want to play?”
Nate smiled and nodded. Playing with trucks had never been so fun. And next week, he would make better choices!

Permit me to read you a few lines from a letter sent to a bishop.

“Dear Bishop:

“It has been almost two years since I desperately called you asking for help. At that time I was ready to kill myself. I had no one else to turn to—no money, no job, no friends. My house had been taken, and I had no place to live. The Church was my last hope.

“As you know, I had left the Church at the age of 17 and had broken just about every rule and commandment that there was in my search for happiness and fulfillment. Instead of happiness, my life was filled with misery, anguish, and despair. There was no hope or future for me. I even pleaded with God to let me die, to take me out of my misery. Not even He wanted me. I felt that He had rejected me, too.

“That’s when I turned to you and the Church. …

“You listened with understanding, you counseled, you guided, you helped.

“I began to grow and develop in understanding and knowledge of the gospel. I found that I had to make certain basic changes in my life that were terribly difficult, but that within me I had the worth and strength to do so.

“I learned that as I lived the gospel and repented, I had no more fear. I was filled with an inner peace. The clouds of anguish and despair were gone. Because of the Atonement, my weaknesses and sins were forgiven through Jesus Christ and His love for me.

“He has blessed and strengthened me. He has opened pathways for me, given me direction, and kept me from harm. I have found that as I overcame each obstacle, my business began to grow, enabling my family to benefit and making me feel as though I had accomplished something.

“Bishop, you have given me understanding and support through these past two years. I never would have reached this point if not for your love and patience. Thank you for being what you are as the servant of the Lord to help me, His wandering child.”

June and Dallin had talked about the future of their family before she passed away. They agreed that remarrying would be a blessing to him and their family. On August 25, 2000, Elder Oaks married Kristen M. McMain.
Kristen Oaks describes her life with President Oaks with one simple sentence: “We are united in the work of the Lord, and it has showered us with countless blessings.” She creates family gatherings as often as possible because it brings so much joy to the entire family. June is always a part of the conversation.

It’s early Saturday morning. You have lots to do—hang out with friends, maybe catch up on your homework. Then the phone rings and you remember that this Saturday is your ward’s youth serve-a-thon. You groan and think about getting in one more hour of sleep, right?
Of course not. Getting up is easy if you’re in the Richmond Ward, Richmond Virginia Stake, and today much of your service will be for those who aren’t members of the Church. Today you get to join with the missionaries and meet a lot of new people.
This Saturday morning, youth from the Richmond Ward are spread out in five different locations around the city. The first stop is a small house in the middle of Richmond. Fourteen-year-old Zack Harton and his friend Will Jones are stationed here, raking leaves, pulling weeds, and having fun.
Zack doesn’t personally know the family his group is helping, but he does know that this family is investigating the Church. Therefore, he knows that he’s also setting an example. “It makes me feel good because I’m helping someone in need—just as I would help my own brother and sister if they needed help,” Zack says.
His friend Will is also investigating the Church and is glad that Zack invited him to come along today. Will has already caught on to the wonderful feeling that comes from service. “I feel that I have an obligation toward other people,” Will says. “I started coming with Zack to Scouts and never knew it was going to get into this. But I just think it’s wonderful that somebody would care enough to do this. While we were working in the yard, everyone would help one another. You didn’t even have to ask. I could feel God around me.”
Will’s enthusiasm for service touches Cary Fleming as she, too, helps clean up at this stop. “The house looked pretty bad when we got there,” Cary says. “I wondered how we were going to clean all this. But then Will started singing nonstop, and I kept on pulling weeds, and we had a blast.”
Cary found out that what her mom said last night was right. “I did not want to go, but she told me it would strengthen my testimony if I really prayed about going and asked to have a good time. So I knelt down and prayed, and I’ve had the best time.”
A couple of kilometers away, Charity Holderness is cleaning bedrooms and bathrooms for a part-member family in the Richmond Ward. For Charity, this is a little out of the ordinary. “When I clean my own room, my mom thinks I’m sick,” she says.
Today she’s feeling something different. “I can’t even explain this feeling. I know that I haven’t done even a fraction of the work some people do. But I feel so much better knowing that I can keep doing small things. Maybe I’ll sweep the kitchen floor when I get home.”
Thirteen-year-old Caity Ingles is also here. She is not a member of the Church but came when her friend April Lacy invited her. April asked Caity to come because, she says, “I want her to know that I like to serve and help other people.”
The two missionaries at this stop like April’s idea about setting an example. Elder Jeffrey Mortensen, from Visalia, California, says: “We’re just the missionaries serving in this area for a short time. But when a ward member can make a connection with a nonmember, that is awesome.”
Building relationships—as well as cutting down some unwanted trees—is in full swing where a third group of youth are stationed. Todd Swenson, age 17, is here, and he’s a little tired from pulling up roots and clearing leaves. But his attitude is not the least bit tiresome. “This is my first time doing anything like this, but I want to do it again. I think it makes the people we are helping feel that they have friends, that someone is looking out for them,” Todd says.
Ben Mullins, age 14, agrees. “I hope it makes them feel that Church members like to help other people. It also gives me a better attitude about serving.”
Besides, according to Heather Swenson, there’s not much better to do on a Saturday. “I can spare one Saturday. I’ve got a lot of time left in my life to help other people. I need to use that time well.”
Across town at a less-active ward member’s home, Chris Odell knows all about using his time well. “I know this is the best thing I could do today,” Chris says. “When I serve, I feel close to heaven.”
Lindsay Lansing, age 14, nods in agreement and says, “Service shows that you love and respect others.” She is helping the sister missionaries gather leaves and stuff them into a garbage bag. This is not the first time she has joined them to provide service for her neighbors and less-active ward members. “I do this whenever I get the chance.”
Lindsay, Chris, and the rest of the group here finish quickly, but they don’t want to quit yet. So each of them jumps into a leader’s van to find another group that may need some extra hands.
By lunchtime, the last group of Richmond Ward youth are putting finishing touches on a wall at Svetlana Iskiyayev’s Village Shoe Shop. They have spent the morning tidying and painting the back room of the shop.
Svetlana and her husband left careers as a doctor and a lawyer when they came to Virginia from Russia several years ago. Now they are building their dreams here. And Helen Capehart, age 16, is happy she can help them. She has invited two nonmember friends to help her today and hopes that they, as well as the Iskiyayevs, will see the light of the gospel through her service.
After all, examples of service are what drew Helen herself to the gospel just a short time ago. She says: “I’m so grateful that the Lord led me to this Church and for the awesome examples my friends here have been to me. My biggest example now is Jesus Christ, and I find so much joy in serving him. I hope I always have this feeling in me.”
Most likely, that feeling will stay with Helen because she has found an important key to sharing the gospel—service.
As youth from the Richmond Ward close their day of service with a testimony meeting, Helen once again captures the essence of this activity. “I don’t think I ever feel the Spirit as strong in my life as when I am serving the Lord,” Helen says. “Look at all the magazines with beautiful people on the covers. The world says that’s beauty. But when I was working today, I got paint and dirt all over me. And I think that is the Lord’s true definition of beauty.”
She is probably right. What could be more beautiful than a child of God who has found happiness in following the example of the Savior?

When we moved to Provo thirty years ago, I was in my twenties. Our oldest son was two, and our youngest son was just a few weeks old. I had been a member of the Church for less than ten years.
Shortly after arriving in Provo, I met Bertha. Bertha was in her sixties. I knew a little bit about Bertha. I knew she lived in our stake. I knew she was respected by those who knew her. I also knew that she was a leader and a woman of service. People sought her advice.
I remember attending a stake Relief Society function at which Bertha was one of the women on a panel that was answering questions and giving advice to those in attendance on a variety of topics. I noticed that Bertha was being asked for a lot of advice about raising children. I soon discovered why. She was the mother of thirteen children. I appreciated her responses to the questions. She seemed to have all the wisdom and experience that I lacked.
Another thing I knew about Bertha was that she seemed to like walking. Sometimes I would see her walking in the neighborhood. One morning while I was walking with my friend, she asked me if it would be okay if Bertha joined us occasionally on our walks. I told her that was fine. But privately, the thought of walking with Bertha intimidated me somewhat, mainly because I held her in such high esteem.
A few days later my friend invited Bertha to walk with us. Before Bertha met us for our walk that morning, my friend told me a couple of things about Bertha that she thought would be helpful to me. She told me that Bertha sometimes had a little difficulty hearing and that her shins sometimes bothered her—especially when walking uphill. I thought these things were good to know.
Our walking route that day began in the Tree Streets south of the Provo Temple. We headed toward the temple, which is a steady uphill walk. I don’t remember much of our conversation that day. I remember only the question I asked Bertha once we reached the top of the road by the temple and began our steady descent toward home.
Remembering that Bertha’s shins sometimes bothered her, I asked, “Bertha, how are your shins?”
There was a bit of an awkward pause, and then, with much earnestness, Bertha replied, “I’m working on them, and hopefully they are improving every day.”
I responded, “Oh, that’s good. Thankfully it’s all downhill from here.”
I was feeling pretty magnanimous about my expressed concern for Bertha. For a couple of minutes we walked along in a somewhat awkward silence.
Then my friend suddenly got a relieved look on her face and, turning to me, exclaimed, “You said shins, didn’t you?”
My first thought was, “Yes, of course I said shins.” Then it occurred to me that they had both thought I had asked Bertha how her sins were doing!
I was mortified! There I was, this inexperienced young mother, asking Bertha, this accomplished and wise woman, how her sins were doing! How impertinent I must have seemed, especially to have commented that it’s all downhill from here—as if implying that once you hit a certain age, it can only be downhill.
I really don’t know what Bertha thought of me. I do know that I was grateful that my friend clarified the misunderstanding that I had unintentionally caused.
That experience and many others like it have taught me the critical importance of effective communication.

It wasn’t always smooth. I took my first semester with my smartphone only while I was working a low-income job. It was very challenging, especially during the second semester. I couldn’t do it all with my phone anymore so I shared a laptop with a friend named Loveth Ngumah, but I could only use it at the chapel. I would go there every evening after work, wait for her to finish studying, and then I would take over. Sometimes it meant I get home at 11 PM, and some nights were spent at the chapel, but I never gave up. I knew it was going to change my life anyway, so it was worth it. Soon, I was blessed with a laptop scholarship.

It was Houston’s transfer to the Benin City stake that introduced him to Raymond. Raymond arrived in Benin a few days later directly from his missionary training in Lagos. Houston joined Raymond and his companion to proselyte on Raymond’s first day. When Raymond expressed his fear about teaching a discussion on his first day, he remembers Houston’s encouragement: “Elder, go ahead and do it. I had the same experience. If I did it, you can do it, too.”

Raymond recalls, “I was filled with strength and confidence. And when I finished the discussion, Houston tapped me on the knee and said, ‘Elder, you came out okay.’ This experience kindled a feeling of respect for him. And as our paths have crossed many times since our missions, that feeling has only increased.”

Illustrated by Mike Eagle
During general conference in 1906, David took his wife and two young sons to visit cousins in Salt Lake City. Between sessions they sat down to lunch.
Cousin: David, there’s an urgent phone call for you.
David: I’ve been summoned to the Office of the First Presidency.
David met Elder George Albert Smith, an Apostle, on Temple Square. Elder Smith escorted him to the office of the President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. As they walked David thought about how he had performed his stake calling in the Sunday School.
David: I wonder if I’ll be called to the Church Board of Education.
President Francis M. Lyman invited David to sit down. What he said next left David speechless.
President Lyman: So you’re David O. McKay. Well, the Lord wants you to be an Apostle … What’s the matter? Haven’t you anything to say?
David: I’m not worthy of such a call!
President Lyman: Not worthy? Not worthy?! What have you been doing?
David: Nothing of which I’m ashamed.
President Lyman: Then do you have faith that the Lord will make you able to fulfill this calling?
On the way back to his relatives’ apartment, David saw his father.
Father: So, Son, were you called to the Church Board of Education?
David: I’ve been asked not to say anything about my new calling yet.
David and his wife, Emma Ray, attended the afternoon session of conference together. Right before the session ended, a special announcement was made. Emma Ray burst into tears from surprise and joy when David’s name was read. At only 32 years old, David O. McKay was sustained a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

I remember Elder McConkie, when he was presiding over a mission in Australia, quoted this promise to a gathering that he was instructing. In the group were two Protestant ministers. One of the men arose and said, “That promise is not true.”

Elder McConkie said, “How do you know it’s not true?”

He said, “Because I tried it. I read the book and then I asked.”

Elder McConkie said, “Well, how did you ask?”

“I said in my prayer, ‘O God, if this book be true, please strike me dead.’ It didn’t happen, so obviously the book isn’t true.”

Elder McConkie said, “I explained to him as carefully as you can, and still be a Christian gentleman, about what it says about the way you should read the book. Of course, he hadn’t complied.”

When you come to the point of needing that testimony, take the book as a sacred thing. Before you begin to read it, kneel down and ask God if he will guide you in your study and add to you the testimony and witness of the truth of what you read. Then when you put it down each time, kneel again and ask him to assure you and indicate to you if what you’ve read is true or not.

I’ve spent some time working in Naples, Italy, sequestered in dusty archives, pouring through old manuscripts and books as part of my research as a historical musicologist. The old Italian music I study is strange to the city now and seldom heard. When the libraries close, early and often, I’m back on the streets, sometimes in sections of Naples that are very poor, with beggars everywhere.

In the summer of 1987 a young boy there asked me for money in a subway station, and I ineptly shook my head and glanced away. At first I blamed my poor Neapolitan dialect for not understanding him (except for his open hand), but when others also looked puzzled, I realized that he too was foreign. I watched him go as he walked the length of the station.

It was always the same. He took a few slow steps, bent his right arm at the elbow, and rested it on his bony hip, his left hand behind his back reaching through to grab his upper-right arm. His right hand was cupped near to his body and almost closed, weakly drifting back and forth. He shifted all his thin weight to his left leg, turned his other foot to its outside edge, and bent his back in a slow arch. He never looked those he confronted in the face; his gaze went past you, about chin height. He repeated the same incomprehensible words over and over, and after each rejection he scuffed his feet, shuffled a bit sideways, and moved on, first to this group, and then that—a businessman, a mother, some imitation punk rockers, a factory worker, a man in uniform. He went to each person in the crowded station, a captive audience for his pitiful performance, and no one gave him anything. A few laughed. The teenagers mocked him. Most just ignored him.

As I watched the scene unfold, I thought, “He’s about the same age as my own 11-year-old son, about the same height, same hair color, same complexion, same awkward, uncomfortable posture that all 11-year-old boys have.” Then suddenly, as I stood in that crowded Neapolitan mélange of humanity, I saw my son in his face as he stumbled into the press around me, and I panicked and wanted desperately to go after him. But my train arrived, and I got on, maneuvering next to the window to search for him. I saw him standing there, alone in the deserted station, and then he was gone.

The face of that young boy in a subway station will be one of those images that will never leave me. Like the face of my young brother, years ago, as I led him into a hospital room to say goodbye to our father, or the face of my firstborn child, the face of that young beggar was the face of need. I’ve thought a good deal about beggars since then. The young boy had no money, and I had no will to help him. Which of us was the beggar? “For behold, are we not all beggars?” was the question posed by King Benjamin (Mosiah 4:19).

It was impossible to cheer up Aunt Mabel. I’d been with her all day, and she hadn’t even come close to smiling. I handed the mail to her and said, “A magazine and a letter from Cousin Ellen.”
“But no surprise package from anyone,” Aunt Mabel said. “What a bad day.” She set the mail on the table in the dark hall and turned to me. “Shall we go for a little walk, Judy?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said, happy to get out of her gloomy house. When we stepped outside, I smiled up at the blue sky. “What a bright, sunny day,” I said.
Aunt Mabel glared at the sky. “It’s too bright. It makes me squint. Now I’ll get more wrinkles. What a bad day.”
I looked down and saw something shiny on the sidewalk. “Look! A penny,” I said, stooping to pick it up.
“Too bad it’s not a dime or a quarter,” Aunt Mabel said.
We walked to the park and Aunt Mabel sat on a bench under a big, leafy tree. “Isn’t it nice here in the shade?” I asked.
Aunt Mabel shook her head, gazing uneasily at the branches.
“Those leaves are probably full of caterpillars, and one might fall on me. What a bad day.”
I sighed and sat next to Aunt Mabel, but no caterpillars fell from the tree. After a few minutes, Aunt Mabel stood up. “Let’s be on our way,” she said.
We walked beside a garden that was filled with big yellow and orange flowers. “Mmmm,” I said. “Don’t those flowers smell sweet!”
Aunt Mabel rubbed her nose. “Makes my nose twitch,” she said, hurrying past the garden. “What a bad day.”
I slowed down and breathed in the sweet fragrance. My nose wasn’t twitching. I watched Aunt Mabel walk along the path and wondered how I could cheer her up. Skipping along, I caught up with her. “At least the sun’s not in our eyes, now,” I said, watching our shadows stretch before us.
Aunt Mabel buttoned her sweater. “Now the sun is hot on my back, but I’m cold in front. What a bad day.”
“We’re almost home,” I said as we turned the corner and Aunt Mabel’s house came into view. “You have a pretty house.”
Aunt Mabel looked up at her house. “It’s old,” she said. “The floor boards creak and groan.”
We climbed the steps and sat on the porch swing. “Shall I get us some lemonade?” I asked. Aunt Mabel nodded.
I carried two glasses of lemonade out to the porch. I knew what Aunt Mabel would say, and sure enough, after one sip she said it: “This lemonade is too sour. What a bad day.”
I was thirsty and drank mine right down. I thought it tasted pretty good. At last Mom’s car pulled up in front of the house, and I jumped up to leave.
“Did you have a nice visit?” she asked. I just shrugged. I didn’t want to lie and say I’d had a great time.
Aunt Mabel stood up and kissed Mom on the cheek. Then she gave me a hug. I hugged her, too, and she said, “Ouch! Watch out for these old bones!” I backed away.
“Did you have a good day visiting with your niece?” Mom asked her.
I waited for Aunt Mabel to tell Mom what a bad day she’d had.
“I had a very good day,” Aunt Mabel said. “It was nice to have someone to tell my troubles to.”
Mom and I got in the car, and before we drove away, I waved to Aunt Mabel. She waved back, and I was sure she actually smiled at me.
“You certainly cheered Aunt Mabel up,” Mom said.
“Yes,” I said. “What a bad-good day we had.”