Gospel Story Finder

More than 100 years ago, President Wilford Woodruff, then 91 years of age, delivered what may have been his last sermon from this pulpit. In the audience was 12-year-old LeGrand Richards. His father, George F. Richards (later ordained an Apostle), brought his boys to the Tabernacle to hear the Brethren. LeGrand never forgot that experience.
For more than 20 years, I was very close to Elder LeGrand Richards. When he was 96 years old, that message still lingered in his heart. He could not remember the words President Woodruff said, but he could never forget how he felt when they were said.

These two principles are depicted in one of my favorite books called, The Hiding Place. It is a true story of the extraordinary adventure of Corrie Ten Boom--a courageous Christian woman who became a militant heroine of the anti-Nazi underground in Holland.

Her family had been engaged in hiding people from the Nazis in their home. Eventually, the protective acts of the Ten Boom family were discovered and they were sent to the dreadful concentration camps. Despite the misery, filth and disease they experienced in the various camps, Corrie and her sister, Betsie, always seemed to find a reason to rejoice.

On one occasion, Corrie was overcome with joy to have a compact Bible smuggled in to her. It became a source of strength to her and the other prisoners as she whispered its divine messages to the hungry souls of her cell mates. When Corrie and her sister Betsie, eventually ended up at Ravensbruck, the notorious women's extermination camp, she did not succumb to despair and depression. Rather, she continued to find God's influence in her tragic situation. She wrote, "Life in Ravensbruck took place on two separate levels, mutually impossible. One, the observable, external life, grew everyday more horrible. The other, the life we lived with God (through their secret Bible readings), grew daily better, truth upon truth, glory upon glory" (pg. 195).

On page 198, Betsie demonstrated her spiritual maturity when she expressed gratitude for her appalling circumstances. When the sisters and other women prisoners were assigned to the large room, known as Barracks 28, they were horrified to find the place swarming with fleas. As Corrie asked how they were supposed to live in such conditions, she discovered that Betsie, her more spiritually mature sister, was asking God aloud "Show us. Show us how." Almost immediately, Betsie answered her own question when she said excitedly, "Corrie! He's given us the answer! In the Bible this morning. Where was it? Read that part again!"

Corrie wrote:
"I glanced down the long dim aisle to make sure no guard was in sight, then drew the bible from its pouch. 'It was in First Thessalonians,' I said. 'Here it is: 'Comfort the frightened, help the weak, be patient with everyone. See that no one of you repays evil for evil, but always seek to do good to one another and to all.' It seemed written expressly to Ravensbruck.
'Go on,' said Betsie. 'That wasn't all.'
'Oh yes: 'to one another and to all. Rejoice always, pray constantly, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus ---'
'That's it, Corrie! That's His answer. 'Give thanks in all circumstances!' That's what we can do. We can start right now to thank God for every single thing about this new barracks!'
I stared at her, then around me at the dark, foul-aired room.
'Such as?'I said.
'Such as being assigned here together.'
I bit my lip. 'Oh yes, Lord Jesus!'
'Such as what you're holding in your hands.'
I looked down at the bible. 'Yes! Thank You, dear Lord, that there was no inspection when we entered here! Thank You for all the women, here in this room, who will meet You in these pages.'
'Yes,' said Betsie. 'Thank You for the very crowding here. Since we're packed so close, that many more will hear!' She looked at me expectantly. 'Corrie!' she prodded.
'Oh all right. Thank You for the jammed, crammed, stuffed, packed, suffocating crowds.'
'Thank You,'Betsie went on serenely, 'for the fleas and for--'
The fleas! This was too much. 'Betsie, there's no way even God can make me grateful for a flea.'
'Give thanks in all circumstances,' she quoted. 'It doesn't say, 'in pleasant circumstances.' Fleas are part of this place where God has put us.'
And so we stood between the bunks and gave thanks for fleas. But this time I was sure Betsie was wrong."

Well, it wasn't until several days after, when Betsie had spent some time away from the cell being treated for an illness, that she explained to Corrie why the fleas were a blessing to them. (pg. 209)
"'You know we've never understood why we had so much freedom in the big room, (referring to Barracks 28).Well, I found out.'
One afternoon when there had been some confusion with the knitting group and they asked for a supervisor to come and settle it, Betsie announced that 'she wouldn't step through the door and neither would the guards. And you know why?'
Betsie could not keep the triumph from her voice; 'Because of the fleas! That's what she said, 'That place is crawling with fleas!'
My mind rushed back to our first hour in this place. I remembered Betsie's bowed head, remembered her thanks to God for creatures I could see no use for."

While attending BYU, I had the opportunity of taking four semesters of Spanish and then a few years later four semesters of Norwegian. In my attempt to become proficient in these two vastly different languages, it became quite evident to me that I am not blessed with the gift of tongues, nor with the gift of the interpretation of tongues. I would get somewhat frustrated as I watched my fellow classmates seemingly breeze through these languages with ease.

Early in the first semesters of these courses, I was not enjoying the classes much at all as I focused on the things I couldn’t do and ­compared myself to the best of those around me. I noticed, however, that although I was not very good at speaking the languages, I greatly enjoyed learning about the culture, history, and even the syntax of the languages. As I focused more on the things I enjoyed and was grateful for the chance to do those things, the things that were more of a challenge became more tolerable. I started ­caring less about how I compared with others and more about what I was learning. Although I never became an effective speaker of either language, I found joy in the coursework and in the learning that I gained.

“Who knows the parable of the Good Samaritan?” Sister Stewart asked her CTR class.
“I do!” exclaimed Erin, raising her hand. “It’s the story about the man who was hurt by robbers and two different men passed him by and the Good Samaritan stopped and helped.”
“Very good, Erin. Thank you. Not only did the Good Samaritan stop and help but he took the man to an inn. Let’s read about it in Luke 10:30–35. Who brought scriptures today?”
The children took turns reading the verses. Then Sister Stewart asked, “Dan, what did the Good Samaritan do at the inn?”
“He gave the innkeeper money and asked him to take care of the injured man.”
“That’s right. Not only did the Good Samaritan help the injured man but he went the extra mile and made sure that he would be cared for after they were at the inn. I challenge each of you to perform a service for someone this week and to go the extra mile. We’ll talk about some of your experiences next Sunday in class.”
On the way home from church, Erin tried to think of something she could do. It must be something for someone who really needs my help, she decided. Unfortunately she couldn’t think of anything. That night as she knelt by her bed, she asked Heavenly Father to help her find someone who really needed her help.
Days went by and nothing happened. Erin did a lot of good service. She helped with the dishes and made refreshments for family home evening, for instance. But they were all things she always did. Mother and Father were always grateful for Erin’s helpfulness and often told her so. But now Erin wanted to do something special.
Finally Sunday came again. A whole week had gone by, and no one other than her own family had needed Erin’s help. She sat in the car for a while, watching people walk by on their way into the church. What will I tell Sister Stewart and my class? she wondered as she got out of the car to go in for Sunday School opening exercises.
Just then the Armstrong family’s green van rumbled loudly into the parking lot. There were five children in the family, all under six years old. Sister Armstrong obviously had been in a hurry all morning, because her hair was still wet and one of the children was still eating a piece of toast. Brother Armstrong, a member of the bishopric, had needed to be at church for early morning meetings, so Sister Armstrong was left to get herself and her five children dressed in their Sunday best and to church on time.
As Erin watched, Sister Armstrong searched for two-year-old Lizzy’s shoes, which had been kicked under the seat.
Sister Perkins, the Relief Society president rushed by with her arms full of books, flowers, and papers, calling, “Good morning, Sister Armstrong!”
As Sister Armstrong struggled to put Lizzy’s shoes back on her, baby Mark spit up all over his clothes. Three-year-old Crystal had given gum to everyone while her mommy wasn’t looking, and now four-year-old Ashley had gum stuck in her pretty French braid. The only one who wasn’t causing a problem was five-and-a-half-year-old Marilyn, who had been sent into church by her mom to find her father. In the midst of all the confusion, Sister Armstrong sat down and cried.
Suddenly Erin realized that the Armstrong family was the answer to her prayers. She set her scriptures down on the sidewalk and rushed over to the van. Offering Sister Armstrong a tissue, Erin said earnestly, “Let me help you, Sister Armstrong. What can I do first?”
“Erin, you’re a lifesaver!” exclaimed Sister Armstrong as she dried her eyes.
Together they put Lizzy’s shoes back on, cleaned up Mark, and got the gum out of Ashley’s hair. Then Erin grabbed her scriptures before carrying Mark and the diaper bag into church. Partway up the hall they met Brother Armstrong.
“I see you’ve found yourself a Good Samaritan,” he said as he scooped up Mark and led the way into the chapel.
Erin sat with the Armstrongs during opening exercises, then offered to take Lizzy and Crystal to their Primary classes.
“You’ve been a great help this morning, Erin. Thank you very much,” said Sister Armstrong.
“I’d like to help every Sunday, if that’s all right. I can wait outside for you and then sit with you during Sunday School opening exercises.”
Sister Armstrong was very glad to accept Erin’s help. As she walked down the hall to her own class, Erin thought about the smile on Sister Armstrong’s face. A warm tingle flowed from Erin’s head to her toes. She had met the challenge to serve and go the extra mile.
That night as Erin knelt by her bed, she thanked Heavenly Father for guiding her to the Armstrong family and helping her learn how wonderful it felt to serve others and go the extra mile.

Let me share with you one "homey" little story that illustrates the mutual association the Hinckley and Monson families have shared. You may have learned by now that my father enjoys pigeons and chickens. When Elder Richard Hinckley, President Hinckley's oldest son, served as mission president of the Utah Salt Lake City Mission, their mission home was located on the street right behind my parents' home. When the Monson chickens were laying well, my mother would gather several of the eggs and take them to the mission home. Sister Jane Hinckley would express her thanks, and then she would make a baked custard dessert, using those same eggs. She'd walk the dessert through the gate and deliver it to my parents--which they greatly appreciated. I sometimes wonder if that was why my parents took eggs to the Hinckleys in the first place, as they loved receiving Sister Jane Hinckley's custard.

Micah had a frown on his face. Mommy asked him to help set the table, but Micah said no. Daddy asked Micah to stop teasing his little sister, but Micah said no. Daddy said, “Micah, when you obey, it helps our family be happy.” Micah liked it when his family was happy. He went to the table. He put the forks and spoons next to the plates. Mommy smiled. “Thank you, Micah.” Then he gave his little sister a toy to play with. She smiled. Daddy smiled too. “Thank you, Micah.” Micah didn’t have a frown anymore. It turned upside-down into a big smile!

While the whole Bennion family is special, each of the children stands out with his or her own unique talents and personality. One time when Kiera was three years old, her parents took her to see her cousins perform in a band in which they played violins. That night at home, Kiera walked in with her mother’s high heel shoe tucked under her chin and a screwdriver in her hand, pretending to play the shoe like a violin. Now she takes lessons on a real violin and on a piano, but it’s easy to see that her love for music started long ago.

Haven, a 14-year-old from Utah, USA, decided to celebrate being a young woman in the Church by serving others.
“It started as a small idea,” she says. “My uncle went to Bangladesh on a humanitarian trip and learned about difficult things the people there were experiencing. I wanted to help them—so I looked on the JustServe app and got the idea to make homemade kits for the refugees there.”
Haven collected donations at her school, created a GoFundMe page, and even took out neighbors’ garbage cans to help raise money for the kits. “I take out about 22 garbage cans and 11 recycle cans every Monday and Tuesday,” she says. “I normally use the money I earn for my choir program and to save for a mission, but I decided to use my funds that month to help buy supplies instead.”
Haven then went out and bought all the materials she needed for the kits, including socks, gloves, scarfs, and hats. She assembled each kit and also got in contact with the director of Lifting Hands International to coordinate the delivery of the kits in Bangladesh.
“Putting the kits together took up the most time in my project. But every time I put a piece into the kit, I knew that it would go to someone in need and that they would be blessed for a long time by it.”
By the end of her project, Haven felt her confidence build in her ability to serve. “I learned from this how much help I can be if I try my hardest. I also felt compassion for the people I was helping, which helped me feel closer to the Savior and feel some of what He feels for us.”
As we celebrate the anniversary of the Young Women organization, each of us can remember that we are examples of Christ. Like Haven, we can be a big help to others when we try our hardest to serve as He would.

First, how can we teach our families to sacrifice? My grandfather Isaac Jacob was a great example to me. Grandpa was a sheep rancher who sent four sons on missions. During the Depression, it became my mother’s opportunity to serve, and she received her call to Canada.

Grandpa’s situation became critical when he was called in by his bank and asked just what was the $50 a month going out for Mom’s mission. He had taken out a loan and was paying a high rate of 12 percent interest. The bankers were not satisfied and told him to bring Mom home from her mission.

The following day Grandpa gave his answer: “If that girl comes home, the sheep are yours—and I’ll bring them right up to your door.” This caught the bankers by surprise. They were already using Grandpa to care for other sheep outfits which they had acquired, and they would have no one else to take care of all those sheep. Mom completed her mission, and Grandpa’s example taught his family the importance of sacrifice.

Similarly, when I told my story to another friend, Debbie, she laughed, because for her God had made it clear that in her home it was to be—as she put it—all hands on deck at home, all the time, by her. Debbie deferred completion of her undergraduate degree and taught and nurtured her four children—sometimes homeschooling them to best address their unique individual needs—until her youngest child was five, when she was prompted to return to BYU to finish her bachelor’s degree in linguistics, with minors in Chinese and Japanese.

When I contacted Debbie, she said that for her the Spirit seems to work by reawakening her own long-dormant dreams and goals when the time is right. She is now preparing to take the LSAT and hopes to become an attorney. “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven” (Ecclesiastes 3:1).

One youth Sunday School teacher wondered how to help two young men with autism act for themselves. When she invited class members to share what they were learning, she worried that these two young men might refuse her invitation. But they didn’t. One stood to teach what he had learned and then invited his classmate with autism to help him. When the first began to struggle, his classmate stayed with him and whispered in his ear so that he could feel successful. They were both teaching that day. They were teaching what the Savior taught, but they were also teaching how the Savior taught. When the Savior taught, He acted out of love for the one He was teaching, just as this classmate did for his friend.5

Each time I have shared the following experience, it has been helpful to me, and hopefully it will be of value to you. My sister, just older than I, set this very powerful example for me. For many years, she had been the main caregiver for her husband, who had multiple sclerosis and whose body had come to the point that he required almost around-the-clock care. One day, my sister was not feeling well, so she went for an appointment with her doctor. Stomach cancer was diagnosed. It had spread from her stomach to her liver and other abdominal organs. It was inoperable, and she was told that she likely had a very short time to live. She never returned home again. During the weeks she was in the hospital, her temple recommend expired. When it appeared that she had just a few days left to live, while visiting with her Latter-day Saint cancer specialist she said, "I would like to be buried with a current temple recommend." He replied, "I don't think they need to use them over there." "Nevertheless," she answered, "I want to be buried with a current temple recommend." Her bishop and stake president came and interviewed her. She passed away a few days later, and she was buried with a current temple recommend. With that example, I hope and intend to do the same. I always want to live in such a way that I will be able to look my bishop and stake president in the eye and answer their questions honestly and appropriately. I always want to have in my possession a current temple recommend, and, as we are counseled by our leaders, to use it "as frequently as circumstances allow."

And as they set up the basic organization of the conference, again the central committee went to the scriptures, in the spirit of service, for their guidelines. They read the counsel given to Moses:

“Provide out of all people able men, such as fear God, men of truth … to be rulers of tens:

“And … every great matter they shall bring unto thee, but every small matter they shall judge: so shall it be easier for thyself, and they shall bear the burden with thee.” (Ex. 18:21–22.)

Under the guidance and the approval of the district and mission presidencies, the central committee decided to divide the 300 youth who would be attending the Naramata conference into companies of ten, with captains of ten to be elected from among the companies. And then they wrote out a list of instructions for these captains:

“You are now a ‘Captain of Ten’ upon whom an important stewardship has been bestowed. Be a friend to all those in your charge, remembering that to lead is also to serve.

“Study carefully the following suggestions, which, if followed in the right spirit, will ensure that this conference will be a profound personal success—for you and those youth in your charge.
Make a friend of everyone in your group.
Assist others in maintaining conference rules.
Assist others in maintaining Church standards.
Be sure your group is awakened on time.
Do not retire until every youth in your group has been accounted for.
Be sure every member of your group is aware of, and understands, conference plans.
Cooperate with and assist your adult chaperons.
Accept assignments from the conference committee when asked.
Hold morning and evening prayers with your group.
Bear your testimony whenever appropriate.
“At all times,” the instructions reemphasized, “watch out for the girl or boy who needs friendship, some of whom can be seen eating silently alone in the cafeteria or standing shyly on the darkened sidelines of the dance floor.”

But the problem was quickly solved. The young people gladly doubled up where possible and rolled out their bedrolls on the floor where not, and once gear was stowed and friendly introductions made, companies of ten were formed and captains elected.

Throughout the day thoughtful, caring service was offered in large ways and small. In meetings when those on the stand didn’t have a hymnbook, someone from the audience would jump up and give his copy to the person without. If there were not enough chairs in a workshop, a dozen self-motivated volunteers would rush to find more. If a youth was walking between meetings loaded down with suitcases, chairs, or other paraphernalia, others would quietly walk up behind him and ask if they could help carry the burden. Captains of ten conscientiously watched over their companies, and none went friendless or uncomforted, not even those not officially attending the conference.

I also know a woman in Cape Coast, Ghana, who somehow tuned into general conference. She had never heard of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but she became glued to what she saw and heard from prophets, seers, and revelators. Afterward, she looked for the Church. She found a chapel and met the missionaries. Eventually she was baptized. Recently, she sent me pictures of herself at the temple to receive her endowment.

I was still sitting on the porch thinking when Katie and Shauna came running around the house. “Come and play catch with us,” they called.
We threw the ball back and forth to each other, and then Katie threw one that was too high for me. Running backward to catch it, I slipped and fell on my backside in a clump of Mom’s blue irises. Mom came out of the shed just then with a pair of clippers to cut a bouquet. I looked at the smashed flowers and was just starting to speak, when something inside of me seemed to say, “No, Janna Lynn, you’re not going to say Katie made you do it.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said. “I ran backward and fell.”
“Yes, I know. I saw you,” she replied.
“And you’re not mad at me?”
“Of course not.”
The way she laughed, I almost felt good about sitting on her flowers.
“Just look at all those irises that you didn’t sit on,” she said. “A daughter who tells the truth is more important than a whole yard full of flowers!”
Goodness! That must have been the Holy Ghost prompting me to tell the truth, I thought. And He’s helping me to learn what a great feeling you have when you know you’ve done the right thing. I could hardly wait to tell Cindy.

My friend Lauri’s desire was to gain an education from BYU. Her goal was to obtain her degree in design (a program that no longer exists) and then find employment in that field. While she was attending BYU and pursuing this goal, she was employed part-time at the Registration Office, where she developed organizational and management skills. When she graduated with her degree in design, she was offered a full-time position as an assistant manager in the Registration Office—something that was definitely not in the design field. However, she was newly married and she needed the job in the Registration Office so that she could help support her husband, who was getting his education at BYU. She therefore accepted the offer and put on hold her desire to use her new skills in design. She had to take an unplanned detour. But rather than panic or give up her goal, Lauri adjusted her plans, and a new, improved route appeared.

Because of her job in the Registration Office, Lauri was given the opportunity to attend a variety of organizational and management skills conferences and presentations, subsequently learning things she had not learned in her major design classes. Before she knew it, Lauri had become the manager of the Registration Office, where she developed those skills even more. In the meantime, Lauri and her husband began to have a family. Her husband continued his schooling, and Lauri continued to work.

When their first child was born, they had to place the baby in a childcare facility during the hours that Lauri worked. She soon learned that the childcare facility was struggling financially—in fact, it was on the brink of failure. Relying on the skills she had obtained in her unplanned employment, Lauri suggested some things to the owner of the childcare facility that she believed would help the facility improve financially.

What happened next was totally unexpected. The owner of the childcare facility asked Lauri to take over as owner. The change was made, and Laurie became the new owner of the facility. Because of the skills she had learned in the Registration Office at BYU, she was able to turn the facility into a very profitable organization. And what about her degree in design? She was able to use that as well, as she decorated her new business using the skills she had learned in her design classes.

The most important thing that happened in Lauri’s unexpected detour is that while her husband continued his education and their family grew, her children were able to be with her at the childcare center. She set her goals, and through faith, hard work, responsibility, and the willingness to learn and be flexible, she was, in her own words, “set up for years.” Her course was not a direct course and the end results were not what she had originally planned, but they were far better than she could have ever expected.

After World War II on a cold night in a train station in southern Japan, I heard a tap on the train window. There stood a boy wearing the same ragged shirt, a rag tied about a swollen jaw, his head covered with scabies. He held a rusty tin can and a spoon, the symbol of an orphan beggar. As I struggled to open the door to give him money, the train pulled out. I will never forget that hungry little boy standing in the cold, holding up his empty tin can.

David looked proudly at his project. He had worked very hard to make it perfect for Mommy. He had even stayed in at recess to finish it instead of play dodgeball with the rest of his first-grade class.
He had started out with a large sheet of plain white paper. Then he had carefully cut out bright yellow flowers, curly red flowers, and big orange flowers with long petals. Next, he had carefully glued them one by one onto his paper. With green crayons of two different shades, he had drawn tall stems and wavy leaves on all the flowers. In the very center of the largest yellow flower, he carefully spelled out “I love you.”
“What a beautiful garden, David,” said his teacher. “Your mother will be very pleased.”
“Thank you,” David answered politely. “I made it big so it would be special.”
After school, he went to the back of the room to get his jacket. He set his lunch box and the picture on the floor while he put on his jacket. When he reached down to pick up his picture, he heard an awful tearing sound. His foot had been on the edge of the paper, and a big piece tore completely off. Sadly, David threw the piece away. The rest was still big enough to be special, but not as big as he had wanted it to be.
He started walking home, holding Mommy’s picture carefully in one hand and his lunch box in the other. As he passed Mrs. Johnson’s house, the picture caught on a branch of her rosebush. One whole corner was ripped into shreds. He tore it off and threw it into a nearby dumpster. He hoped Mommy would like what was left of her picture, even though it wasn’t very big anymore.
A sudden gust of wind tore the paper from his grasp at the corner of his block. He chased it down the sidewalk and finally caught up with it, but not before it had landed partway in a puddle. Nearly everything that was left of Mommy’s garden picture was soggy.
As David entered his own yard, he tossed the damaged part into the big trash can near the gate, saving only the yellow flower that said “I love you.” He trudged into the house. “I have something for you, Mommy,” he called.
“What is it, honey?” she asked, coming to give him a big welcome-home hug.
“It’s a flower. It was a whole garden, and it was special because it was big, but this is all there is left.” He held the yellow flower out to her.
“Why, David, this is perfect!” exclaimed Mommy, taking the flower and giving him another big hug. “And it’s just the right size!”
She went over to the table, picked up her purse, and took out her new wallet. “Look,” she said. “It fits into the last empty window in my wallet. I can take my special flower with me everywhere I go, and it will remind me of the special boy who made it for me!”
David grinned a big, happy, “I love you” grin.

I thought the morning after my ninth-grade graduation would usher in long delicious summer months. I had planned early-morning bike rides to the river, sleep-over parties with my girlfriends, and lazy afternoons reading in the apple tree. That morning began the start of a nightmare instead.
I had felt feverish the night before but brushed it off as nervousness before giving the graduation speech. But the next morning I still felt feverish. When I looked in the mirror, I noticed small clear blisters forming on my neck.
I immediately knew what it meant. Chicken pox had been going around my school for months, finding any unlucky student that had escaped the disease in childhood. I thought I’d been one of the lucky ones who hadn’t caught it. My mother quickly confined me to my bedroom hoping I wouldn’t spread the disease to my younger brothers and sisters.
The first day wasn’t too bad. My mother brought in my meals. My younger brothers and sisters would write me love notes and slip them under my bedroom door. I wasn’t feeling too bad—yet.
From my bed, I could see the plum tree outside my window. It was early June and hundreds of small green plums were slowly growing a little each day. Looking at them, I could almost taste their red tartness bursting in my mouth at harvest. They would be worth waiting for.
The next day wasn’t as easy as the first. Huge pox blisters started to form all over my face and scalp. As the days wore on, the blisters slowly moved down my body until even the tips of my fingers and toes were covered.
My mother lovingly fixed me baking soda baths, applied calomine lotion, and spooned medication into my mouth. A trip to the doctor offered little help.
“She has the worst case I’ve ever seen,” the doctor said after seeing me in a dark back room closet so I wouldn’t infect his other patients. “Sometimes it seems to hit the older ones harder.”
The blisters down my throat made eating and even swallowing difficult. The pain, itching, and worry of facial scars all reached a peak one day. I felt that I had reached a point where I couldn’t stand it any longer. I cried out to my mother.
“I don’t know what else to do,” she said.
I prayed.
That night there was a huge wind storm. I heard the wind howling and twisting and wailing all night long while I lay in bed unable to sleep. When the morning came, I didn’t feel any relief as I had prayed for. I felt worse. The pain had reached a point on every inch of my body, inside and out, to where I knew I couldn’t bear it any longer.
That morning, in desperation, I slowly walked to the bedroom window. The blisters on the bottom of my feet made it difficult and painful. I opened the curtains and looked out at the plum tree in tears. I felt alone. I felt my prayers had not been answered.
Through the tears, I noticed that on the ground beneath the plum tree were piles of tiny green plums blown off the tree the night before in the wind storm. Every one of them represented one less ripe plum I’d have to eat later that summer. But as I looked closely at the tree, there were still a few lone plums clinging tightly to the tree branches. They would be able to draw strength from the tree throughout the growing season. They would continue to grow and ripen and live to see the harvest.
I suddenly realized that sometimes, all we can do for the present is hold on. It was that ability that had made the difference between the fallen fruit and the fruit that remained alive and growing. They had survived the storm.
I began to search for new words to pray. Previously I had prayed hourly to my Father in Heaven to make me well, to take away the pain. Suddenly the plums gave me a new perspective. I now prayed for strength to hold on. I realized that I could draw on strength beyond myself, beyond my parents, beyond the doctors, beyond this world. I didn’t have to suffer alone. The pain was not removed. My ability to bear the pain was increased.
That day was possibly one of the longest, most painful days of my life, and the days that followed brought little relief. But gradually the blisters began to scab over and fall off. I was, in time, able to return to the company of my family and friends with only a few large craterlike scars on my face.
Weeks later, when the healing was nearing completion, I walked outside the house to the plum tree. The gentle evening breeze made the green leaves tremble in the sun’s last light. I noticed that the tiny plums that the wind storm had blown off the tree a few weeks ago were yellow, hard, and wrinkled, almost disappearing in the grass. The plums still clinging to the tree had grown. Their firm, shiny green skins were starting to glow from the inside with the same soft light of the setting sun.
Now, when other storms make the dark nights in my life hard to bear, I remember the pain and the tree, the fruit and harvest. Then I remember the words of that prayer that I uttered alone in my bedroom long ago, “Dear Father, help me to hold on.”

Pocahontas, the beautiful Indian princess, was excited as she waited for her carriage. She and her husband, John Rolfe, were in England. It was Christmas, and they were going to a Christmas party at Windsor Castle. Pocahontas wondered if the lords and ladies would like her.
She was dressed in a red silk dress covered with a velvet cape. The freshwater pearls that her father had given her when she was married in Virginia circled her neck. “Do I look all right?” she asked her husband.
“You are the most beautiful princess in the world!” he told her. His smile was tender.
“But will the lords and ladies like me?” she asked.
“Don’t forget,” he reminded her, “that you, too, are a lady, now that His Majesty has given you the title Lady Rebecca. You, too, are of the court, and they will respect you for that. And they will like you because you are a dear person.”
The carriage stopped, and the gates of Windsor Castle were flung open. The carriage went on a short distance, then rocked to another stop. The footman opened the carriage door and held out his hand to assist Lady Rebecca.
Inside the castle the rooms glowed with thousands of candle flames in crystal chandeliers. Everyone was dressed in silks and laces.
As Pocahontas stood in the entryway with John, she heard two ladies whispering behind their fans. Perhaps they do not realize that their voices carry in this great hall as voices sometimes carry in my beloved forest in Virginia, thought Pocahontas. She heard the lady in lavender ask, “Who is she?”
“She’s an Indian princess from Virginia,” answered the lady in blue, “and her father is Powhatan, chief of the confederation of Algonquin tribes.”
“She is beautiful! So delicately formed!” remarked the first lady.
“She saved Captain John Smith’s life when he was founding the Jamestown colony back in 1607,” continued the lady in blue.
“Oh, she’s the Indian maiden who brought food to the starving settlers,” said the lady in lavender, nodding her head. “We’ve heard all about that and are thankful to her.”
“She learned to read and write English and was converted to Christianity,” added the lady in blue.
“Yes, indeed!” said the lady in lavender. “I’ve heard that she has a fine mind. Why she can even read complicated maps!”
At that moment John Rolfe nodded to Pocahontas that they were about to enter the throne room to bow to and greet the royal couple.
As Pocahontas took her husband’s arm, she said in a low-pitched voice, “I am happy tonight, John. People say kind things of me.”
John Rolfe smiled back at the beautiful Indian princess at his side as they walked together toward the throne of King James and Queen Anne of England.