Gospel Story Finder

The first island reached by the ship was Tubuai in 1844. The people there showed the missionaries kindness and hospitality, and when some of the people pleaded with the elders to stay, Addison Pratt left the ship to teach them. Serving alone there for many months, struggling to learn the Polynesian language, he baptized 60 out of a population of 200 and organized the first branch of the Church in the South Pacific. To this day, the Latter-day Saint community on Tubuai is a strong one.

“Am I ever bored,” Natalie said on Monday morning as she and her sister and brothers sat under the maple tree in their backyard, drinking lemonade. “School’s only been out two weeks, and I’ve already run out of things to do.”
“Me, too,” Travis agreed. “Later we’ll have swimming lessons and summer camp, but right now, what?” He was the oldest Carter child. They ranged in age from Johnny, who was six, to Travis, fourteen; with nine-year-old Natalie, ten-year-old Roger, and twelve-year-old Susan in between.
“I’ve been thinking,” Susan said slowly.
“Hooray!” Roger teased.
“Seriously,” Susan went on, making a face at Roger, “why don’t we form a club?”
“We’ve already had lots of clubs,” Johnny groaned. “And I never got to be president of any of them.”
“Not a regular club—a special one, one that isn’t just for fun, but to help people too.”
“Sure!” Travis exclaimed. “We could have a good-deed club, or something like that. We could secretly do nice things for people.”
“We’ll need a name and a general plan,” Natalie pointed out.
“Why don’t we each think of a different good deed. That way we’ll do one for each day of the week,” Roger put in.
“Let’s call ourselves the Sunshine Club,” Natalie suggested.
“OK!” the others chimed in.
“Let’s pick ideas from oldest to youngest,” said Susan.
They all agreed. Then Travis announced that he already had an idea for that day. “Remember Jeff, the boy who was burned in that house fire last week? We heard about it in sacrament meeting and in Primary. We could each write him a letter and send a get-well card.”
After lunch the children wrote notes to Jeff. Johnny cut out pretty pictures from a magazine to help fill his page, and Natalie included a poem she liked. Travis found a card with a happy verse in the family greeting-card box.
The children rode their bicycles to the post office and mailed the large envelope. “That was fun, wasn’t it!” Johnny whooped as they pedaled home.
After supper, the Sunshine Club met hastily on the back porch. They decided to announce their activity at ten each morning and to try to complete it during the afternoon.
On Tuesday, Susan suggested they pick flowers from their garden, make bouquets, and take them to the retired people’s center. That afternoon, while Susan and Roger cut flowers with Mom’s permission, the other three children found old jars that they cleaned and covered with foil or pretty wrapping paper.
“Off we go,” they cried as they headed into town, pulling a wagon loaded with colorful blossoms. At the retirement center, they split up and each delivered three small vases of flowers.
Roger was having a hard time deciding what to suggest for Wednesday. But when Mom said she would be gone all day, his eyes sparkled. “Today the Sunshine Club stays home to help Mom.”
“But we always help,” Johnny said, disappointed.
“We do our regular jobs—but I mean special ones.”
So that afternoon the children washed all the windows and the kitchen floor. Then they made some corn bread, heated up some stew, and sneaked out of the kitchen just as Mom came home. She was pleased to see the shiny clean windows and glossy floor and to smell supper on the stove.
“My, how wonderful to have so many mysterious elves around our home,” she remarked at supper. “This stew is delicious, and the corn bread tastes great!”
Thursday morning when the children met, Natalie appeared about to burst. “We’ll collect aluminum cans today and give the money we make to the homeless shelter.” All afternoon they knocked on doors asking for old cans. They searched along roadsides too. A large stack of cans grew in their backyard.
When Dad came home, he volunteered to take the cans to the recycling center.
“Thanks, Dad,” Travis said. The others nodded their thanks too. They all helped load the plastic bags filled with cans into their van. Natalie went into the center with Dad and proudly brought back a check for their efforts. “It’s not much, but every little bit helps,” she said.
On Friday morning, Johnny looked happy. He had finally decided on a project. “Let’s go through our toys and clothes. Richard’s family is having a hard time since his dad was hurt. We could give them some of our things.”
“What a great idea, Johnny,” Susan said. “I’ll write a note, and we can sneak up and deliver the things without them seeing us.”
The children were amazed at the many nice things they found that would be just right for someone in Richard’s family. They decided to give puzzles, a teddy bear, a ball, a baseball mitt, books, and some outgrown clothes that were still as good as new.
Mom came by and added two good blankets and some canned food to the pile.
“Wow,” said Johnny. “This looks great!” The children carted their box to Richard’s home. They left it by the front door with a note that said:
To Richard’s family—
Here is a gift to let you know we care.
The Sunshine Club
The children hurried home. That evening after supper they again sat under the maple tree.
“Boy, am I tired!” Johnny announced.
“But it’s a good kind of tired,” Susan said.
“Yes,” Travis agreed. “And this sure hasn’t been a boring week.”
“The club won’t stop, will it?” Natalie asked.
“Oh, no,” the others chorused.
“That’s good,” Roger asserted. “I already have a lot of new ideas for the Sunshine Club.”

I learned about the power and blessings of the priesthood at an unfortunate time. A few years ago, when my little brother was 14, he wrecked on his motorcycle and snapped his leg in half. My dad called and told me they were taking him to the hospital. I had a sick feeling in my stomach as I rushed to the hospital. When I got there, I saw one of my uncles. He told me how bad the accident was.
Fearing what I would see, I opened the door where my brother was and stepped into the room. I took one step, closed my eyes, and was instantly at peace. Just as I will never forget the sick feeling I had, I will never forget the feeling of peace and comfort that came over me. I recognized the feeling—it was the Spirit.
I then heard my father speaking. He and my uncle were giving my brother a priesthood blessing. He humbly blessed his son in the name of Jesus Christ to be OK, to heal, to have his leg work properly again.
After the blessing, everyone was quiet for a while. I knew at that moment that I had to live worthy to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood and be able to perform blessings for my future children.
When we gathered in the hall outside my brother’s room, my parents started to discuss what they should do. They debated whether to leave Mexico to take him to a doctor in the United States or to have the surgery performed here. Whatever option they felt was best for my brother, I knew he had already received the best attention he could receive. He had received a blessing by two men holding the priesthood, so no matter what my parents decided, my brother was going to be fine.
They decided to stay in Mexico for the operation. Doctors put a plate and 10 screws into my brother’s leg. It healed well, and a few months later he joined a football team. The blessing was fulfilled just as my dad had said.
I know the priesthood is the power and authority of God given to men. What a great gift He has given us.

Three young women now serving missions in Australia all have something in common. They originally grew up on islands in the Indian Ocean and were converted to the Church by friends.
Soon Lee Lim was born and raised on Christmas Island. She and her family moved to Perth, Australia, where she joined the Church and introduced it to her friend Chong Kheng Lin. Soon Lee was called to the Brisbane Mission to serve as a full-time missionary.
Chong Kheng Lin was also from Christmas Island. She and her family also settled in Perth, Australia. She attended the baptism of Soon Lee and was impressed by the Spirit and the information communicated by the missionaries. She investigated and joined the Church. Lin is serving a full-time mission in the Melbourne Australia Mission.
Maria Rogatienne Augusoa Houareau was born on the Seychelles Islands. She was introduced to the gospel by a friend, and she and two sisters were baptized. Maria is now serving a full-time mission in Melbourne, Australia.

The thoughtfulness of a Laurel class recently helped an 18-year-old New York girl face the trauma of being hospitalized with serious injuries far away from home and family.

Nancy Shannahan and her friends were returning to New York after a vacation out west when they were involved in an automobile accident. Nancy was hospitalized in Burley, Idaho, and was unable to return home with her friends.

The Oakley First Ward Laurels learned of Nancy’s predicament from their adviser, Betty Jane Fairchild, whose son was hospitalized with football injuries. The girls decided to befriend Nancy and make her a friendship quilt to take home with her to New York.

The girls donated scraps of material, and Sister Fairchild pieced them together. The quilt top was then passed from home to home so the girls could embroider the names of class members on it, with Nancy’s name in the center. The full-sized quilt was tied one evening, and a couple of Aaronic Priesthood youths even got into the spirit of things by helping to cut and tie the yarn.

Nancy has since returned home and recently wrote to the Laurels thanking them for their love and kindness. She expressed hopes of being able to get to know these girls better in the future.

My uncle Vaughn Roberts Kimball was a good student, an aspiring author, and a BYU football quarterback. On December 8, 1941, the day after the attack on Pearl Harbor, he enlisted in the U.S. Navy. While on a recruiting assignment in Albany, New York, he submitted a short article to the Reader’s Digest. The magazine paid him $200 and published his piece, titled “The Right Time at Home,” in the May 1944 issue.

His contribution to the Reader’s Digest, where he casts himself as the sailor, reads in part:
“The Right Time at Home:
“One evening in Albany, New York, I asked a sailor what time it was. He pulled out a huge watch and replied, ‘It’s 7:20.’ I knew it was later. ‘Your watch has stopped, hasn’t it?’ I asked.
“‘No,’ he said, ‘I’m still on Mountain Standard Time. I’m from southern Utah. When I joined the Navy, Pa gave me this watch. He said it’d help me remember home.
“‘When my watch says 5 a.m. I know Dad is rollin’ out to milk the cows. And any night when it says 7:30 I know the whole family’s around a well-spread table, and Dad’s thankin’ God for what’s on it and askin’ Him to watch over me … ,’ he concluded. ‘I can find out what time it is where I am easy enough. What I want to know is what time it is in Utah.’”

Soon after submitting the article, Vaughn was assigned to sea duty in the Pacific theater. On May 11, 1945, while he was serving on the carrier USS Bunker Hill near Okinawa, the ship was bombed by two suicide planes. Almost 400 crewmen died, including my uncle Vaughn.

Elder Spencer W. Kimball extended his heartfelt sympathy to Vaughn’s father, noting Vaughn’s worthiness and the Lord’s assurance that “those that die in me shall not taste of death, for it shall be sweet unto them.” Vaughn’s father tenderly said that even though Vaughn was buried at sea, the hand of God would take Vaughn to his heavenly home.

Twenty-eight years later, President Spencer W. Kimball spoke of Vaughn in general conference. He said, in part: “I knew this family well. … I have knelt in mighty prayer with [them]. … Home training has carried through to the eternal blessing of this large family.” President Kimball challenged every family “to be on their knees … praying for their sons and daughters twice daily.”

The first story that I would like to share is about a person who is special to me. This person is my mother.

My mother’s name is Emma Broederlow Lobendahn. She was born in Savai’i, Western Samoa on August 14, 1921. As a young child, she was sickly and at the age of 13 became gravely ill, bedridden and in pain for months. Despite many visits to the doctors, nothing seemed to be working so my grandmother went to the Branch President and asked him to give my mother a blessing. The branch president sent a message to the members and asked them to fast for my mother the next day. My mother shared this about the blessing:

“I remember the branch president laying his hands on my head to give me a blessing. As he prayed he blessed me with many things – the one thing that I remember are these words: ‘Emma, you are not going to die yet – the Lord has work for you to do.’” (Grant Underwood, Pioneers of the Pacific)

As a result of the fast and blessing, my mother was completely healed in two weeks. She was never sickly again, and to this day remains physically strong at the age of 94. It is her testimony that she was preserved by the Lord for an important work that she would do later in her life in Fiji.

Continuing my mother’s story, she moved to Fiji in 1943, where she was married and started a family. Back then, the church had not yet been established in Fiji, and she has shared that she missed attending church meetings. Over ten years later, in 1954, the first LDS missionaries to arrive in Fiji held a meeting to organize the church in Suva, my mother, my two older brothers and myself attended. This is what she has shared about that meeting:

“There were fourteen of us at that meeting. The meeting was wonderful – it felt good to be among members of the church and I was happy. Something dear to my heart was finally happening. I was going to be able to renew my baptismal covenants every Sunday during the blessing and passing of the Sacrament. I was going to have the church in my children’s lives. (Grand Underwood, Pioneers of the Pacific)

The missionaries who organized the meeting and began the work of the church in Fiji were Elder Boyd Harris and Elder Sheldon Abbott. A few weeks after the church was organized, they went to see my mother and asked her to be the Relief Society President. After not attending church services for the previous decade and without much formal education, she felt inadequate to accept the calling. She said,

“I told them that I could not do it – that the responsibility was too much for me. I was afraid that I would make mistakes – the thought of being a Relief Society President scared me.” (Grant Underwood, Pioneers of the Pacific)

Over a period of several days, the Elders came back a second and then a third time to extend the calling to her. I want you to listen carefully to how she responded, despite her fears:

“When the Elders came back the third time I knew that I had to do something different. I had to take my fears and worries to the Lord. When they told me that the Lord wanted me to be the Relief Society President – I felt different – a peaceful feeling came over me and my mind went back to a place and time in Samoa when I was a young girl who was very ill and thought that I would die. I fondly remembered the blessing that my Branch President gave me: “Emma you are not going to die, the Lord has work for you to do.” I told Elder Harris and Elder Abbott that I would accept the calling and I wanted to serve to the best of my ability. Once I said “yes” followed by diligence and sacrifices, the Lord blessed me by helping me with good health and strength and above all with His spirit to do my best. (Grant Underwood, Pioneers of the Pacific)

During one of our many sharing times, she proclaimed: “Accepting the call as Relief Society President was one of the best things that I have ever done.”

Even though she felt fear and personally unqualified to take on this calling, her faith qualified her for the work. My mother served as Relief Society President of the Suva Branch of the Fiji Suva Mission from 1954 to 1977, a total of 23 years. As her daughter, I remember many of the things that she did as part of that calling, which she held for my entire childhood, teen, and early adult years.

She fed the labor missionaries who had been brought in from her native Samoa meals regularly while they built the first chapel in Fiji. She organized bazaars for the women in the branch to sell goods and fundraise money to support their families. There were times I remember vividly just the two of us would be present for Relief Society meetings, where she would sing an opening hymn, say an opening prayer, read the lesson aloud to me, sing a closing hymn and say a closing prayer. When I got older, she would often use me as her visiting teaching companion during her travel sometimes requiring several days to fulfill her leadership assignment. All of this was done with four of her own young children to care for.

My purpose in sharing these virtues and accomplishments is to emphasize the extraordinary transformation in my mother from being fearful and lacking confidence in her abilities, to someone who was an effective leader exercising faith, hope and charity with an eye single to the glory of God.

I miss my friends. I wish I could have a birthday party this year. But there are too many COVID-19 cases.
Heavenly Father, please help me feel peace.
I know! I can look at my baptism journal!
My Testimony
The Holy Ghost will comfort me …
Thank Thee for reminding me about my baptism journal. And for the Holy Ghost. I feel much better now.
A few days later …
Happy birthday!
Knock, knock!
Beatrice! Our neighbor is here.
Happy birthday!
Thank you! How are you doing?
To be honest, I feel lonely. But I am trying to be happy.
Me too. I want to show you something!
This is from when I was baptized last year. It helps me feel better when I am lonely.
That is beautiful!
It reminds me that Jesus loves me and that everything is going to be OK.

As the new kid on the first day of 7th grade, I sat alone on some stairs, watching all of the other students socialize. A 12-year-old boy, along with his best friend, came to sit beside me. “You’re new,” he said. “My name is James McConkie. What’s your name?”
I was so thankful to have a new friend. But because my only interactions with that James McConkie were in public places over the next six school years, I didn’t get to know him very well. School hallways, big groups of friends, math class, sporting events. Always polite to each other, we still barely knew each other. When he served his two-year mission, I wanted to write him a letter but never had the courage.
After his mission, he asked me out on our first date. We dated for five months, then he broke up with me, then later we got back together, right before my mission. For 18 months, he sent me a weekly letter in Argentina. On paper, using an envelope and stamp and everything.
Married four months after I returned home, our communication had definitely evolved and deepened since those early school days of only talking in public places. Car drives, walks, phone conversations, texts, and the kitchen table are some of our private arenas for communication. Openness and honesty in our conversations are now the norm.

I had been to the doctor after my stomach kept hurting and I had headaches for several months. The doctor couldn’t find anything wrong with me, but I kept feeling ill. My mom said that we should turn to the Lord for answers. On fast Sunday, she was inspired to put me on a special diet. Soon I was feeling great! Even though I can’t eat some of the foods I like, I know I can accept this challenge because Heavenly Father and Jesus will help me through this.
Emeline B., age 9, Nebraska, USA

Most of the people who live in Iceland belong to the evangelical Lutheran Church, and Binni, Unnar, and Matthías are the only Latter-day Saints in their school. When the time came for his baptism, Binni decided to do some missionary work. He told his parents he wanted to invite someone special—his school teacher! His mother and father encouraged him to ask her but cautioned him that she might choose to not come. On the day of his baptism, however, she was there at the church! “She even stayed afterward, had some refreshments with us, and asked some things about the Church,” he said, very happy that she had accepted his invitation and that his first efforts as a missionary had been successful.

Three weeks after my baptism and confirmation, Bishop Ayala interviewed me and asked how I was progressing. I replied, “Very well. I have finished reading the Book of Mormon for the second time. I’m also reading the Gospel Principles manual so I can learn more and put into practice what I’m reading.”
Then he said, “Your Heavenly Father is mindful of you and is calling you to be a Sunday School teacher for the youth ages 14 to 17.”
Immediately I realized that several of the youth in the class, who were just a few years younger than I was, had been raised in the Church and knew the gospel better than I did.
I said to him, “I’m not ready for this kind of an assignment.”
The bishop replied, speaking very deliberately, “Roberto, Heavenly Father is the one extending this calling to you. He knows your abilities and your faithfulness.”
“I’m simply not prepared. I need more time,” I persisted.
The bishop looked straight into my eyes and said serenely but in a strong voice, “If you feel you can’t accept this calling, you shouldn’t tell me. Kneel down and tell your Heavenly Father. He will answer you, and I will accept your decision.”
A prolonged silence followed. Then, looking at me the way a father looks at his son, he said, “Roberto, this isn’t a church of cowards; it is a church of courageous people.”
My heart was suddenly contrite. With tears in my eyes and a voice filled with emotion, I said, “Bishop, when do I start?”
He embraced me, slapped me on the back, and said, “I’m going to help you prepare your first lesson this week.”
I was filled with joy to know that Heavenly Father had given me such a special leader, a bishop who taught not only by word but by example.
I remembered this experience often during my mission and while serving in other callings. I think of it now and feel grateful to Heavenly Father to be a member of the Lord’s Church.
Roberto Carlos Pacheco Pretel, Peru

I should like to read portions of one received only a few days ago. I do so with the consent of the writer. I have deleted anything that might lead to disclosure of the parties concerned. I have exercised limited editorial liberty in the interest of clarity and flow of language.
I quote now:
“Dear President Hinckley,
“My husband of 35 years died recently. … He had visited with our good bishop as quickly as he could after his most recent surgery. Then he came to me on that same evening to tell me he had been addicted to pornography. He needed me to forgive him [before he died]. He further said that he had grown tired of living a double life. [He had served in many important] Church callings while knowing [at the same time] that he was in the grips of this ‘other master.’
“I was stunned, hurt, felt betrayed and violated. I could not promise him forgiveness at that moment but pleaded for time. … I was able to review my married life [and how] pornography had … put a stranglehold on our marriage from early on. We had only been married a couple of months when he brought home a [pornographic] magazine. I locked him out of the car because I was so hurt and angry. …
“For many years in our marriage … he was most cruel in many of his demands. I was never good enough for him. … I felt incredibly beaten down at that time to a point of deep depression. … I know now that I was being compared to the latest ‘porn queen.’ …
“We went to counseling one time and … my husband proceeded to rip me apart with his criticism and disdain of me. …
“I could not even get into the car with him after that but walked around the town … for hours, contemplating suicide. [I thought,] ‘Why go on if this is all that my “eternal companion” feels for me?’
“I did go on, but zipped a protective shield around myself. I existed for other reasons than my husband and found joy in my children, in projects and accomplishments that I could do totally on my own. …
“After his ‘deathbed confession’ and [after taking time] to search through my life, I [said] to him, ‘Don’t you know what you have done?’ … I told him I had brought a pure heart into our marriage, kept it pure during that marriage, and intended to keep it pure ever after. Why could he not do the same for me? All I ever wanted was to feel cherished and treated with the smallest of pleasantries … instead of being treated like some kind of chattel. …
“I am now left to grieve not only for his being gone but also for a relationship that could have been [beautiful, but was not]. …
“Please warn the brethren (and sisters). Pornography is not some titillating feast for the eyes that gives a momentary rush of excitement. [Rather] it has the effect of damaging hearts and souls to their very depths, strangling the life out of relationships that should be sacred, hurting to the very core those you should love the most.”
And she signs the letter.
What a pathetic and tragic story. I have omitted some of the detail but have read enough that you can sense her depth of feeling. And what of her husband? He has died a painful death from cancer, his final words a confession of a life laced with sin.

If you don’t like the thought of graduating from school as the only member of the Church in your class, you can always do what Tammy Shick of the Ridgeway Branch, Pennsylvania Pittsburgh Mission, did. She helped convert two of her classmates.
But her missionary work didn’t stop there. She gave a class presentation on the Book of Mormon and presented a copy of the book to her non-LDS teacher. She also wrote a class research paper on Church history.

One day I was in the bus line with my friend Mike.* We try to get in line first so we can sit in the very back of the bus. There is this girl named Savannah that is kind of rude to other kids. I’ve known her since second grade. Something I found out was that if you are nice to her, she’s nice back. Mike, on the other hand, thinks that if someone is rude to him, he should be rude back. I admit I’ve done that sometimes.
That day we were at the front of the line. When our line was heading to the bus, Savannah tried to sneak in front of everyone so she could sit in the back. When she was right behind us, we tried to tell her that she couldn’t cut, but she made an excuse that most people make. “We’re all going to the same place,” she said.
When we got to the bus, there was some shoving. Savannah got in first. She quickly ran to the back and put her backpack where she was sitting. “I got here first,” said Savannah. Mike and Savannah started arguing a bit. I told Mike that we could sit somewhere else, but he didn’t listen. I started arguing with Mike. Then I remembered a line from a movie that said when we have a choice between being right or being kind, we should choose to be kind.
So I asked Savannah nicely if we could sit in the seat next to her. Mike doesn’t like sharing seats, but he thought about it. “Only if you guys don’t bother me,” said Savannah. “Fine,” Mike said. On the way home, I had a good feeling inside. You should always be kind, even if it’s hard.

I stayed out of the race for popularity for the first half of high school—not because I wanted to, but because I knew I wasn’t cool enough to compete. I would watch from the sidelines and tell myself, “Oh, popularity is such a waste of time,” but deep down I wished the “cool kids” would see me.
As time went on, I got tired of having a small circle of friends. So I decided to change the way I looked and acted, hoping to catch the attention of the “cooler” kids I wanted to be friends with. I significantly moved up the social food chain, but it came at a price—I made a lot of bad decisions to finally get noticed.
For a little while, it felt good to be popular! But it honestly didn’t take long for me to see that popularity was an illusion—the people I was surrounding myself with didn’t actually care about me. They were all just trying to win the social race for themselves.
I felt lonely even among my “friends,” and when I finally took a break from this pointless race, I realized how thin my connection to God had become.
I’m not the first person to fall into the popularity trap, and I know popularity is not the only trap Satan sets to distract us from building and maintaining our relationship with God. Money, possessions, and worldly obsessions are all things I’ve seen Satan try to lure us with. His goal is to slowly lead us away until we’re so far that we feel unforgivable and undeserving of even being children of God (see 2 Nephi 28:21).
But even when we can’t see it ourselves, Jesus Christ sees who we truly are. He says to us, “Thou wast precious in my sight” (Isaiah 43:4) and “Thou art mine” (Isaiah 43:1).
Sister Amy A. Wright, First Counselor in the Primary General Presidency, says, “Often the scriptures give only a small portion of someone’s life, and based on that portion, we sometimes tend to exalt or condemn. No one’s life can be understood by one magnificent moment or one regrettable public disappointment. The purpose of these scriptural accounts is to help us see that Jesus Christ was the answer then, and He is the answer now. He knows our complete story and exactly what we suffer, as well as our capabilities and vulnerabilities.”1
This message was a huge reminder for me that although I’d made big mistakes and had wandered from the path, Jesus Christ saw me where I was, loved me still, and had a way back for me.
I believe Heavenly Father saw me heading in the wrong direction during high school and reached out to me by inspiring my parents. They noticed that I wasn’t myself anymore and that a lot of the light I used to have inside was missing. So, my mom asked if we could start having one-on-one scripture study together every night. I agreed, even though I hadn’t personally studied the scriptures for a while.
At first it felt like reading a chapter each night wasn’t making much of a difference; however, after a few months, I looked back and realized how far I’d come in strengthening my connection with God. I noticed an increase in my baseline level of happiness, and it became easier to let go of those friends who weren’t good influences.
Refamiliarizing myself with the scriptures has been a great blessing. I especially love the story of Alma the Younger and his incredible change of heart (see Alma 36:6–24). In my scripture journal I wrote this about his story: “God freely forgives anyone who repents. All we have to do is reach out. Those who leave the path are welcome back as soon as they make an effort to return.”
I know now that changing ourselves for the popular things of the world can be tempting but can also take us away from the path that leads to true happiness. The only changes that will give us the sense of belonging and fulfillment we seek are the ones that strengthen our connection to Heavenly Father. Like Brother Bradley R. Wilcox, Second Counselor in the Young Men General Presidency, recently taught, Heavenly Father wants us to change in righteous ways because “God loves us as we are, but He also loves us too much to leave us this way.”2 I still have a long way to go to be the person Heavenly Father wants me to be, but I’m choosing to change because I love Him.

I had occasion the other evening to do a little research on the Willie and Martin handcart companies of 1856. There were more than a thousand in those companies, converts to the Church from Scandinavia and the British Isles. They were late in arriving in the States, and dangerously late in leaving Iowa City to begin the long walk to this valley. They became trapped in the snows of Wyoming. Fortunately they were passed on the way by several missionaries who were returning from England and who, when they saw the plight of the handcart Saints, pushed on to this valley and reported to President Brigham Young. That was on the Saturday of the October conference of 1856. The next morning, Sunday, he stood before the people in the old tabernacle that stood on this square, and said in the morning session:

“I will now give this people the subject and the text for the Elders who may speak to-day and during the conference,” he announced. “It is this. … Many of our brethren and sister are on the plains with handcarts, and probably many are now seven hundred miles from this place, and they must be brought here, we must send assistance to them. The text will be, ‘to get them here.’ …

“That is my religion; that is the dictation of the Holy Ghost that I possess. It is to save the people.”

He called for teams and wagons and drivers, and then said:

“I want the sisters to have the privilege of fetching in blankets, skirts, stockings, shoes, etc. for the men, women and children that are in those hand-cart companies … hoods, winter bonnets, stockings, skirts, garments, and almost any description of clothing.”

That was on Sunday. On Tuesday morning, two days later, sixteen wagonloads of food and supplies began moving out of this city drawn by sixteen strong four-mule teams, handled by twenty-seven young men.

This was the beginning, and other wagonloads followed as the men responded with their teams and wagons, and the women from their own meager stores gathered in food, clothing, blankets, and other necessities. (See LeRoy R. Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, Glendale, California: Arthur H. Clark Company, 1960, pp. 119–26.)

There is no more heroic episode in all of our history. As these poor people, many of them with badly frozen hands and feet, some of them nearer death than life, arrived in the valley, the women who were here opened their homes to them, nurtured them, dressed their wounds, fed them and encouraged and blessed them through that long, bitter winter.

A short time after returning from his mission, Elder Alvarado stopped by the local Church distribution center in Puerto Rico to pick up a few items. The employee who assisted him was Cari Lu Rios, a fellow Ponce resident. They knew each other vaguely from past Church activities.
The young returned missionary was immediately smitten. “When I looked into her eyes, I knew she would be my wife.”
The feeling was not mutual, said Sister Alvarado, laughing—at least not initially.
But they had fun with one another. Soon they were spending most of their time together and realized they had become a couple. They married in the Washington D.C. Temple six days before Christmas in 1992.

One week after a recent assignment to create the first stake in Moscow, Russia, I attended a district conference in St. Petersburg. While speaking about my gratitude for early missionaries and local leaders who brought strength to the Church in Russia, I mentioned the name of Vyacheslav Efimov. He was the first Russian convert to become a mission president. He and his wife did wonderfully well in that assignment. Not long after they had completed their mission, and much to our sorrow, President Efimov suddenly passed away. He was only 52 years of age.
While speaking of this pioneering couple, I felt impressed to ask the congregation if Sister Efimov might be present. Far in the rear of the room, a woman stood. I invited her to come to the microphone. Yes, it was Sister Galina Efimov. She spoke with conviction and bore a powerful testimony of the Lord, of His gospel, and of His restored Church. She and her husband had been sealed in the holy temple. She said they were united forever. They were still missionary companions, she on this side of the veil and he on the other side. With tears of joy, she thanked God for sacred temple covenants. I wept too, with full realization that the everlasting unity exemplified by this faithful couple was the righteous result of making, keeping, and honoring sacred covenants.

“Roberts, we’ve got you surrounded, so don’t try anything. We think the whole structure may be weakened. So just sit still until we can get both of you out safely. You’ve got a charge of kidnapping against you, but things will go easier for you if the girl gets down safely.”
The policeman handed the portable megaphone to Charly’s mother. “Charly, this is your mother. Don’t worry. The police are doing everything possible to get you down. Just don’t panic …” She broke down and began to sob.
Charly, her long, wheat-blonde hair waving as the car of the stalled Ferris wheel rocked gently in the wind, grabbed my hand and smiled. “Roberts, I hope you let this be a lesson to you. You can’t hi-jack a Ferris wheel to Cuba.”
It started innocently enough a year ago in May. Dad and I had jogged our two miles in the morning, and we were eating our nutlike cereal on the patio overlooking the city.
“Sam, you know the new manager I was telling you about?” Dad said as he took a vitamin pill and downed it with the rest of his orange juice. “Transferred here from Boston. He’s finally found a house, and his family moved out here last week. He has a daughter Charlene about your age. Naturally, she doesn’t know anybody here.”
He paused, hoping I would volunteer and not force him to spell it out. “I was wondering if you’d take her out once just as a favor.”
“Well, I’d like to but I’m kind of low on money right now. They don’t pay much in the basement,” I said, referring to his office on the eighth floor and my summer job as a shipping clerk in the basement of one of the large buildings in the city.
“Maybe I could help you out,” Dad said. I was enjoying this.
“I won’t need much. I’ll take her to the museum, and then to the visitor’s center, and then to the drug store for a milk shake.”
“Why don’t you take her to the country club for dinner?”
“Okay. I’ll even get my jeep washed. I sure wish I could get it out of four-wheel drive.”
“Okay. You win; take my car.”
“That’s a good idea. Thanks, Dad.”
A few days later I made my way to her home. It was an ornate building, a little north of the capitol. I spent about ten minutes talking with her parents about the difference in humidity between Boston and Utah. Then finally she came down the stairs.
She was almost as tall as I, with a face that didn’t need make-up. She was skinny and looked like a model for a diet soft drink.
I stood up, remembering a Cary Grant movie I saw once on TV. “Charlene, it is indeed a pleasure.”
“The pleasure is mine,” she said. As we shook hands she, still smiling, dug her finger nails into my palm.
We drove silently down the interstate to the country club.
“How much did your dad pay you for taking me out?” she asked.
“I was happy to ask you out,” I exaggerated.
“What would you think about turning off the air conditioning? It’s freezing in here.”
“Why don’t you check the blower so it’s not aimed directly at you? It’s very seldom I get to drive a car with air conditioning.”
She sat and glared at the dashboard.
“Tell me, Charlene, how do you find the difference in humidity here as compared to Boston?”
“Don’t call me Charlene.”
“What then?”
“Charly.”
She opened the side window and deliberately adjusted it so the hot air outside was blowing directly at me.
“It’s wasting gas to have the air conditioner on and the window open,” I said.
“You never told me how much your dad is paying you to take me out.”
“Not enough, I think.”
She folded her arms, turning away from me. The periodic brightness as we passed lamp posts showed tears on her face.
“I didn’t mean that. Look, I’m turning off the air conditioner. There’s a Kleenex in the glove compartment.”
“Why would I want one?” she asked.
“Because you’re crying.”
“I’m not crying. My contacts are bothering me.”
“Well, whatever,” I replied. “The Kleenex is still in the jockey box.”
“I’ve got my own,” she said, rummaging through an old leather bag. Eventually she found one crumpled tissue that she smoothed out and used. “Will you take me home please?”
We rode in silence back to her home. I shut off the motor at her curb. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”
“It’s no big thing.”
“I did my best to make it a night you’d enjoy.”
“Implying that I didn’t do my best?”
“No, you probably did the best you could,” I answered.
“I’d better go now. It’s getting late,” she said.
“It’s only nine o’clock.”
“Time really flies when I’m with you. I thought it was eleven.”
“You think it’s easy going out with a girl from Boston? My dad and I thought you’d like the country club.”
“Listening to you talk about humidity and watching old golfers slap each other on the back?”
“Well, it’s not my idea of fun either,” I said.
“No?” We stopped halfway up the walk.
“No.”
We walked back to the curb, sat down and talked about things we always wanted to do but could never find anyone else to do them with.
A few minutes later we got back in the car, drove to a park, and bought 30 dollars worth of tickets for the Ferris wheel.
“What’s your name?” Charly asked the attendant as he helped her into the Ferris wheel car.
“Raferty.”
“Mr. Raferty, I’d like you to meet my fiancé. He’s just proposed, and you’re the first one we’ve told.”
“It’s not true,” I said. “I’ve just met her.”
Mr. Raferty was hard of hearing. “Congratulations, kids.”
“Thank you,” Charly smiled. “Sam and I want to ride on your Ferris wheel for a long time. You understand, don’t you?”
“Sure, I’m not that old,” he said as I gave him several tickets.
We rode and talked. Up over the trees, the laughing children, the crying children, the picnicking families, the merry-go-round, and then back to earth and Mr. Raferty, who gave us a wink as often as he could.
“Sam, alias Utah Kid, maybe we’re going to be friends.”
I took her to church that next Sunday. The following Wednesday she began the missionary lessons. She began to jog with Dad and me in the mornings.
About three weeks later I took her fishing with me at Strawberry Reservoir. We left about four in the morning. When we got there, we rented a boat, rowed out to my favorite spot, and threw out the anchors. I baited the hooks with cheese and marshmallows and tossed my line out.
She curled up and went to sleep.
When she woke up, I had caught four nice trout, the sun had come and driven off the patches of fog, and ten other boats were anchored near us.
She studied the people in the boats around us. They were sitting quietly, watching their lines.
Suddenly she stood up, cleared her throat, and addressed the boaters with a Kissinger-like accent. “I suppose you know why we have asked you here this morning. We’ll dispense with the minutes and move right along.”
The people in the boats looked at her with disbelief.
“Because some of you have been putting marshmallows on your hooks, the Fish and Game Department has asked me to speak today. Clinical reports indicate that the fish in this lake have 53 percent more cavities. Do you know what this means?” she asked.
She waited. Most of the other boaters tried to ignore her. But that was hard to do.
“It means that the state of Utah now must stand the expense of sending a trout through dental school.”
“Charly?” I asked.
“Yes, Utah,” she said meekly.
“Normally we don’t talk between boats. Please sit down.”
I baited her hook and tossed it out. In a few minutes her line began to feed out steadily. I could tell it was going to be big when she set the hook. She followed my directions, and soon I dipped the net into the water, bringing up a four-pound rainbow.
After the fish had been taken care of, she stood up again and addressed the other boaters. “Do you people wish to know how I caught this fish? I used peanut butter on my hook. It sticks very well, it’s nutritious, and it does not cause cavities.”
I pulled in the anchors and began to row out farther.
“We recommend creamy instead of chunky,” she shouted as a parting shot.
“Sam, where are we going?”
“Away.”
“Is the fishing better where we’re going?”
“No.”
“I embarrassed you; is that it? Go ahead and say it.”
“You embarrassed me.” I splashed a little water on her so she wouldn’t think I was mad.
“You’ve got no sense of humor, Utah. Life is for laughing.”
I stopped rowing and threw out the anchors again.
“Sam, how many of those people in the boats do you think were Mormons?”
“Maybe half.”
“A school of Mormons,” she said.
I baited the hooks again and tossed the lines out. “Charly, you haven’t said much about the Church to me, except ‘Very interesting.’”
“Very interesting,” she mocked. “I wanted to be fair, Sam. We New Englanders are noted for our fairness.”
“Yes, I’ve read about the Salem witch trials,” I countered.
“Very good, Sam. Stick with me and I’ll make you a wit.” She opened a sack of oranges and threw me one. “Okay, Sam, I guess I’m ready.”
For a few minutes she concentrated on peeling her orange, her face strangely solemn. “Utah, I’ve read the Book of Mormon.”
“What do you think about it?”
For a long time, she just looked out over the lake. And then in a quiet voice she began, “Humor them along, I said. Take the lessons; go to church. It’s all just part of the tour after all. And then walk away laughing.
“I grew up in Cambridge, Sam. Our next door neighbor wrote a best seller on economics. My mother played bridge with the wife of a man who became one of Kennedy’s advisers. We had as a weekend guest a man who later received a Nobel Prize. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“What are you saying?” I asked.
“I’ve been exposed to the finest intellectual environment. Then you come to me with your 2 1/2 minute talks. Why not three minutes for crying out loud? I thought I’d spend my life laughing at the world. There was so much to ridicule, so many balloons to pop. It would take a lifetime.”
“Don’t give me a dissertation, Charly. What about the Book of Mormon?”
“It’s true,” she answered simply. “I believe every word. The plates, the angels—all of it. Now I’m afraid of what that implies.”
“Why?”
“When fall comes and I go back to school, and my friends come up giving the cynical smile and asking, ‘Well, did the Mormons get you?’ what do I say?”
“Tell them.”
“They’ll think I’m a fool.”
“What are you interested in, truth or pretense?”
“You ask me that? That’s the same question I’ve been using as a weapon against the world.”
It was too late to be fishing, and the wind was starting to come up. I pulled in the anchor and started rowing for shore.
A week later she was baptized. She was beautiful in white. Her parents didn’t come to the baptism.
“Are you going to ask me to marry you, Sam?” she asked while putting suntan lotion on my shoulders as we soaked in the sun one Saturday at the country club pool.
“You’re not supposed to ask that.”
“Male chauvinist. Why can’t I ask it? Are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t be so insistent, Sam. You’ve got to give me time. I’ll have to think it over and let you know. So don’t rush me, okay?”
I ignored her and lay back down on the warm sun deck.
“Sam, are you awake? You’re going to get a sunburn.”
“I’m awake,” I answered sluggishly.
“Sam, I’ve thought it over. I accept. You’re a lucky man.”
I sat up and put a towel on my sore shoulders.
She leaned over like she was going to kiss me, but instead slapped me on my sunburn. “Race you to the diving board!”
She beat me there. We took turns diving. She was very good. While we were waiting our turn, she punched me on the chin in slow motion. “Sam, you son of a gun, asking me to marry you when we’ve only known each other part of a summer. You’ve got some nerve, Utah.”
She stood on the board and did a perfect swan dive. I just dived off.
“Why the joke about marriage?” I asked.
“Who said I’m joking?”
She stood up at the board again. She addressed the line of swimmers waiting to dive. “For this next dive, I must have silence so that I may concentrate,” she announced dramatically with a slightly European accent. “This dive is one that my family has passed down from generation to generation. If you will be quiet, then I will do it for you today.”
A hush fell over the swimmers. She surveyed the pool. A waiter carrying food to a lounging couple stopped to wait. “So, I will do it.” She slowly approached the middle of the board, stopped, put her arms out, seeming to be reaching for psychological strength. Then, summoning courage, she raced to the edge of the board, jumped in the air, tucked in her knees, and did a cannonball.
Two or three times a week we went back to the Ferris wheel.
Near the end of August we were walking around a shopping center on a Saturday afternoon. We were in a large discount department store. We passed the maternity clothes.
“How many children do you want, Sam?”
“At least six.”
“So many? How come? Religious reasons?”
“That’s right.”
“Six kids. That’s a bunch.”
“They come one at a time. That way you can make all your mistakes on the first one.”
“Careful, fella, I was the first one,” she warned.
A while later we walked by the toy department and a row of dolls. She picked up six, but one fell down. “I can’t get six, Sam.” She put all but one of the dolls back. “I’ll be a good mother, Sam. When I was little I had a doll and she was no problem at all. I just said, ‘Go to bed and sleep,’ and she did. So six will be nothing.”
“You know, Charly, I’ve never really asked you to marry me.”
“I noticed that. Yes, sir, I have noticed that.”
We got what she needed, but on the way out I remembered I needed to get a coupling for our water hose. Since she was not really interested, we agreed to separate and then meet later. She suggested the jewelry counter.
I found the hardware section, found the coupling, and went back to the jewelry counter. She wasn’t there. I waited for five minutes and then started walking around to see if I could find her.
After 15 minutes of looking, I heard a strangely familiar voice over the P.A. system. “Sam, Sammy, you hear me? This is Mommy. The nice men let me talk to you on the big radio. Sammy wherever you are in this big store, stop and listen to Mommy.”
I looked around to see if anyone was looking at me.
“Sammy, if you can hear me, listen carefully. Remember when Mommy bought you a big bag of popcorn last week. Sam, go to the popcorn machine, and Mommy will be there. Do you understand? The popcorn place. Mommy will get you a big bag of popcorn. Mommy loves you, Sam.”
A man standing next to me grabbed a handkerchief and blew his nose. “Poor little guy,” he muttered to himself.
I walked over to the popcorn machine. There was Charly with a bag of popcorn in her hand.
I grabbed her arm and quickly escorted her out of the store.
“Sam, do you want some popcorn?” she asked. “You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”
“Get in the car.”
“I was a bad girl.”
“Why don’t you grow up, Charly? You think the world was made for your amusement?”
“Don’t preach to me, Sam. I’m sorry. Okay?”
I should have waited until I got control before I said anything, but I didn’t.
She didn’t defend herself but just sat there, holding that ridiculous bag of popcorn in her lap.
Then I said the thing that I shouldn’t have. “You’ve been talking about marriage. Well, I’m not ready for marriage and especially not to someone who hasn’t grown up yet.” I drove her home, and she opened the door by herself and ran up the walk alone to the door.
I sat and watched her go.
I suppose I figured I’d let her stew for a couple of days and then call her up and tell her she was forgiven. But on Monday when I called, her mother said that she’d decided to go back to Massachusetts early for school. She’d left that morning. Her mother told me that Charly didn’t want me to know where she was going, didn’t want me to write or call, and didn’t want to see me again.
After a week of long distance phone calls I was finally able to get her address. When I phoned, she hung up. I wrote to her several times. But she never answered. One day I got a large envelope with all my letters inside. None of them had been opened.
Then I quit my job and went back to school.
I tried to get in touch with her during Christmas vacation, but her parents went back to see her so she wasn’t in town.
In June I was back in town. My dad got me a job on the first floor of the same building, in line with additional schooling, I guess.
One day at work I got a phone call from my dad who now was on the ninth floor. “She’s back in town with a boy named Mark. I thought you might want to know.”
That night I drove by her house. There was a small sports car with Massachusetts license plates parked in the driveway. I drove around her block about 20 times trying to formulate a plan. Nothing came to mind, so I finally just parked and walked up to the door.
They were in the backyard. The door was open and I went in. I could see Charly through the kitchen window, standing next to a Harvard type gesturing with a pipe in one hand.
“I’ll be back in a minute. I’m going to change.” Charly left him, walked into the kitchen, and into the hall.
She saw me and stopped. “Sam?”
“Hi, Charly.”
“Are you real? For a minute there I thought you were the ghost of boyfriends past.”
“My dad told me you were back. They say it’s serious when she brings the guy home to meet the parents. Are you engaged?”
“I could be.”
“Do you love him?”
“You’re not supposed to ask that.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Would you like to meet Mark? He’s discovered a lot of investment opportunities right here in Utah. Maybe you two could work out a partnership.”
“No, I’d better go.” I started for the door.
Charly walked out with me. “Whatever happened to all those tickets we got for the Ferris wheel?”
“I still have them.”
“I thought you’d use them for your other dates.”
“No one else would understand.”
“Oh.”
We walked out to the jeep. “Did you ever get this thing out of four-wheel drive?” Charly asked.
“Sort of. Now I can’t get it into four-wheel drive.” We both smiled faintly.
“Why didn’t you answer my letters?” I asked.
“I guess I felt like I’d made a fool of myself and didn’t want to be reminded.”
I walked over to the right-hand side of the jeep, opened the glove compartment, and pulled out several faded, bent tickets.
“There are still a few left,” I said, walking back to her.
“I wonder if they’re still good,” she said. Then, so I wouldn’t misunderstand, she quickly added, “I mean, you should find someone else to use them with.”
“It wouldn’t be the same. I’ll just get rid of them,” I said, ripping one of them up, letting the pieces flutter to the ground.
“Don’t,” she said, grabbing the others.
Our eyes met.
“Charly, couldn’t we go somewhere and talk? Just to make sure things are the way we want them.”
“I can’t. It’s too late.”
“Maybe there’s nothing left between us, Charly. I don’t know. But I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering what would have happened if. If there’s nothing left, give me the piece of mind of knowing that.”
“What do I tell Mark?”
“Just leave a note saying you’re going for a ride, and you’ll explain when you get back.”
She went in the house and in a minute was back again.
We drove to the park, gave Mr. Raferty the rest of the tickets, and got in the Ferris wheel car.
“I was listening to Mark while I wrote the note. I think he just sold my dad an apartment building in Newton.”
“Then the trip out here won’t be a complete waste,” I said.
“Mark will someday be governor of Massachusetts. I’m sure of it.”
“He has a Word of Wisdom problem.”
“You’re always classifying people, aren’t you? Do all Mormons do that?”
“You’re a Mormon, remember?”
“You won’t believe this, but I have been going to Church. And I have asked Mark about taking the lessons. He thought that was very funny.”
“Are you in love with him?”
“I don’t know. I have a high regard for him.”
“That sounds pretty weak to me. You could say that about your milkman.”
“Don’t push me, Sam.”
“I’m just asking you to wait before you do anything dumb like getting engaged to him.”
“Why?”
“Well, for starters, he can’t take you to the temple. A marriage with him would have a built-in divorce clause. And I can’t forget you. Maybe at first you loved me more than I loved you. But I’ve had a year to catch up. Give me a chance.”
She started going through her old leather bag. “You never can find anything when you need it. I put Kleenex in here, and it’s there for months, but the minute I want it, it’s gone.”
“I have a clean handkerchief,” I volunteered.
She took it, and wiped her eyes. “My mother ordered a cake for a garden party we are going to have tomorrow for Mark. She knows I haven’t said yes to Mark yet, but the cake looks a lot like a wedding cake. She’s trying to talk me into making an announcement at the party. You know, she isn’t really that fond of you. What do we do about that?”
“Cake will freeze for months. Put it in the freezer until you decide.”
“What about Mark?”
“I don’t think you should freeze him. It’s up to you, though.”
Just then we noticed somebody arguing with Mr. Raferty. Charly scrunched down in her seat, but Mark had already seen her.
“I want this thing stopped! He’s kidnapped her!”
“I’m not stopping anything until their ride’s up. They’ve got ten more rides coming, and that’s what they’re going to get.”
Mark stormed away, walked to a pay phone, and made two phone calls.
“Charly, what did your note say?”
“I think it was, ‘Am being taken for a ride. Will explain later.’ Is that bad?”
“Not usually. But Mark thinks you’ve been kidnapped. He probably found the torn up Ferris wheel ticket and came here first.”
Mark stormed back to the Ferris wheel and began arguing with Mr. Raferty.
On our way down, Charly started to explain. But Mark lunged for me, missed, didn’t get away soon enough, and was struck on the shoulder by part of the frame. The blow threw him against Mr. Raferty. Raferty and Mark fell down and in the process broke off the speed control lever.
We started going very fast. I put my arms around Charly and held her close to me.
Raferty was knocked unconscious. Mark got up, looked around, grabbed a long pole, and crammed the pole into the gear mechanism. The pole jerked out of his hand, throwing him against the ground. Suddenly the pulley for the drive mechanism snapped, and the Ferris wheel slowed down and stopped.
A few minutes later the police arrived, apparently called by Mark from a pay phone earlier. A police ambulance took away Mark and Mr. Raferty, unconscious.
Then Charly’s mother and dad arrived.
Charly stood up to yell that everything was okay, but the motion caused one of the other cars to break loose and fall to the ground.
That was when the police told us not to move around and to be quiet.
“Roberts, I want you to throw down the weapon you used against the Ferris wheel operator and this girl’s boyfriend. I don’t want you harming the girl.”
“No, I don’t ever want to do that,” I said to Charly.
“Roberts, you’ve already got a charge of kidnapping against you. Don’t make it worse. Throw down the weapon.”
“Sam, you’re not cooperating.”
“I don’t have a weapon.”
“Let’s see if I can help.” She opened her bag, and we sifted through the stuff she carried in it. Finally we found a pair of scissors, which we tossed down. It seemed to please everybody.
In a few minutes a fire truck with a ladder pulled close to the Ferris wheel. “Miss, just reach slowly and grab hold. I’ll have you down in no time,” the fireman on the extended ladder told Charly.
“If I jumped, I’d be down in no time. Let’s go very slowly. See you, Sam.”
In a minute I was back down on the ground also. After Charly talked to the police and after we called the hospital and had Mr. Raferty and Mark explain things, they undid the handcuffs.
On our way to the hospital, Charly explained to her parents that she probably would get engaged, but not at the party the next day, and maybe not to Mark.
“But what about the cake?” her mother asked.
“Freeze it,” Charly and I answered.
That’s just what we did.