Gospel Story Finder

As a bishop or branch president, through motivating interviews you can bless the life of every young man in your ward as well as appropriate couples by encouraging them to prepare for full-time missions. Not only will you bless those potential missionaries but you may answer the prayers of parents who have a maturing son not yet committed to a mission despite their efforts to encourage that desire. For example, from childhood through maturing years, our daughter Mary Lee heard her parents speak of our treasured missionary experiences. We had explained how challenging missionary opportunities had enriched our lives and laid the foundation for all that we treasure in life. Yet we taught that it was her decision whether she would serve or not. Through her growing years, it was clear that she intended to be a missionary. However, as missionary age approached, her exciting experiences in the university began to present attractive alternatives. Once when she mentioned wrestling with that uncertainty, she was counseled to talk to her bishop. An appointment was arranged. As she sat down before a choice bishop, she asked, “What do you think of my serving a full-time mission?” The bishop jumped from his chair, clapped his hands on the desk, and said, “That is the greatest thing I could imagine for you.” That comment tipped the scales.

Mary Lee served a most effective mission in Spain that unveiled hidden capacities, matured her spiritual development, and caused to flower capabilities that have blessed her as a wife and mother. The bishop that had such a profound influence in my daughter’s life is J. Willard Marriott Jr., currently an Area Seventy. But we remember him most for what he did for our daughter Mary Lee. Now in her own family with the strong examples of a returned missionary father and mother, a son and a daughter have fulfilled exemplary missions. The remaining son will clearly be a missionary, and the last daughter will in time make the proper choice. Another grandchild, following in the footsteps of his father, was recently called to serve in the Mexico Cuernavaca Mission.

Sister Rinne received her first missionary assignments after she moved to Jyväskylä, where she served twice as a district missionary. “In those days there were so many baptisms in Jyväskylä you could hear the roar of the water,” she recalls. “The Lord just sent us the people who were ready to hear the gospel.”
One of Anna-Liisa Rinne’s companions as a district missionary was Sister Kerttu Harinen, who has many good memories of that time. “Sister Rinne was my first companion in missionary work. I myself was still a little timid. I grew at her side and received courage enough to serve as a district missionary for many years afterwards. Our first investigator was baptized before we had been companions one month. We had asked that we could practice our missionary discussions with a family whose father did not belong to the Church. So it happened that as the result of our ‘practice’ the father of the family was baptized.”

“I feel the Footprints have had a real missionary impact on the people around them,” said Jane Gardner. “After one show a boy who’d only been away from home a few months came up to me and told me our program had made him so proud it had brought tears to his eyes. He then said he’d met a Mormon once but had lost contact with him, and he asked me if I could please tell him a little about the Church.”
Jane bore her testimony and set up an appointment for the boy to receive the missionary lessons. “Any effort we put into that tour was worth it,” she added, “because we touched one person.”

Lastly, this from the rededication of the Mexico City Mexico Temple just three weeks ago. It was there with President Henry B. Eyring that we saw our beloved friend Lisa Tuttle Pieper stand in that moving dedicatory service. But she stood with some difficulty because with one arm she was holding up her beloved but severely challenged daughter, Dora, while with the other she was trying to manipulate Dora’s dysfunctional right hand so this limited but eternally precious daughter of God could wave a white handkerchief and, with groans intelligible only to herself and the angels of heaven, cry out, “Hosanna, hosanna, hosanna to God and the Lamb.”

Katie sat with her parents in the bishop’s office. The bishop, his counselors, and President Barlow talked with Daddy and Mommy. President Barlow was a member of the stake presidency. Grandma and Grandpa Chadwick, Daddy’s parents, were also there.
Daddy was being set apart as the ward elders quorum president. Five-year-old Katie didn’t understand what being set apart meant.
Mommy had told her that when someone is called to a position in the Church, Heavenly Father wants that person to receive a special blessing from those with priesthood authority.
Daddy sat in a chair in the middle of the room. “Dad, will you participate in the setting apart?” he asked Grandpa.
Tears gathered in Grandpa’s eyes. “I’d be honored,” he said.
Grandpa joined the other men in a circle around the chair where Daddy sat. They placed their hands on Daddy’s head.
Katie saw Mommy and Grandma Chadwick close their eyes and fold their arms. Katie closed her eyes and folded her arms, too.
President Barlow said a prayer, but it was a different kind of prayer than Katie was used to hearing. He asked Heavenly Father to bless her daddy in performing his duties.
When the blessing was over, everyone said, “Amen.” Katie said, “Amen,” too.
Her daddy stood and wiped tears from his eyes. “Thank you,” he said to the men. “I’ll do my best to help the elders in our ward.”
The men in the circle all shook his hand.
Katie sat on the chair and folded her arms. “I’m ready, Daddy.”
“What are you ready for, sweetheart?” Daddy asked.
“I want a blessing, too,” Katie said.
Her parents exchanged glances. The other people in the room smiled.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Daddy said. “You aren’t being set apart, but you can have a father’s blessing.” Then he placed his hands on Katie’s head. He blessed her that she would be able to choose the right and obey her parents. At the end of the blessing, everyone said, “Amen.”
Katie got down from the chair and held out her hand. Daddy shook her hand. Katie felt warm and happy inside.

“Not now, Son, but let me tell you about an experience I had when I was around your age. My friends and I brought our dolls to school every day and played with them at recess. There was one girl, Ellen, who always made fun of us and called us babies. She said she hated dolls. One day there was a school activity at recess, so we couldn’t play with our dolls. When we went to get them after school, all their hair had been cut off and their clothes were torn. We were pretty sure Ellen had done it, because nobody remembered seeing her at the activity. We were ready to cut off her hair and tear her clothes to pieces.”
“Did you do it?”
“She’d gone home already, so we couldn’t do anything that day. My friends walked home with me, and all the way we planned how we’d get even with her the next day. We told my parents what had happened and what we were going to do.” She paused. “I’ll never forget how they looked at me.”
“Kind of like you looked at me?”
“Yes, I suppose so, Josh. Anyhow, Daddy told us the story of Jesus Christ wanting us to forgive seventy times seven, and Mother told us she knew that Ellen didn’t have a doll of her own—or much of anything else—because her dad had been out of work for a long time. She told us that we should take one of our nicest dolls and give it to Ellen and ask her to play with us.
“I didn’t want to do it, and neither did my friends, but after Mother talked to us some more about being an example, we decided to do it. We chose the nicest doll I had left, dressed it in pretty clothes, and took it to school the next morning. Ellen came in looking a little scared, but she came over to us and asked why we babies weren’t playing with our dolls.”
Mom wiped her eyes at the memory before continuing. “She backed away from us when we held out the doll.
“At first, she was suspicious and thought that we were trying to trick her. But when she saw that we meant it, she burst out crying. She told us that she’d never had a doll and that she was very sorry for what she’d done.
“We told her that we forgave her for what she’d done and that we wanted her to play with us from then on. And do you know what, Son?”
“What, Mom?”
“She became one of our very best friends.”

Rehearsing wasn’t always easy. Brittany was cast in the “Burning of the Prophet Abinadi” scene. She played a page in King Noah’s court. It was an important part because she was responsible for handing fans to all of King Noah’s courtiers as they came onstage. But once she herself was onstage, she didn’t have much to do but stand beside King Noah’s throne. Rehearsals lasted up to three hours and sometimes were hot and boring, but she still wouldn’t trade being in the pageant for any other vacation.

Ask about teenagers in the Brooklyn First Ward, and inevitably you’ll meet the Petrus family. It’s not that they’re the only teenagers in the ward—far from it. They just seem to be the ones involved in everything.

“Whatever the youth of the ward are doing, the Petrus kids are there,” says Blake Ricks, the ward Young Men president. “They set a great example.”

On any given Sunday, you might find Michael, 15, in a teachers quorum presidency meeting, or see Sarah, 16, sharing her scriptures with an investigator. Raquel, 17, is checking to make sure all the Young Women know which subway to ride to a youth fireside. And Gregory, 11, … well, Greg is usually telling someone a joke. But don’t misunderstand. Humor is a Haitian custom, a way of putting people at ease. And Greg loves to make people feel at home.

The Petrus teens are examples of dedication to the gospel and involvement in the Church. But a lot of the reason they’re good examples is that someone has been a good example to them: their mother.

Mireille Petrus returned to school after her husband left. Faced with raising her children on her own, she knew she needed better skills. As a nurse’s aide, she now spends her days helping elderly people in their homes.

“She works hard,” Sarah says. “But she loves the people she serves. She’s taught us all to work and get along with people. She’s good at that.”

She’s also taught her children a lot about being a family.

“She’s a very independent woman,” Raquel explains, “but she needs us as much as we need her. We help with the little things, like cleaning up the house. That’s a way to show her we care.”

“She’s taught us how to talk through things, too,” Michael says. “Around here, we’re always talking.” Sometimes conversations last long into the night, but they always end on a positive note.

“She’ll say, ‘Just come give me a hug,’ and everything’s all right again,” Sarah says. “Of course, we still have to work things out.”

Sister Petrus is more than willing to share her philosophy: “My children know I will always be here for them. But they also know that my most important role is to help them return to their Father in Heaven. I will do everything in my power to help them choose the path back to him. Everything else comes after that.”

There are lots of other good influences in the Petrus teens’ lives. Their grandparents live on the first floor of their home, a step-aunt lives with her children on the second floor, and the Petruses live on floor three. “Grandpa is always checking up on us,” Sarah says. And relatives are always dropping in. Home teachers and visiting teachers and friends from the ward are also like part of a great big family.

But it’s their mom the Petrus children honor the most. It’s a Haitian custom. “In American houses you’re more casual,” Michael explains. “You’ll say, ‘Hi, Mom.’ But in Haitian houses, if you don’t kiss your mother in greeting, you’re being extremely disrespectful. You always kiss your mother when you walk in the door.”

Fortunately, our loving Father continued to direct an orderly evacuation amid severe devastation. Long-distance travel was dangerous. There were continuing aftershocks. Public transportation was shut down. Water and electrical supplies were interrupted, and it was nearly impossible to buy gas or food. Sister Tateoka and I understood very well that we were the only ones able to reach two elders in a mountainous area and two other elders over the mountain on the other side of the island. Freeways were closed, so this last trip would require a five- or six-hour drive one-way north up the mountain on back roads, another two to three hours over the mountains and down to Tsuruoka, and four more hours back to safety.
We left early on the morning of March 16 and arrived at Elder Ohsugi’s and Elder Yuasa’s apartment around 5:00 p.m. To pick up the last two elders, we needed to travel back south, over a mountain summit, and down to the city of Tsuruoka. With less than half a tank of gas, we knew that we could not turn back. As we began traveling to pick up the last two elders, snow began to fall. Soon, we found ourselves in a blinding snowstorm, traveling at less than 15 miles (24 km) per hour. I could not see the lines on the highway.
At 7:30 p.m., as we finally reached the summit, we were stopped by the police. An officer informed me that an avalanche had blocked the road and closed the mountain pass. He told me that we could go no farther; we had to turn around and take an alternate route to the other side of the island around the avalanche. Without enough gas to go around the avalanche, it appeared we had no way to reach Elder Lay and Elder Ruefenacht in Tsuruoka.
Dejectedly, we turned back as directed by the police. I asked the elders in the van to call every member of the Yamagata Ward to see if we could find someone who could give us some gasoline. We stopped and prayed earnestly, drawing upon all of the power of heaven we could. We prayed for another miracle and again turned to the Lord.
The missionaries called every active member. But no one had gasoline. Gas stations had run out of supplies and were closed. Then the elders were impressed to call an less-active friend, Brother Tsuchihashi. Our Heavenly Father had once again directed our path. Brother Tsuchihashi could give us 20 liters (5 gallons) of gas. But to meet this good brother, we had to travel another hour north, the opposite direction of where we wanted to go. The quantity of gas would be helpful but not sufficient to allow us to travel around the avalanche.
Having faith, we traveled north, still not knowing how we would pick up the other two elders. We made it to Shinjo City, where we received the 20 liters of gas. Soon thereafter, I received a call from President Yoshida, my counselor, who by now was very worried that we had not yet returned. He asked where we were, and when I told him Shinjo, he was shocked that we were so far out of our way. It was beyond his ability to reach us and help us return.
Then he looked on his map, and in a broken voice stammered, “There is a little-known mountain pass that will take you from Shinjo to the elders in Tsuruoka.” The Lord had prepared a way for us to be precisely where we needed to be to drive around the avalanche. The gasoline we were given was exactly the amount necessary to make the trip safely around the avalanche to pick up the elders.

Mapleton, Utah, where I grew up, was a little farming community. My father was not a farmer; he had seasonal work building highways. Our neighbor, Bishop Oscar Whiting, did have a farm, and because my father and mother wanted their children to learn the value of work, they said to him, “If you will put our sons to work on your farm, we will pay you to pay them.”
Our good bishop said, “No, it isn’t necessary for you to pay us; but we’ll put them to work, and we’ll pay them.” So as a boy, from as early as I can remember—I was about seven or eight years old then—I learned to work.
In the summertime we harvested the hay on the Whitings’ farm. Tractors were just coming out then, but the Whitings couldn’t afford one, so they used wagons pulled by horses to do the farm work. My first job, at fifteen cents an hour, was to stomp around on top of a load of hay in the wagon—we called it “tromping hay”—to settle it so that it wouldn’t fall out when we took it from the field to the barn, and so that more could be loaded onto the wagon.
Primary was held during the week in those days, and every Monday at three o’clock in the afternoon, Bishop Whiting would say, “Jay, your work is through for the day; off to Primary.”
In those days, too, the Church did not have a family home evening program like we have today, but my family did have family nights. One of the fondest memories I have is of sitting on Dad’s lap during family night as he read us stories from the Book of Mormon. It was the beginning of my testimony of the Book of Mormon, and my love for my father and mother grew as well.
After we spent this time together, we played games like Hide the Thimble, and Button, Button, Who’s Got the Button. We played basketball too. In the winter we’d take a metal coat hanger, bend it into a circle, and wedge it above a door. We’d wad up some stockings for the ball. Of course, we couldn’t dribble the ball, but we could shoot it at the hanger-basket, and we could pass it to each other. We loved playing together.
The fifth article of faith had a special meaning to me as a boy, not because it was preached to me, but because our family lived its principles. It says, “We believe that a man must be called of God, by prophecy, and by the laying on of hands by those who are in authority, to preach the Gospel and administer in the ordinances thereof.” Mother and Father were loyal to, supported, and loved their leaders. When priesthood leaders asked us to serve, we did, believing that the calls came through them from God.
I remember my missionary farewell. Being the proud young man that I was, when it was Dad’s turn to speak, I thought that he was going to say something about me—what a good missionary I’d be, what a good boy I’d been. But Dad did not say one thing about me. He stood at the pulpit and gave one of the strongest, most powerful testimonies about tithing that I have ever heard. It wasn’t until about halfway through my mission, as I was thinking about his talk, that it dawned on me: Dad had been trying to tell me, “I don’t know how we’re going to support you, Jay, because of my seasonal work, but I have faith that if we pay our tithing, we’ll be able to do it.” And they did. Our priesthood leaders have told us to pay our tithing and to do missionary work, and if we faithfully follow their counsel, we will be blessed.
I encourage each of you children to join your family in family prayer, to join your family in scripture study, to join your family in going to church. I don’t think that anything had a greater impact on me as I was growing up than doing these three things. Just as they strengthened me, they can strengthen you spiritually and help you make important decisions throughout your life.

Mama wiped down the countertops in the kitchen while Nicole and her cousin Cassidi sat on the floor in the living room, playing quietly. Nicole and Cassidi were both five years old, but Nicole was small for her age.
Nicole and Cassidi agreed on a book from the bookcase, and Nicole began to read aloud. Cassidi sat across from Nicole with her legs crossed and listened closely to the story. The book had pictures, and each time Nicole finished reading a page, she faced the book toward Cassidi so that her cousin could see the picture, too. The girls were having a great time until halfway through the story. Then a look of sadness came over Cassidi’s face, and she began to cry.
“What’s wrong?” Nicole asked.
“Nothing,” Cassidi said quietly, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
“If you’re sad, it makes me sad, too, Cassidi. Please tell me what’s wrong.”
Still sniffling, Cassidi nodded. “Nicole, you are so smart. You can read, and I can’t.”
Nicole lowered her head and closed the book. She felt very sad because Cassidi was unhappy. Mama wanted to rush in and comfort Cassidi; instead, she watched quietly from the kitchen.
Nicole’s eyes grew big, and a smile appeared on her face. “Cassidi, you are the best two-wheel-bicycle rider I’ve ever seen!” she said boldly. “I can’t ride a two-wheel bike at all,” she added, looking into Cassidi’s tear-filled eyes.
A big smile grew on Cassidi’s lips as she wiped the remaining tears from her face. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Nicole. They hugged each other tightly.
“I feel better now,” Cassidi said. “Thank you, Nicole.”
Nicole answered with a smile, and the girls continued to play.
Mama’s eyes filled with tears. She realized that the girls understood better than most grown-ups what it means to love one another as Jesus Christ would.

It was a new school, but it was the middle of the school year. I had to say goodbye to all of my friends at my old school and start making new ones. I was grateful a girl named Chynna decided to be my friend. I felt really comfortable around her even though she isn’t LDS. But I didn’t feel comfortable when she used the Lord’s name in vain. I knew I had to say something, but I didn’t want to get embarrassed.
One day my mom asked me about her. I felt that if I had my mom and the Lord’s support, I could do something about my situation. I talked to Chynna on the phone and told her about our faith. She respected what I shared and said she wouldn’t say the Lord’s name any more. I am glad she gave up using that word instead of our friendship. I am glad I asked her to stop saying it. Now she is asking me a lot of questions about our Church and has even come to Mutual with me.

When I was 15 years old I was in one of those Connecticut blizzards. I walked four miles through a wood into the open country, and I sought some place where I could hide from the storm and rest. There was but one house within a mile of me—that was the poor house [a place for needy and homeless people], which was about twenty-five rods* away. The man was moved upon to go up in his garret [attic] to get some pennyroyal [herbal medicine] to give to a sick woman, and he felt led to look out of the window. He saw me crawling into the hollow of a big tree. He knew what the result of that would be better than I did. He took his horse and sleigh and came to me, and when he got there I was asleep, and he preserved my life.

Sometimes what we must give up is not a possession but a cherished dream. Growing up in Taiwan, I had always dreamed of going to school in England. After receiving a university degree and studying in the United States, I returned home and made arrangements to continue my studies in England. At this same time I received a calling in the Relief Society. At first I planned to accept the calling for a short time—just until I left for England. Then after much consideration, I decided to postpone my studies abroad for a year.
It was during this year when I was “sacrificing” my studies in England that an amazing blessing came into my life. One day as I was walking by a bulletin board at church, I saw a notice that the Church’s Translation Department was seeking to hire a Chinese language supervisor. I felt the Holy Ghost prod me to apply, but I hesitated. The year was almost up, and it was time for me to go to England. But the Spirit encouraged me, and I applied and was hired. For me, working as a language supervisor for the Church is not just a job. It is a great privilege and blessing. But I could never have received this blessing if I had not been willing to give up my dream of studying in England.

Band class was ending. Miss Strand, my teacher, said, “Remember that chair tests are tomorrow.”
Miss Strand used chair tests to decide which order we sat in. Each band member played for the whole class, and the one who played each instrument the best sat “first chair” for that instrument.
But I wasn’t too worried. I had been first chair in the clarinets ever since I started playing last year. I had a perfect record.
“Are you nervous?” my friend Jason asked me. Jason had started learning the clarinet at the same time I had. He had always been second chair.
“Not really,” I answered.
“I’m going to go home and practice,” he said. “I’m not ready for the test yet.”
I don’t need to practice, I thought as we packed up our instruments. I’ve been first chair all year.
After school I did my homework and played with my friends. I didn’t even think about the test.
Before I knew it, I was in class the next day and Miss Strand was saying, “Let’s start the chair tests with the clarinets.”
I was a little nervous as I played—I wasn’t as prepared as I thought I was. But when I finished, I was sure that I would be first chair again.
When all of the clarinet players had finished, Miss Strand announced the test results.
“First chair: Jason. Second chair: Darcie …” Miss Strand continued, but I had stopped listening. I was second chair! I looked up at her in shock, and I realized she was waiting for me to move.
Slowly I switched chairs with Jason. I felt my face turning red, and I blinked hard to keep my tears back. My perfect record was gone!
“You did a good job,” Jason said. I just nodded. If I spoke, I was afraid I would burst into tears.
When I got home from school, I ran straight to my room and cried.
Mom came in and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Jason got first chair today,” I sobbed. “How am I supposed to be the best clarinet player now?”
Mom hugged me. “Did you practice last night?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
Mom looked at me and asked, “Do you think you would have played better if you had practiced?”
I nodded. Mom was right. I hadn’t practiced, but Jason had. He had been more prepared for the test.
Mom continued, “Even if you had practiced hard and still gotten second chair, that would be OK. Being in band is not about being the best; it’s about doing your best. You shouldn’t worry if you’re doing the best you can do.”
The next day Miss Strand started class by saying, “I want you all to know that I’m proud of you. You are all working hard so that our band can play beautiful music. Our band sounds great when everyone works hard together.”
Miss Strand’s words made me feel a little better about sitting second chair. I should want all the band members to do their best so the band can keep getting better and better, I thought.
I smiled at Jason. He looked happy to be first chair. I realized that I really wanted him to play well too.
It was OK if I was a not-so-perfect clarinetist. It didn’t matter where I sat as long as I was doing my best.

Mateo was playing the best soccer of his life. In the preseason, he’d scored five times. His passes were crisp, his defense superb. He was popular with fans, teammates, and coaches.
“So why not relax a little before the season opener?” he thought. The next week he took it easy. He arrived at practice just as it was starting and played with less than his best effort. “It’s OK,” he thought. “In the game, I’ll turn it up a notch.”
But the night before the match, friends came by. He stayed up late, then slept in, and barely arrived as the game was starting. When the coach asked what was wrong, he brushed it off. He couldn’t remember the game plan, but it was too late to go over it again. “I’ll just have to rely on what I did last week,” he said.
The game did not go well. Mateo tried to blame teammates, coaches, and officials. But he knew in his heart that it was his fault. If you’re into sports, you know why: if you want to play well, you prepare all week long. Then when the real game comes you’re ready to take the field.
By the way, after one bad week, Mateo returned to proper preparation and strengthened his season. Each week he focused on the basics and got ready all week long. From then on, he came to games ready to take the field.

I was excited to go to youth conference, but then I found out there were lots of rules— for example, no cell phones and no going outside alone. It seemed like adults were constantly keeping an eye on us. But I had a great time, made a lot of friends, worked on a service project, and learned about the gospel.
During a testimony meeting on the last day of youth conference, one of the leaders talked about how much he loves us, the youth in the stake.
“If you love us, why do we have so many restrictions here?” I thought. At that same moment, like he could read my mind, he answered my question.
Leaders put rules in place, he said, not to annoy us but for our safety. The moment he said that, I was touched by the Spirit. I understood that Heavenly Father gives us commandments for the same reason. They are not to annoy us; they are to help us return safely to Him (see Doctrine and Covenants 82:8–10).
The Holy Ghost touched me and helped me to know that this is true.
Serge P., Île-de-France, France

Some of our most vivid and significant memories of living in the Midwestern United States as young parents are of yearly visits to the temple in Washington, D.C. At the time, it was the only temple in operation east of the Mississippi River. Knowing that temple ordinances are essential for all of Heavenly Father’s children gave a sense of urgency to our efforts.
Like many of you, we arranged for friends to care for our small children, traveled through the night with a busload of fellow members, spent a couple of precious days doing as much temple work as we could, and then rode the bus home through the night so we could attend our Church meetings on Sunday. Those trips did not seem to be sacrifices; they were cherished because of the spiritual uplift that fed our souls for months afterward.
A few years later, we were thrilled to welcome the Chicago Illinois Temple, the first temple built in the North America Central Area since the Cardston Alberta Canada Temple 62 years earlier. With a temple only 45 minutes from our home, it was a joy for us to attend more often than once a year and to receive that spiritual food on a regular basis.

My friends at school wanted to know what made me stand out from other people. I told them that I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The next day, I brought them each a copy of the For the Strength of Youth guide.
I introduced those who were interested to the missionaries, and one of my friends got baptized! This experience helped me understand that I am a disciple of Jesus Christ, and by my example I can bring souls to Christ.
I am a disciple of Jesus Christ.

The bed felt soft and warm. Melissa hoped her sister Shelly wasn’t asleep yet in her bed. As Melissa watched the shadows made by the moonlight streaming through the window and across the dressers and beds, they made curious gray shapes on the wall.
“I wonder what the sharpest thing in the world is,” Melissa said.
“Who cares about that?” responded Shelly, who thought Melissa was a nuisance when she asked so many questions.
“Well, it couldn’t be shadows,” Melissa said. “Even though they have corners, they’re very soft.”
“Oh, are they really?” Shelly declared sarcastically.
Melissa lay quietly for a moment, but she kept thinking. Soon she said, “If I wanted to find out what the sharpest thing in the world is, I’d start by letting every single horse bite me.”
“Oh, no,” moaned Shelly.
“Then I’d let every dog bite me.”
“What a dumb idea,” said Shelly. “You couldn’t do that.”
“Pins are very sharp,” Melissa continued, undeterred. “They can go through most anything. Or Mama’s best scissors might be the sharpest thing in the world. Remember how easily they cut my hair?”
“Go to sleep!” Shelly said crossly.
“Our sharpest knife cuts through a loaf of homemade bread in a second. But Daddy’s nails go through wood. Oh!” Melissa cried excitedly, “I think I know what the sharpest thing in the world is. Great-great grandpa Johnson’s sword! If you got poked with that it would really hurt.”
“Will you please be quiet, Melissa, so I can go to sleep!”
“If I could try all the horses and dogs and pins and scissors and knives and nails and swords, then I’d know what the sharpest thing in the world is.”
Shelly suddenly sat up in bed. “Melissa,” she shouted, “if you don’t be quiet, I’m going to tell Dad. I wish I had a bedroom of my own. I wish I didn’t have to share a bedroom with a sister who talks all night!” Then she lay down again, turned her back to Melissa, and pulled the covers over her shoulder.
Melissa was quiet for a long time. Finally, out of the darkness came a wistful voice. “I know what the sharpest thing in the world is.”
“Please, be quiet,” said Shelly.
“It’s words,” Melissa said quietly. “They hurt the most.”
Shelly turned over and looked at Melissa with a mixture of surprise and affection. “Oh, Melissa,” she said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean those things I said. I like sharing my bedroom with you. And I like having you for a sister.”
The girls were both silent for a few minutes thinking. Suddenly Melissa whispered, “Shelly.”
“What now?” Shelly asked laughingly.
“I know what the softest thing in the world is,” Melissa declared thoughtfully. “Softer than shadows and darkness and pillows and kittens and blankets and moonlight.”
“Tell me,” said Shelly good-naturedly. “What’s the softest thing in the world?”
“It’s words,” said Melissa.
Through the darkness she could almost see her sister smiling. And then she felt soft arms around her and Shelly whispered, “Oh, Melissa, I love you.”