Gospel Story Finder

A few months ago a young couple decided to cancel their health insurance. They felt they just could not afford it. The high cost of graduate school, in a time of rampant inflation, led them to disregard the counsel of the Brethren. Then came a baby—premature, with serious complications resulting in incredibly expensive care. Heartsick and frightened, they turned first to their families, who responded with substantial help. That not being nearly enough, they then turned to their bishop, who, from the fast offerings, supplied additional help. They would have been almost self-sustaining had they retained their insurance.

The Hacienda Heights California Stake wanted an activity that would appeal to a large group of youth and would be a chance to activate both boys and girls. They chose to sponsor a bicycle motocross race.
A suitable location was found with a track consisting of jumps, sharp turns, and plenty of dirt. Under the direction of Rhett Smith, many young men spent two days getting the track prepared.
Eighty-nine youth showed up to race in age groups ranging from seven and under, eight to nine, ten to eleven, twelve to thirteen, and fourteen and over. Trophies were given in each category. Each rider had to race three times over the track during the course of the day, with those who came in first, second, and third places receiving points. Even though only the high-point winners took home the trophies, the event was termed a success because of the enthusiasm of the participants.

Brady’s brothers and sisters—Burke (14), Brittany (12), Brandon (10), Benjamin, “B. J.” (6), Brett (4), and Bobbie Jo (2)—are definitely some of Brady’s best friends. When he attended muscular dystrophy summer camp for a week, Burke went as his counselor to help take care of him. Since Brady couldn’t go swimming with the other kids, he kept a giant squirt gun hooked to his wheelchair so that he could still get everyone else wet! His mother, Earlene Blaser, says that he’s a real tease.

It was a bright, clear morning, and I was preparing to give a bridal shower. I love giving parties—any kind, any time, any number of people. Why, then, couldn’t I shake this black heaviness that kept threatening to reduce me to tears? A recent family problem had brought my husband and me many sleepless nights and much despair, and we had been pleading with the Lord for help.
Although I had offered silent prayers all morning, I could not suppress my anguish. Past experience had taught me that a kind Heavenly Father could lift me from the depths when I was sufficiently in tune. But there was little time left before I would need to have pulled myself together to look after my guests.
Only an hour before the party, I looked up to see the Relief Society compassionate service leader coming up the path. She looked at me for a long moment and said, “I felt I needed to come see you this morning.” My first thought was that there must be some problem. I was the Relief Society president, and I knew I must take whatever time was needed.
Then Norma’s arms were around me. She held me and told me how much she loved me. This dear woman had been quietly putting her arms around sisters in need for a long time. Many had recounted their joy at having her appear miraculously when they needed her most.
Now I was encircled by her love when I needed it most. The tears I had been fighting all morning ran freely. But what had been tears of desperation and pain now turned to the sweet release that cleanses the soul and brightens the outlook.
Ten minutes later she was off down the walk, and I knew that an angel had ministered to my needs that day.

While I was growing up, my hero was my maternal grandfather, my acheii. He was strong in his faith. I went to a lot of different churches with him, but religion wasn’t for me.
When I met Gina, who became my wife, she was a faithful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She wanted me to learn about the Church so we could marry in the temple. But I didn’t want that. I was not religious.
Eventually we got married civilly. After we had a child, I still wasn’t interested in the Church, but Gina kept attending.
Finally, I decided I would prove that her church was wrong by going to other churches. This went on for several years, but no matter where I went, I wasn’t comfortable.
Then, one Sunday as Gina was getting our daughter ready to go to church, I started getting dressed for church too. She looked at me and asked, “What are you doing?” I responded, “I’m going to go to church with you.” She looked at our daughter and said, “Get ready quick! We don’t want him to change his mind!”
So, off we went. Because I felt the Holy Ghost through the people at church, they were essential to my conversion. After that, the missionaries came to our home. They were awesome, the teachings they shared were beautiful to me, and the Spirit filled my heart (see Moroni 10:4–5).
When I visited my grandfather to tell him what I had found, he was not happy. But I knew I had to follow my heart.
I joined the Church, and soon Gina and I were sealed in the temple. Our daughter was sealed to us, and we now have three more children who were born in the covenant.
It took 10 years for my acheii to finally respect what we believe in the Church. At my son’s high school graduation, he told everybody in Navajo, “I enjoy this family. I support what they believe. Their children really know how to pray.”
I am the only member of the Church in my extended family, but I know they accept that my conversion was genuine, and they see the good the gospel has brought to my wife, our children, and me.

In my father’s personal history, he tells about Grandmother’s experiences growing up in Brigham City, Utah, in the late 1800s. Their family was very poor, having emigrated from Denmark with little more than the clothes on their backs. She wanted so much to have a pair of shoes she could wear on special occasions. To accomplish this worthy desire took a full summer’s work of picking berries and tending children, since money was very scarce and labor was cheap. But the joy Grandmother felt as she obtained those shoes is indescribable, for not only was she able to wear them, but her mother did also. In fact, they had it arranged so Grandmother would wear the shoes to Sunday School in the morning, and then her mother would wear them to sacrament meeting in the evening.

It was on a summer day early in the morning. I was standing near the window. The curtains obstructed me from two little creatures out on the lawn. One was a large bird and the other a little bird, obviously just out of the nest. I saw the larger bird hop out on the lawn, then thump his feet and cock his head. He drew a big fat worm out of the lawn and came hopping back. The little bird opened its bill wide, but the big bird swallowed the worm.

Then I saw the big bird fly up into a tree. He pecked at the bark for a little while and came back with a big bug in his mouth. The little bird opened his beak wide, but the big bird swallowed the bug. There was squawking in protest.

The big bird flew away, and I didn’t see it again, but I watched the little bird. After a while, the little bird hopped out on the lawn, thumped its feet, cocked its head, and pulled a big worm out of the lawn.

God bless the good people who teach our children and our youth, I humbly pray, in Jesus’ name. Amen.Elder Howard W. HunterOf the Council of the Twelve

Nine-year-old Amber Donohue didn’t want to get out of bed. I have four good reasons not to, she reasoned, and only one reason why I should: It’s Sunday and church starts in an hour.
She thought hard about why she shouldn’t: In the first place, I’m too tired. It isn’t fair that bears can sleep all winter but people can sleep only at night. In the second place, it’s too cold to get up. Judging from the way the snow was piled on the limbs of the maple tree outside her bedroom window, Amber was sure that it had snowed all night. In the third place, she thought, if I get up now, I’ll be cross with everybody for having to get up. It wouldn’t be fair to others. And in the fourth place, … Amber couldn’t think of a fourth reason yet, but she was sure that if she stayed in bed long enough, she’d think of something!
Amber knew, though, that her one reason for getting up was more important than all the ones for staying in bed put together. It was Heavenly Father’s day, and she knew that He wanted her to be in Primary. She also knew deep down in her heart that she wanted to be there too. She glumly crawled out from under her covers and sat on the edge of her bed. “What are you staring at?” she snapped at her pet white rat, Cuddles, that sat looking at her from its cage in the corner. “You don’t have to get up!”
Amber’s five-year-old brother, Arnie, knocked, then skipped into her room, his shoes untied.
“What do you want?” she snarled at him.
“I want to get out of here,” Arnie said, deciding not to ask her for a favor, after all. He hurried down the hall back to his own room.
As Amber slowly got her Sunday shoes from her closet, she heard her mother’s voice calling from the kitchen. “Breakfast is ready, everyone. We have to hurry, or we’ll be late for church.” Then she added, “Don’t forget to wear your warmest coats and put on your best singing voices.”
“I’ll wear my warmest coat, that’s for sure,” Amber grumbled, “but nobody can make me sing! I don’t feel like singing any more than I feel like getting out of bed!”
Suddenly Amber heard singing outside her window. It was a bird on the tree limb. Amber stared at it with surprise. “It’s gray and windy and cold out there,” she muttered. “Why is that bird singing such a happy song?”
“Maybe it’s counting its blessings,” came a small voice from behind her. Amber turned and saw Arnie standing a safe distance from her, his shoes still untied. “Mommy says that whenever she’s sad or just wants to feel better, she either counts her blessings or sings a song. Especially about Jesus. Like we do in Primary. And sacrament meeting. She says that she sings when she’s happy too.” Then Arnie added, “Heavenly Father likes singing. A lot. Otherwise why would He put so many birds in the world?” As Arnie turned and started to leave the room, he said, “Maybe you should sing a song, Amber. Maybe you should sing lots of them.”
Alone again in her room, Amber looked at herself in her dresser mirror. The first song that came to her mind was the one about no one liking a frowny face. She looked at the bird in the tree outside her window again. It was still singing. It’s happy, Amber thought. Maybe it’s counting its blessings and praising Heavenly Father too. If birds can sing on gloomy days, she thought as she started toward the kitchen, why can’t I?
Amber was ready for church on time. Well, almost on time. She stopped halfway through brushing her hair just long enough to help Arnie tie his shoelaces. And she sang every Primary song that she could think of all the way to church.

Natalie dipped her brush into the orange paint and put the finishing touches on her newest picture. Orange swirled together with red, yellow, pink, and lavender watercolors to form a sunset behind majestic mountains.
“There! I’m finally finished,” she announced as she placed the painting on the kitchen counter to dry.
“It’s beautiful, Natalie,” Mom said as she admired the painting. “No wonder you won the school art contest again this year.”
Just then, Jared, Natalie’s nine-year-old brother, zipped through the kitchen. “Bye! I’m going to practice for the big race!” he yelled as the screen door slammed shut. In the next instant, he was in the kitchen again. “Hey, Natalie! You’re still going to paint my go-cart for me, right?”
“Sure, Jared. I’ll do it after lunch. You’ll be back by then, won’t you?”
“I’ll make sure I am!”
In the meantime, I’ll go try out my new bike tires, Natalie thought. Jared had put new tires on her bicycle, and in return, Natalie had agreed to paint bright red flames on the sides of his go-cart for the race on Monday afternoon.
As she started to pedal down the street, she heard her friend Nicole calling her. “Natalie, my parents are taking me to the amusement park today, and they said I could bring a friend. Would you like to come?”
“I’d love to!” Natalie squealed. Then she remembered Jared. “Wait—I can’t go. I promised Jared I’d paint his go-cart for the race on Monday. Tomorrow is Sunday, so I can’t do it then.”
“We can wait a couple of hours for you if you want to paint it now.”
“Jared has it with him. He’s practicing for the race and won’t be back until after lunch,” Natalie said sadly.
“Well, it will go just as fast without paint as with paint,” Nicole pointed out. “Your painting it isn’t going to help him win the race.”
Natalie thought, That makes sense. Besides, does he expect me to wait around all day for him? “OK, I’ll go!” she told Nicole. “Mom’s gone to the store, so I’ll tell Dad. We can go right away!”
At the amusement park, smells of food filled the air, and clowns carried bouquets of bright red balloons. The girls went on every ride, but for some reason, Natalie wasn’t having much fun. Even when she rode the carousel, her favorite ride, she didn’t enjoy herself. As she sat on a beautiful white horse with sparkling jewels in its trappings, all she could think about was how disappointed Jared was going to be when he found out she had broken her promise.
That evening, Natalie dreaded going home. She opened the door as quietly as she could, hoping nobody would hear her come in. But Mom was sitting on the couch. “Did you have a good time?” she asked.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Natalie answered halfheartedly. “Where’s Jared? I really need to talk to him.”
“He and Dad are out practicing for the race. They’ll be home late,” Mom said with an “I’m disappointed in you, but I’m not going to say anything” tone of voice. “You’ll have to wait until morning.”
On Sunday morning, Jared didn’t mention the go-cart, but Natalie could tell he was hurt. She was glad when it was finally time to go to church.
After a prayer, her Primary teacher, Sister Parker, began to explain the lesson. “Today we are going to talk about covenants. A covenant is a promise, or an agreement, between two people.”
Natalie slumped in her seat.
“As long as one of them keeps the agreement,” Sister Parker continued, “the other is also bound to do what he or she has promised.”
Just like the deal I made with Jared. Natalie squirmed in her chair.
“We all make covenants when we are baptized. We promise to take upon us the name of our Savior, Jesus Christ. This means we are willing to live as he would have us live.”
Jesus would not have wanted me to break my promise to Jared, thought Natalie.
“We also promise to always remember him and keep his commandments. In return, he promises to send his Spirit to always be with us. The sacrament is a time for us to remember what the Savior has done for us and to renew our baptismal covenants.”
During the sacrament, she thought about what Sister Parker had taught in Primary. She listened carefully to the sacrament prayers. She remembered Jesus and how he had suffered and died for her. Then she thought about the covenants she had made at baptism. “Heavenly Father, I promise to do better,” she prayed silently.
On the way home, she apologized to Jared. “I’m really sorry I didn’t paint your go-cart. How can I make it up to you?”
“It’s OK, Natalie. I can still race. Don’t worry about it.”
But Natalie did worry about it. She wanted to make things right. After praying again, she knew what she would do.
Monday morning, Jared was astonished. When he went to get his go-cart, it had been painted a sleek black, and bright red flames raced along the sides. He ran into the house. “Hey, Natalie!” he shouted.
“Shhh!” Mom said with her finger to her lips. “I’m going to let her sleep for a while longer.”
“Did you see it?” Jared asked, barely able to hold still long enough to hear the answer.
“Yes, I did. It looks great! She got up at three o’clock this morning to paint it for you.”
The time for the race finally came. Friends and families crowded along the course, waiting for the go-carts to come racing down the hill. Natalie waved to Jared as he slipped into the red and black go-cart. “Good luck, Jared!”
As he waved back he had a huge, happy grin on his face. Natalie’s grin was just as huge and happy.

In an early story from Harper’s Weekly (1855) called “My Wife’s Tempter,” a suspicious husband overhears his wife talking to a mysterious visitor. The husband eavesdrops enough to learn that the visitor is trying to persuade his wife to leave her husband and family and to go with him to his “chief.” “You have no husband, woman,” the man argues. “The vow was annulled before it was made. Your husband in God yet awaits you. You will yet be blessed with the true spouse.” The wife finally agrees, and then leaves, sobbing. This allows the angry husband to approach the unsuspecting seducer:
“I rose and stepped silently into the open space in which he stood. His back was toward me. His arms were lifted high over his head with an exultant gesture, and I could see his profile as it slightly turned toward me, illuminated with a smile of scornful triumph.”
The poor husband throws himself at the intruder. They wrestle, and the husband finally gets the upper hand when the villain slips over a precipice and dangles there, his life depending on his grip on a slim root that the husband immediately begins to saw at with his pocketknife. To save his life, the villain promises to confess; he is pulled up to safety where, with bowed head, he finally admits, “I am a Mormon.” The husband is shocked by the revelation that the man who has ruined his home is actually a Latter-day Saint missionary, and the story concludes on a tearful note with the husband putting his wife out of the house: “This is no longer your home. You have deceived me. You are a Mormon. I know all.” And with that the husband sends his wife off to live with her father. He ends his narrative,
“I live in the same village with my wife, and yet am a widower. She is very penitent, they say; yet I cannot bring myself to believe that anyone who has allowed the Mormon poison to enter his veins can ever be cured. People say that we will come together again, but I know better.”

Our sons are all under the age of ten, and sometimes their youthful enthusiasm makes family home evening a bit of a challenge. One night after an especially difficult time trying to keep the Spirit with us during our lesson, I knelt in prayer for some guidance. The answer came to me immediately: we needed to read the scriptures. Up to this point, we had not read the scriptures in home evening for fear of losing our young children’s attention. But at that moment I knew we had misjudged their ability to love and appreciate the scriptures.
The next week at family home evening we began our new tradition—our “scripture of the week.” In preparation, I selected a favorite scripture and printed it in large letters on a big sheet of brightly colored paper. That night, I displayed the sign and read its words: “Therefore, strengthen your brethren in all your conversation, in all your prayers, in all your exhortations, and in all your doings” (D&C 108:7).
Our family repeated the scripture together. Then I explained why the scripture was important to me and how it could bless our lives. The Spirit was strong, and we enjoyed its peaceful presence during the rest of the evening.
The next morning at breakfast, all eyes were drawn to our “scripture of the week” sign, which I had taped to the kitchen cupboards. Once more, we reviewed our scripture and its meaning and rehearsed it aloud.
A few days later, I was surprised to hear my son reciting our “scripture of the week” from memory. Suddenly I realized that, without planning to do so, I had memorized the scripture, too. Somewhere between our introduction of the “scripture of the week” and our testimony of it, our minds had been opened to receive its words, our hearts had been lightened by its message, and our home had been blessed by its spirit.

Some people never realize just how important friendshipping can be, but Ray Ebler of Londonderry, Northern Ireland, does. “The main contribution to my testimony was the love that radiated from each member,” he says.

Ray started attending with his girlfriend and her family. He enjoyed church, but he says, “It was only when she went away to school that I realized how important the Church and the people in it were to me. I was touched by the Spirit and gained a testimony.”

Ray started attending with his girlfriend and her family. He enjoyed church, but he says, “It was only when she went away to school that I realized how important the Church and the people in it were to me.”

Ray was taught the discussions and was baptized on July 4, 1991. He wants to express his gratitude to the family that helped him, the ward members, and everyone else involved.

Blendina Muca spent the early years of her life struggling with a medical condition known as strabismus, or crossed eyes. After many years of unsuccessful treatment in her native Albania, she found help from an American physician who visited her homeland on a humanitarian excursion.
“Since I was little I had crossed eyes,” Ms. Muca reported. “My father sent me for a visit to the doctor, who gave me some drops and glasses. … They didn’t correct my eyes—they became worse—but I always walked with hope they would be better.”
Despite her visual limitations, the young Albanian was able through her diligence to become a professional tailor, a career in which she excelled.
When Ms. Muca’s sister joined the Church, a door opened for the visually impaired young woman. Church humanitarian service missionaries, present at her sister’s baptism, invited Ms. Muca to visit an LDS-sponsored clinic staffed with member ophthalmologists from the United States.
Dr. Rick Olson, a pediatric ophthalmologist on staff at the University of Iowa, performed the surgery on Ms. Muca’s eyes. Prior to the surgery, the young patient, her sister, and friends united in prayer with Dr. Olson.
“The doctor asked God to make his hands as gold to fix my eyes,” Ms. Muca reported, “and He did. I knew God had made a miracle.”
Ms. Muca sees life much differently following her successful surgery. She explained: “My wish now is to go to university and help those who are in need—to help people the same way God helped me. Miracles do happen.”

Not only does Grant play the piano, but he also plays the trumpet and the flügelhorn, and, of course, he sings. Such a wide variety of talent was great to have when Grant, Guy, and Michael started to record their first CD. The three brothers had dreamed of making a CD but waited until Michael returned from his mission in Geneva, Switzerland, to start.
Michael says that before he served a mission there was never a temptation to stay home and record music. “I received assurance through prayer that my mission call was going to be right for me,” Michael says. “When I got my call, I knew it was what the Lord wanted for me.”
When he got home two years later, the three boys worked together, using their vocal and instrumental talents to produce a CD. Their goal in releasing it, Michael says, was to give youth and young adults “safe, appropriate, and upbeat music to listen to.”

I used to feel the same way towards a person who had hurt me. I carried a grudge for years. In fact, I had no desire to forgive, except I hated the awful way I felt. Then I remembered that the Church teaches us to pray for those who hurt us. For lack of another solution I decided to give ita try. At firsts felt totally foolish praying for this person to be happy or do well in school, but when I was finished I could feel the grudge I’d held for so long melt away and become replaced with love for that person.
Ana Nielsen, 16King City, California

Some years ago I was invited to speak to a group of faculty and students at Harvard University. I, of course, hoped that the gospel message would be accepted and that our meeting would end in a harmony of views. As I prayed that this might result, there came to me a strong impression that this petition would not be granted.

I determined that, however preposterous the talk about angels and golden plates and restoration might be to my audience, I would teach the truth with quiet confidence, for I have a testimony of the truth. If some must come from the meeting unsettled and disturbed, it would not be me. Let them be disturbed, if they would.

It was as the Spirit foretold. Some in the group shook their heads in amazement that anyone could believe such things. But I was at peace. I had taught the truth, and they could accept it or reject it as they pleased.

When it comes to geography, 15-year-old James Wingate really knows where it’s at.

By identifying Prince Edward Island as Canada’s smallest province in land area, James, a teacher in the Rosedale Ward, Salt Lake Riverside Stake, earned an all-expenses-paid trip to Washington, D.C., to compete in the National Geography Bee.

There contestants were quizzed on their knowledge of locations, weather patterns, and the cultural characteristics of nations. They also visited historical sites and national landmarks, and James was particularly excited to see the Washington Temple.

Now graduated from Northwest Intermediate School, James is a freshman at West High School and hopes to someday be a school teacher. “I’d like to teach geography,” he says. “But I’d like to teach other subjects, too.”

Grandma Hanks hung up the phone and turned to Paul. “The paramedics and ambulance will be here in about fifteen minutes. I’ll take the pickup and go to your Grandpa. You run down to the county road and guide them in when they come.” She looked around distractedly, grabbed a large towel off the towel rack and a blanket off the couch, and hurried out.
Paul looked at his watch, got a drink of water, and set out through the powdery dust in the lane to walk to the county road. The ten minutes he waited until the ambulance came into view seemed like forever. He flagged them down and directed them through the maze of gates and bends in the trail until they were as close as they could drive to Grandpa Hanks.
When they reached him, they saw that Grandma had put the folded blanket under Grandpa’s head and shoulders and was wiping his face and hands with the towel, wet with clear ditch water.
As the gentle, skillful paramedics splinted Grandpa’s leg and loaded him into the ambulance, Grandma turned to Paul. “We’ll take the pickup and follow them to the hospital.”
“No, Grandma,” Paul said gently. “You go ahead. I’ll finish irrigating this field and walk back in to do chores. I need to clear the trash out of a couple headgates on the way.”
Grandma was too upset to argue.
As Paul watched the vehicles pull away, he realized that his shovel was in the pickup, so he had to use Grandpa’s to repair the ditch bank where Grandpa had fallen. He tamped the plastic dam in a little tighter and shoveled the remaining cutouts. Then he walked back to check his work to be sure that they were all running evenly.
Since it was shorter to follow the ditch than the road, he started down the ditch bank toward home.
Where the main ditch joined the smaller ditches, wooden boxes with boards that slid up and down controlled the water flow. The first such headgate Paul came to was running fine. He flipped a weed out of the water with the tip of the shovel and went on down the ditch.
The second headgate, however, was blocked by a tangled mass of waterlogged weeds and trash. He stuck his shovel in to flip out the rubbish, as he had seen Grandpa do, and nearly fell over. Nothing moved. He braced his feet and tried again. The stubborn mass refused to budge. He dropped the shovel, lay on his stomach on the bank, and reached in with his arms. He still couldn’t move it.
Finally he waded waist deep into the backed-up water and clawed the stubborn sticks out a few at a time. When he finished, he was soaked and muddy from head to foot, scratched from fingertips to armpits, and totally exhausted. He’d also managed to get a mouthful of muddy-tasting water, and his teeth felt gritty.
Paul dropped, panting, on the uphill ditch bank. Why didn’t it look that hard when Grandpa did it? he wondered. A breeze on his wet back made him shiver, and he struggled to his feet, put the shovel over his shoulder, and squished and dripped on down the path.
It was nearly chore time when he reached the ranch buildings. He stripped to his shorts and rinsed out his muddy shirt and jeans in the ditch and then left them dripping over a porch rail while he went to find dry clothes. I couldn’t do this in town, he thought.
What should I do now? he wondered as he donned a clean shirt and jeans. At home he’d call the family’s home teacher, Brother Murphy, if anyone broke a leg, but he didn’t know who his grandparents’ home teachers were. He did know the Bishop’s name, however, so he looked up the number and dialed. “I’m Paul Hanks,” he explained to Bishop Wilson, “LaVell Hanks’s grandson. Grandpa broke his leg this afternoon, and Grandma went with him to the hospital. I’m sure she’s upset and—”
“It’s all been taken care of, Son,” the bishop assured him kindly. “I’ve tried to call you a couple of times. Guess you were doing chores. Brother Ross and Brother James, the home teachers, have gone to administer to your grandfather. Someone from the hospital called Brother Ross for your grandma. My wife has gone to stay with her. Are you all right? Do you need any help?”
“I’m fine,” Paul replied. “I know how to do the chores and take care of the livestock. I’ve finished irrigating. Everything’s under control here.”
“Good boy!” Bishop Wilson said. “They’re lucky to have you.”
Grandma always got the milk jar and strainer ready, so Paul had to hunt a little before he found everything he needed. He set the strainer in the jar, to be ready when he returned, and took the shiny milk pail as he went out. He hung the bucket on a high nail on the side of the barn while he tended the calves and pigs, then whistled for the horses to come for grain.
“The horses really don’t need grain when they have such good pasture and aren’t being ridden very much,” Grandpa had explained a few days earlier. “But if I ever badly need a horse, I want it to come when I call. That’s why I always call them for a bite of oats.”
One horse came, but the other didn’t—something that hadn’t happened all week. I’ll have to go look for her later, Paul thought.
He herded Clarabelle, the gentle tan and white Guernsey milk cow, into the corner as Grandpa always did, poured her oats into a pan, and hooked her halter to the snap ring on the end of the rope hanging on the wall above. The cow was wary and nervous before he ever sat down to milk, his first try since he had learned the year before.
Clarabelle always stood quietly for Grandpa and finished her grain about the time that he finished milking. But today she gulped her oats, then stepped around skittishly. Once she stepped heavily on Paul’s foot and sloshed nearly half the milk out of the bucket with a temperamental kick. Paul’s hands and arms ached when he finished, and his sunny, helpful disposition was badly bent. And he wasn’t cheered by the thought that passed through his mind: Oh no! I’m going to be doing this the rest of the summer! He poured some foamy milk into the cats’ pan before he left the corral.
The phone was ringing when he entered the house with the half-full milk pail. He hurried to answer it. It was Grandma. “How’s Grandpa?” Paul asked.
“He’s in surgery now,” Grandma told him. “He went into shock before they got him here and was a little disoriented before they took him in to set the leg. I’m going to stay all night with him, if you’re all right.”
“I’m fine,” Paul said. “And everything’s under control here. I just came in to strain the milk. Is there anything else you want me to do?”
“Well, would you close the chicken house door before it gets dark so that the skunks and coons can’t get in? And check for more eggs. Oh, and please make sure that they haven’t spilled their water and that they have feed for tomorrow.”
After Paul’s reassurance that he would take care of the chickens, Grandma added, “You can slice a piece off the cold roast in the refrigerator to make a sandwich for supper. And remember to take your bath and lay out your good clothes. Brother Ross will pick you up at eight-thirty tomorrow for church. He said that he’d help in any way that he can. The other neighbors are sure to offer too. You’re sure that you’re all right?”
“Now you sound like Mom again,” Paul said good-naturedly. Hoping to ease Grandma’s concern, he added, “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a big kid now. I’ll be fine.”
Right after Grandma hung up, the phone rang again. This time it was Brother Ross.
“How are you doing, Paul?” he asked.
“I think everything’s under control so far,” answered Paul, “but it helps to know that there are people I can call if I need to.”
Paul remembered the missing horse while he was straining the milk. He dumped the empty bucket and strainer in the sink, set the warm jar of fresh milk on the top refrigerator shelf, and hurried out again.
The sun was low in the western sky when he crawled through the strands of barbed wire fence into the horse pasture. There are three possibilities, he thought: Ginger didn’t come because my whistle doesn’t sound like Grandpa’s, she got out through a hole in the fence, or she’s trapped somewhere. The first possibility seemed the most likely, but he started down the fence anyway, looking for downed wires or broken posts. The first quarter-mile of fence was fine. He had turned the corner and started on the next side when he heard a muffled crashing sound from where the fence went through a thick patch of willows.
There he found Ginger on her side, both front feet caught in a tangle of rusted barbed wire. The muddy, sweaty, wild-eyed horse and trampled, broken patch of willows told the story of a frantic struggle.
Paul walked cautiously up to her head, talking quietly, and reached out his hand. She let him touch her head, then thrashed around frantically again. Paul was caught totally by surprise. Her head crashed into his legs and knocked him backward into the willows.
More surprised than hurt, he sat and studied the situation. What do I do now? he wondered. There isn’t time before dark to call anyone and wait for help. I’ve got to get her out, and I’ve got to do it quickly. But how?

The elementary school in our area was having a program in the gymnasium for both parents and students. The students sat close together on the floor. The fifth graders were seated near the back of the room with students from the special education class who had physical and mental disabilities.
During the program, one of the older boys in that class began to cry loudly. Many in the room either ignored him or stared at him in embarrassment. Shanie Atwood, a fifth grader, leaned close to him and kindly began to rub his back. This calmed him, and soon he was quietly enjoying the program again.
Jesus would not have ignored the boy or given him unkind looks. He would have helped, and that is exactly what Shanie did. She was a Christlike example that day.

I was excited! Spring was here, and I could play outside without a coat. Kindergarten was almost out for the summer, and I was getting ready to play ball and help Dad with the garden. But I forgot all about Mother’s Day. I didn’t remember until my Primary teacher reminded us the Sunday before. I knew then that I would have to have a secret meeting with Aaron and Jarom.
Aaron and Jarom are my two brothers. Aaron’s four, and Jarom’s only two, but he’s real smart. He can talk really good. In fact, he can do nearly everything Aaron and I can.
That night when we were in bed, I talked to Aaron and Jarom and told them that next Sunday was Mother’s Day and that we just had to get Mom a present. We knew Dad was going to give her something—he always does. But we wanted to give her a big surprise just from us.
We thought about giving Mom a motorcycle or a horse or a pickup truck. Those things would have made good presents, but we knew we couldn’t ever get anything like that till we were a lot older.
We finally decided that we would get all our money together and go to Brother Bob’s store to buy Mom something.
The next day after I came home from school, Aaron and Jarom and I walked to the store. We only had two dollars and three quarters and a dime and four pennies. It wasn’t very much, but we thought we could get Mom something she’d like.
Well, there really wasn’t much in Brother Bob’s store for Mother’s Day, because he sells mostly food and things like that. We looked at the bubble gum, but Mom doesn’t like bubble gum very much. We looked at some boxes of candy because Dad sometimes buys it for her. She likes candy, but just one of those boxes of chocolates with a big bow on it costs lots more money than we had. There was a real good pocketknife inside a glass case, but it cost over ten dollars. There was a watch inside the case too. It was just a little one, not like the big one Dad wears. We figured that since it was such a little watch, we probably had enough money to buy it. But when we put our money on the counter, Brother Bob said we didn’t have quite enough.
We were going to go to the big store by the ice-cream place, but that was a long way away. You have to cross the highway to get there, so we decided not to go. Instead, we each bought a sucker and went home.
On the way home we decided that if we couldn’t buy something for Mom, we’d make something. I remembered that Mom once said she’d sure like a rocking chair to rock Jared in at night. An old rocking chair wouldn’t be very hard to make. We had wood and nails and tools and everything at home.
Every day after school Aaron and Jarom met me at the corner. Then we ran around to the backyard and worked on the rocking chair. Jarom didn’t work much; he just kind of watched us. He’d get tired and go into the house for his blanket, but he always came back and sat on a box and rubbed his blanket and sucked his thumb. We still liked to have him there because it was his present too.
We had a hard time trying to build Mom that rocking chair though. We’d seen Dad hammer and saw, but he had bigger muscles than Aaron and I. I scratched my hand with the saw, and Aaron got silvers in his hands trying to hold the boards still. And I hit my thumb, trying to hammer in a nail.
We worked every day till Saturday, but by Saturday we still didn’t have a rocking chair. We’d hammered some boards together, but they were rough and had crooked nails sticking out of them. It didn’t look like any rocking chair we’d ever seen. It looked more like a table. But Mom didn’t need a table; she needed a rocking chair.
It was hot. Jarom had his blanket and was lying down on a box, sucking his thumb and looking at our rocking chair. I was thinking, and Aaron was over by the grapevine hunting for something. Pretty soon he yelled, “Hey, Alma, come here! Look what I found!”
I threw my hammer down, and Jarom left his blanket and ran over to the grapevine with me. Under the branches, sitting on some crunchy leaves, was a big, fat horned toad. He was brown and had little bumps all over him.
I’d seen horned toads before, because Aaron likes to catch them. But this one was one of the best horned toads I’d ever seen. Aaron picked it up and tickled its tummy and rubbed it against his cheek so he could feel the bumps.
Aaron said, “I know, Alma! Let’s give Mom some horned toads! She said that she thinks they’re cute and that they’re funny to watch when they run. Let’s look for some more, and we’ll each give her a horned toad for Mother’s Day.”
There’s an empty lot behind our house that’s covered with weeds and rocks and other good places for horned toads to hide. Jarom went there with us, too, but he had to leave his blanket behind, because it would get weed stickers in it.
We hunted for a long time, and finally we found another horned toad. It was almost suppertime. We were about ready to give Mom just two horned toads, when suddenly Jarom saw a tiny one. I grabbed it. Now we each had a horned toad to give to Mom.
When we went into the house, we didn’t let anyone see the toads. I found an empty shoe box and put some rocks inside so the horned toads would think they were still outside. Then we wrapped the box in newspaper and punched some holes in the top very carefully.
The next day, after the family came home from church and Primary, Mom started fixing dinner. After my brothers and I helped her set the table, we went out to the garage and brought in our present. I put the box on Mom’s plate so she’d know we hadn’t forgotten about Mother’s Day. Aaron and Jarom and I were grinning as Mom tried to guess what was in the present. She was going to shake it, but we told her she’d better not because it might break. She kept trying to guess, but she couldn’t. Not even Dad could guess what our present was.
After family prayer and the blessing on the food, I told Mom to open our present. I knew we couldn’t eat until Mom had opened it.
She took the paper off really slow, and then she took the lid off the shoe box. Her eyes got really big, but she didn’t say anything, and we weren’t sure if she liked our horned toads. We didn’t know if she thought they were too little or not the right color. But then she got a great big smile on her face, and she looked at Aaron and Jarom and me. Her eyes were sparkling like they do sometimes when she’s real happy. We knew then that she was glad to get those three horned toads.
She got up and gave us each a great big kiss and said, “I’ll never forget this Mother’s Day. Horned toads are the best Mother’s Day surprise I’ve ever received!”
After we’d all had a good look at the horned toads, Dad said we should take them out to the garage for a while. But Mom said it would be OK to put them on the chair by the telephone if we wouldn’t bother them while we ate.
After dinner, Mom looked at her horned toads and said, “I don’t like to see toads closed up in an old shoe box. Why don’t you boys build them a house outside where they won’t feel sad and where we can go to visit them.”
The next day after kindergarten, Aaron and Jarom and I went out in the backyard by the grapevine. We’d seen lots of horned toads there, so we knew that that was one of their favorite spots. We found a shady place where there were lots of crunchy leaves. We got some rocks and put them in a little pile under the grapevines, and that was Mom’s horned-toad house. The horned toads really liked it. As soon as we let them out of the shoe box, they waddled as fast as they could into their little rock house.
Those horned toads were our very best Mother’s Day present. And Mom said one of her favorite times of the day was when she went out to the grapevine with Aaron and Jarom and me and watched her very own horned toads.