Gospel Story Finder

Toward the end of the school year, Karen invited me to a Gold and Green Ball, whatever that was! I had never been to a dance in a church, and I had to dress in a suit! I was amazed to see a gym in a church building.
But what went on in the gym surprised me even more. Adults and teenagers were talking, laughing, and even dancing together. My friends had always thought it was “uncool” to like your parents. All over the nation there was an uproar about communication breakdown between parents and their children. But these people all seemed to be friends, regardless of age.
I asked Karen about it. She said it was because of the Church. As she took me on a tour of the building, I pondered what she had said. By the time I went home that night, I felt these people were unique, choice in some way I didn’t fully understand. They had a lot to be proud of.

While they were living in Florida an incident with a persistent bug taught him a lesson about keeping small sins out of our lives. He wrote: “One evening as my neighbor and I stood on the front steps, he noticed a little bug crossing my sidewalk. ‘You better spray your lawn,’ he warned. ‘There goes a mole cricket.’ I had sprayed the lawn with insecticide not too many weeks previously, and I hardly felt that I had the time or money to do it again so soon.

“In the light of the next morning, I examined my lawn closely. It was lush and beautifully green. I looked down into the grass to see if I could see any of the little bugs. I could see none. I remember thinking, Well, maybe that little mole cricket was just passing through my yard on the way to my neighbor’s yard.

“The story, however, has a sad ending. I came out the front door one morning, about 10 days after the conversation with my neighbor. Shockingly, as if it had happened overnight, brown spots covered my lawn. I ran to the garden store, bought the insecticide, and sprayed immediately, but it was too late. The lawn was ruined, and to return it to its former state required a new crop of sod, long hours of work, and large expense.

“My neighbor’s warning was central to my lawn’s welfare. He saw things I could not see. He knew something I did not know. He knew that mole crickets live underground and are active only at night, making my daytime examinations ineffective. He knew that mole crickets did not eat the leaves of the grass but rather found nourishment in the roots. He knew that these little inch-long creatures could eat a lot of roots before I would ever see the effect above the ground. I paid a dear price for my smug independence.

“We live in a wonderful day. The blessings of our generation are lush and beautifully green. With faith in the Savior and obedience to the commandments, our lives can be full of satisfaction and joy.

“Our challenges in choosing to serve the Lord are more subtle than those of former days. There are spiritual mole crickets that burrow under our protective walls and invade our delicate roots. Many of these insects of wickedness appear small, at times almost invisible. Yet if we do not combat them, they will do damage and attempt to destroy that which is most precious to us. …

“With the influences of evil that surround us, can we even imagine going out in the morning without kneeling and humbly asking together for the Lord’s protection? Or closing the day without kneeling together and acknowledging our accountability before Him and our thankfulness for His blessings? (“Debugging Your Life,” New Era, Aug. 2000, 4).

All the family lifts weights together. Even Megan, the youngest, who is 12, can bench press a little more than she weighs. She blames her brothers for getting her started. And they blame their dad, Dan Brown, for getting them started.

“I was pretty skinny,” Denver says. “I asked my dad what I could do to start looking better and be healthier.” His dad had lifted weights in high school and picked it up again when his children became interested. Denver’s example got his brothers and cousins interested too.

“Denver was doing it, so I started,” says Navaar. “I found out I could break records, so I just went for it.” Navaar, who is 14, holds a national bench-press record for his age group.

Some years ago I visited a large ranch in southern Utah with the ranch’s owner. While there, I noticed a long, narrow, winding gravel road. I learned that at one time this remote, lonely desert road stretched for miles and miles across southern Utah and northern Arizona, then dipped south into communities along Arizona’s Little Colorado River. Mormon pioneers had established these communities, and this road was their link to the Mormon settlement of St. George, Utah. The road was once well traveled by horse and wagon. It was known as the “Honeymoon Trail.”
The Honeymoon Trail was so named by prospective brides and grooms traveling from settlements in northern Arizona to receive their endowments and to be sealed for time and eternity in the St. George Temple.
In the late 1800s and early 1900s, the journey required a few days or several weeks, depending on where the honeymooners were living. Most of these valiant young couples spent many nights on the trail under the stars, often sleeping on the ground or in wagon boxes. The young couples and their families faced formidable challenges in the vast American desert, which receives less than 20 centimeters of rainfall each year. Their food rations were sometimes scant; they usually had only stale water to drink. They faced many dangers, including rattlesnakes, coyotes, bobcats, and desert foxes.
Why did these young people cross barren desert at great personal sacrifice and expense and sometimes at the risk of physical danger? The glistening white St. George Temple was the first temple completed and dedicated west of the Mississippi River. The desire of these young couples to be sealed overpowered their reluctance to face the hardships they knew they would have to endure to reach the temple.

“Wow! Imagine living like that!” I’ve thought many times as I’ve traveled and lived abroad. I was 12 years old the first time I lived overseas. I went to Germany as a foreign exchange student, and there I learned that individuals and families in other places lived differently than I did.
Life-styles were different, food was different, transportation was different, languages were different. I was a stranger in a strange place, and I wondered how to respond. A big part of me wanted to surround myself with familiar things which would make the differences feel farther away. But there was also a part of me that wanted to completely submerge myself in the new culture and absorb it. I suppose I found a happy medium, leaning sometimes more towards one culture, and sometimes more towards the other.

One cool, crisp day we were scrimmaging on the football field at Granite High School in Salt Lake City. We were preparing for a big game on Friday afternoon. The farmers who had been harvesting their celery crops in the fields around the stadium came over to watch us. Earlier that afternoon the fastener on my helmet had broken, and I had difficulty keeping my helmet on. In every play as I was jostled, my helmet would fly off and go rolling away, and I would have to scurry around and find it before the next play. Coach Rex Sutherland would not let us play without helmets because it was too dangerous.
On one important play I received a slight jar and my helmet went rolling away, but the play was still moving and I was in the middle of it. I didn’t want to leave the action of the play and go find my helmet, so I continued to press hard to tackle the ball carrier on the other side. I put my head down to bore in and try to grab the ball carrier. One of the players who was running interference for the ball carrier hit me hard, and I went down and lost consciousness.
Imagine my embarrassment when I regained consciousness and found the players huddled around looking down at me while I was lying on my back on the ground. It seemed like not only the players, but also the spectators were wondering what was the matter with me. Coach Sutherland wanted to know, in a concerned voice, if I could move. I was a little sick to my stomach and unsteady, but I said in as strong a voice as I could muster that I was all right. Then I got up and found my helmet and headed for my position in the lineup for the next play.
That was the only time that I was ever knocked unconscious. It was my own fault. I had learned a great lesson—it is always important to keep your chin strap fastened so that your helmet is in place and you have protection.

President Thomas S. Monson
A faithful Church member in Hungary saves his tithing for years until he can give it to his home teachers.

Water’s Way by Lisa Westberg Peters As Tony watches the water change from vapor to rain to vapor to snow outside, you can see what he sees and more, for the water inside his house changes right along with the water outside it.

Later, in Pilkana, a suburb of Calcutta, Cécile found scorching temperatures, flood conditions throughout the monsoon season, and a level of poverty that dumbfounded her. “But I also found so much hope, because the children still know how to laugh and have fun like children all over the world.”
There Cécile also met a European couple who had been working for twenty years to help the most destitute Indians become self-reliant. “They had started a wholly Indian welfare project, and I was lucky to be allowed into that undertaking,” she says. “I found a training center where girls fourteen to seventeen are taught to make batik prints, so that one day they may be able to provide for their families.”
With her experience in fashion design, Cécile also trained the girls to make patterns and cut and sew their own clothing. The girls now make clothes for the children in the orphanage.
Cécile also helped with the opening of a soup line for the poor—and free medical examinations. “There,” she says, “those who have little give to those who have nothing.”

Elder Kelly R. Johnson remembers well the day he was called as a bishop at age 31. That same day he was diagnosed with Bell’s palsy—a condition in which the muscles on one side of the face become paralyzed or weakened.
It was a challenging time, not only because of the discomfort and embarrassment caused by the condition but also because of his many new responsibilities. But that difficult time became a blessing.
“Not knowing what the long-term situation would be, I developed a compassion for individuals that has been with me through the rest of my life,” he said. “I really learned that people go through tough and sad things they can’t control that impact their abilities, feelings, and confidence.”

I was asleep in my bedroom one May morning when my older brother shook me awake and said, “Get up! They think Dad is dead.”
Those words and that situation are branded vividly into the far corners of my mind even though I was only eight when Dad died. The clear memory of that morning never leaves, and I’m glad it doesn’t. That’s part of the link between life and death.
When I sat on the front porch that spring day, I thought, If I live to be an old man, it’s going to seem like an eternity before I see Dad again. I was feeling sorry for myself, and I believe it was a normal reaction for anyone who loses a family member. As well as feeling very, very sad, I also felt cheated.
The week of Dad’s death and burial was hectic, traumatic, and totally different from anything else I had ever done. Life was a blurred and chaotic state. Existing schedules were thrown to the wind as life suddenly took a direction that seemed almost a reversal from previous paths and routes. Confusion entered my mind like it never had before.
For my family, the memories were far too painful after Dad died, so Mother sold our house and we moved to another city. She felt strongly that our lives would be happier in a different location where we could all look ahead instead of looking back. I think she felt that way because her immediate plan was to remain a widow the rest of her life. For me, the rest of my life was a long, long time to go.
As I thought and prayed about the move away from lifelong friends—a deeply traumatic experience for any young person—the Holy Ghost whispered to me, “Trust her. She is your mother. She will not lie to you or deceive you. Everything that she is doing is for your own good.”
As time passed, I longed for Dad on many occasions. Nevertheless, my life went on with joy, happiness, and pleasure. My grandfather—Dad’s father—spent much time with us, striving to be a father figure. The bishop often took us on father-and-son outings. Home teachers took us fishing and saw to other needs. School teachers showed great interest. Many adults gave of their time and talents so that we could experience those things that normally happen to young people.
Still, I longed for both parents to be in attendance when I was elected student-body vice president, when I scored three touchdowns in the first football game of my senior year, and when I graduated from high school.
None of this is ever meant to imply that Mother did not do a great job. But growing up with only one parent is a tough assignment. One parent can only do so much, and one is never as good as a team of two.
What I learned, though, is that when a parent dies, the world does not stop. There were days when I wished it would slow down so I could sort out the feelings of my heart. However, God will not ask more of us than what we are capable of giving. He will watch over us and protect us as we strive to do what’s right.
The hurt of burying one parent never goes away. The deep longing to be near them will never totally disappear. Dad’s comments to me during my childhood are so vivid that my memory signals that we will never be completely separated. As time goes by now, the storm clouds mostly pass like speeded-up, time-lapse photography. I quickly see that the sky is blue again.
That is the promise we each have, for God said, “Blessed is he that … is faithful in tribulation. … Ye cannot behold with your natural eyes, for the present time, the design of your God concerning those things which shall come hereafter, and the glory which shall follow. … For after much tribulation come the blessings. Wherefore the day cometh that ye shall be crowned with much glory; … Remember this, … that you may lay it to heart, and receive that which is to follow” (D&C 58:2–5).

I asked him once why girls liked him so much, and he said it was because he treated them right. I asked him what he meant, and he said you’ve got to remember one thing about girls and that is that they’re people too. And I said well of course they are. Everybody knows that. So he named this really foxy movie star, and asked me if I thought anybody knew what her favorite color was. And I said no. And he said, that’s because people don’t treat her like she is a person. What do they treat her like, I asked, and he said they treat her like she’s a toy.

You can’t do that, he said. You’ve got to find out interesting things about them, like if they ever had measles, or when’s the last time they used crayons to draw a picture, or if they’ve ever baked a pecan pie, or if they play the piano, or if they know how to change the oil in a car.

On the islands of Maui, Hawaii, and Molokai, he served as presiding elder and learned to receive and extend love. He recorded in his journal in March 1856 that a brother on Maui “gave me his shoes from off his feet and went barefooted himself. … This was a specimen of his love to me that should not be forgotten.”13

Within the next week several of our Church friends and acquaintances who had heard about our success asked us if we planned to have other groups for the lessons. We said yes, and invited them and their nonmember friends to attend. Several accepted.
This time we invited all of the remaining nonmember and part-member couples on our list. Again, about two-thirds accepted. We also visited the homes of the couples who had attended those first groups but had chosen not to be baptized. We simply told them we were having two other groups over for the discussions and invited them to attend again. To our great surprise, they all agreed to come. This time the groups consisted of about twenty-five people each, and the Spirit was even stronger.
Elder Chadwick and Elder Stoddard were better at leading the discussions, and our answers to questions were generally clearer. We were also more sensitive to the Spirit in our prayers. Several members who attended later told us they had not really known what a testimony was until they experienced the teachings and the Spirit in those meetings. To our continued surprise, about two-thirds of those who attended gained testimonies and were baptized, along with some of their children who were taught separately by the elders.

When Dad suggested we go tubing, I was excited. I had never gone floating down a river on an inner tube, and it sounded like fun. Dad said that it would be fun but that we also needed to be careful and watch out for logs and other hidden dangers. He said that the river is a lot like life—if we follow the wrong path, even unknowingly, we are in danger of getting hurt. We all promised to be careful and to watch out for each other.
After we had inflated our inner tubes, Mom dropped us off at the river. The water was muddy and moving fast. Dad told me to sit back in the tube with my legs and arms hanging out. When I did, I gave a little screech, both because the water was cold and because I started floating away from my family. My big sister soon caught up with me and reached out to hold my hand. Soon we were floating down the river together beneath the big trees that grew along the banks.
After about an hour, my sister and I decided to share one inner tube, and we hand-paddled over to very shallow water so we could do it safely. We had fun grabbing the vines that hung into the water, watching the birds, and reaching up to pick leaves from low tree branches. The water didn’t seem very deep, and sometimes my sister, who is very tall, would slide off the tube and push us around sandbars so that we wouldn’t get stuck.
We were trying to avoid two sandbars when she discovered that she couldn’t reach the bottom. Suddenly we were both caught up by a swift current and pushed into some fallen branches. The inner tube flipped over. I fell into the river. Thanks to my life jacket, I stayed afloat, but I couldn’t get out of the strong current. I was being scratched by the branches as I struggled and called out for help. My sister tried to reach me, but she was also caught in the current. She was hanging onto a big branch so that she wouldn’t get pushed under the water.
Dad immediately saw us and came to our rescue. He had to move carefully because he could barely touch bottom and didn’t want to get caught in the current like we were. He climbed over some branches and reached out for me. As soon as he was close enough, I grabbed onto his neck, and he held me tight. Then he put me on the inner tube and pushed me toward my brother. My brother grabbed the inner tube and pulled me to safety. Then Dad helped my sister. Finally we were all safe on a sandbar.
After a brief rest, we continued to float down the river. This time I was sitting in Dad’s lap. I was still a little scared, but after a while, I closed my eyes and relaxed. When I opened my eyes, I saw some hawks. Then I saw Mom waving from a bridge, and I knew that we had come to the end of our journey. I was very grateful that we had arrived safely.
That night Mom asked me what I had learned from my experience. I told her that even though I’d done what Dad had told us to do, I still had needed help. I said that whenever I need help, I’ll think of the river and remember that my family will always be there to help me.
Mom said that those were good things to remember. She also said that Heavenly Father is watching out for me and that I should remember to thank Him for that when I prayed. I did. I know that Heavenly Father watched out for me on the river. And I know that He watches out for me every day and wants to protect me from life’s hidden dangers.

A few years ago I was having a rough time in my life. One of my brothers was on a mission, another was at college, and, among other things, we found out my dad had terminal cancer and wasn’t going to live very long.
That summer I went to Especially for Youth at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. While I was there I had a really bad attitude. I didn’t care about the gospel or the Church anymore. And I didn’t care about Heavenly Father, because in my eyes He had abandoned my family and me. During one of the talks at EFY, the speaker mentioned that Heavenly Father loved and cared for us very much.
I was laughing inside, thinking, “Yeah, right, that’s what you think.” Yet something inside me really wanted to know if Heavenly Father did love me and did care for me. The speaker challenged us to ask Heavenly Father to see if the Church was true.
That night I decided to give prayer a try. I knelt, and I just asked. I was on my knees for a few minutes and nothing happened. I wanted to know so much that it seemed like something deep inside me was just begging for some love from Heavenly Father. At that moment I felt like someone was cradling me. My heart felt so warm and so peaceful. I felt this huge weight being lifted from my shoulders, and then I heard a quiet whisper: “I love you so much.”
I started to bawl. I knew my Father in Heaven cared for me. I knew He loved me!
I didn’t ask Him if the Church was true. I didn’t ask Him if the Book of Mormon was true. All I asked for was love, and He gave it to me. As soon as He did, everything seemed to fall into place. I knew who I was. I knew the Book of Mormon was true. I knew the gospel was true.
Today I am so happy! My Father in Heaven loves me! He loves me so much that He gave His Son to save me and everybody else. He loves all of us. Christ loves us too, or He wouldn’t have suffered and died for us. I’m grateful for Their love for all of us.

In 2016 The Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square came to visit the Netherlands and Belgium. And since I was involved in that exciting event, I had the opportunity to enjoy their performance twice.
During their performance I was thinking about what a tremendous undertaking it was to move a choir of that size. My mind was drawn to the big gong, which was difficult and probably costly to ship over in comparison with the violin, the trumpet, or other instruments you could easily carry under your arm. But looking at the actual involvement of this gong, I realized it was only hit a few times, whereas the other smaller instruments were involved for most of the concert. I reflected that without the sound of the gong, the performance would not be the same and so the effort had to be made to move this big gong all the way across the ocean.
Sometimes we might feel that we are, like that gong, good enough only to play a minor part in the performance. But let me tell you that your sound is making all the difference.

“Betsy! Eliza! Wake up and get ready! We’re finally going to go.” Tommy called.
Betsy sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Go where?” she asked sleepily.
“Out west,” replied Tommy. “Brother Morley was just here, and he said our company would leave Winter Quarters this afternoon. We’ll have to hurry to get ready.”
“We have moved so many times,” Betsy grumbled. “Why can’t we stay here in our house with our garden and our friends?”
Betsy’s mother did not say anything at first. She walked over to the bed, sat down on the edge, and put her arm around Betsy’s shoulders.
“It’s been a long time, Betsy, since we left Nauvoo. You were six years old then; now you are almost eight. During that time you have been brave and I have been proud of you.
“In Nauvoo you left your home, your kitty, your clock, and your chair with the big round back. In Sugar Creek you gave your feather bed to Sister Johnson so that she could keep her newborn baby warm and comfortable. In Garden Grove you said goodbye to the log cabin your father built and the rope spring bed you helped to make. At Council Bluffs you waved goodbye to your father as he marched with the Mormon Battalion.
“Each time we moved, you left behind something that was precious to you. But each time we moved, we came closer to the place our Heavenly Father has prepared for us out west! Today we are leaving again. We’ll soon build homes and plant gardens in the valley, where we’ll have friends and go to school and serve the Lord the way he would like us to serve him.”
Betsy was thoughtful for a moment; then she looked up at her mother and asked, “What can I do, Mother, to help get ready?”
Betsy’s mother smiled softly as she answered, “We are almost out of match papers, Betsy. You may fold some. Where we will be traveling there are no stores, so our box of matches will have to last a long, long time.”
Eliza and Betsy folded small pieces of paper over and over again until the papers were thin and firm enough to light one fire from another. When they had folded a hundred of these, Betsy’s mother asked the girls to make twenty-five rag candles by tightly twisting pieces of cloth and wrapping them with string. These candles, soaked in grease and lighted, made a good light.
Tommy and Elija checked the wagons. Tommy took one wheel to the blacksmith for repair while Elija and Mother stretched new canvas over the wagons. When Tommy returned, they loaded the wagons and hitched up the oxen. Then Tommy and Elija climbed up in the drivers’ seats, and drove the two wagons to the square.
As soon as all those in the company reached the square ready to start, their leader quieted them and then gave some last-minute instructions. “As you know, Brigham Young and his company left several weeks ago. They are blazing the trial we will follow.
“Each night our wagons must form a corral by locking the front wheels of one wagon with the rear wheels of the next wagon until a tight circle is formed. We’ll keep the animals inside the circle.
“A bugle will sound at five each morning, at which time each family should gather for prayer. Then you will have two hours to eat and do your chores. At seven another bugle will sound to signal the wagon train to move forward.
“Tonight we will camp four miles from here, and tomorrow morning we’ll be on our way out west!”
Just then someone rode up beside Tommy’s wagon. The man handed Tommy a letter and said, “This letter for your mother was delivered to Brigham Young’s camp up ahead with mail from the Mormon Battalion.”
Mother hurriedly opened the envelope, scanned the letter, and then read it aloud:
“I know that you will probably be on your way by the time you receive this letter. It will not always be easy, but take comfort knowing you are not alone. The brethren will help you, and our Heavenly Father will be as close as you will let him be. I will meet you all in the valley.
“Tell Eliza and Elija that their father is well and sends his love.”
“It will be wonderful!” shouted Tommy. “We’ll all be together again.”
Tommy’s mother gave him a warm smile. “We really will be together, Tommy. This is truly good news.”
Just then they heard the bugle that signaled for the long wagon train to start moving. Betsy and Eliza waved to their friends who had come to the square to say goodbye. “We’ll be waiting to see you,” they called.
And the wagon train began its long journey out west.

Julie’s father once told her that wolves love each other, and if you learn to speak to them, they will love you too. When Julie is alone and lost on the north slope of the Alaska tundra, her only hope of survival is to receive help from the wolf pack near the shelter built by the thirteen-year-old Eskimo girl to protect her against the bitter cold. She knows she must gain the friendship of Amaroq, the leader of the wolf pack.
How Julie manages to survive and reach civilization is so beautifully told that this exciting story received the 1973 Newbery Medal for children’s literature.

Jackie didn’t like Mrs. Baxter very much.
When Jackie and her friend Tara played in the street, Mrs. Baxter shouted at them to be quiet. She chased Tara’s kitten away with her newspaper. And when Jackie’s Frisbee landed in the grumpy neighbor’s window box, she wouldn’t give the Frisbee back.
So when Jackie and Tara saw Mrs. Baxter come out of the grocery store and something flutter from her open purse, they didn’t run to pick it up for her.
“She’s mean,” Tara said.
“The meanest lady in town!” agreed Jackie. “She wouldn’t even listen when I said I was sorry that the Frisbee broke her flowers.”
They watched Mrs. Baxter put her sack of groceries on the hood of her car and rummage in her purse. She pulled out her keys, unlocked the car, put the groceries in the trunk, and drove away.
“She doesn’t know she dropped anything!” Tara exclaimed, watching the big black car turn the corner.
Jackie ran to see what Mrs. Baxter had dropped. “It’s a five-dollar bill!”
“Too bad for her!” Tara said. “Finders, keepers—losers, weepers!”
“We can’t keep it!” Jackie looked at her friend in surprise. “We saw her drop it. We have to give it back!”
“What about your Frisbee that she kept?” Tara said. “She owes you for a new one! It isn’t stealing!”
“Wellll …” Jackie looked at President Lincoln’s picture on the five-dollar bill. He seemed to be looking back at her. Quickly she stuffed the money into her pocket. “I guess it wouldn’t be stealing if I get a new Frisbee with it. Come on, let’s look for one.”
There was a sports store nearby. The girls squeezed past a display of gleaming bikes and headed toward the Frisbees.
“I wish she’d dropped a five-hundred-dollar bill!” whispered Tara. “Then we could both get new bikes!”
That would really be stealing, Jackie thought. Keeping five dollars is a lot different from keeping five hundred dollars! Or is it? She tried to ignore the tight feeling in her stomach. Of course it wasn’t stealing—Mrs. Baxter owed it to her.
“How about this one?” Tara held up a fluorescent pink Frisbee.
Jackie put her hand in her pocket, twisting the five-dollar bill around her fingers. She thought about President Lincoln. He was known as “Honest Abe.” What would he think of her if she spent the money?
Tara was waiting for her answer. “I’m not getting a Frisbee,” Jackie said. “It’s Mrs. Baxter’s money.”
“Wait—”
Tara tried to say something, but Jackie didn’t listen. She knew that her friend was saying that it was stupid to give the money back.
Hurrying out of the store, Jackie unlocked her bike and rode off. As she turned into her street, she saw Mrs. Baxter climbing the two front steps to her apartment building, struggling to get out her key with one hand while still clutching the grocery sack.
Jackie hesitated. She’ll probably just yell at me, she thought. Maybe Tara’s right.
Mrs. Baxter was inside by the time Jackie set her bike down and walked slowly toward the door. As she passed the window box, she noticed the broken geraniums. They had been propped up on sticks and tied in place with green yarn. Mrs. Baxter may not like children and kittens, but she loves her flowers.
Jackie stared at the doorbell. Slowly she lifted her finger and pushed. Was that thumping sound her heart pounding, or was it Mrs. Baxter’s footsteps? It was Tara running up the path to stand beside her. Jackie smiled at her friend.
The door opened two inches and Mrs. Baxter peered out from behind the security chain. “What do you want?”
“You dropped this by the supermarket.” Jackie held out the five-dollar bill. As she passed it through the gap in the door, Mrs. Baxter grabbed it, then slammed the door.
She didn’t even thank me for returning the money! She’ll probably always chase the kitten and shout at us and keep our Frisbees, Jackie thought.
Jackie still didn’t like Mrs. Baxter. But she liked herself. Mrs. Baxter may not like me, but I’m glad that I returned the money. She was sure that Heavenly Father was pleased with her, too, and that was what mattered.