Gospel Story Finder

Some years ago my wife, Harriet, and I had a memorable experience in which we saw this promise fulfilled. We were in West Africa, a beautiful part of the world where the Church is growing and the Latter-day Saints are delightful. However, West Africa also has many challenges. In particular, I was sorrowed by the poverty that I saw. In the cities there is high unemployment, and families often struggle to provide for their daily needs and for their safety. It broke my heart to know that many of our precious members of the Church live in such deprivation. But I also learned that these fine members help each other to lighten their heavy burdens.

We eventually arrived at one of our meetinghouses near a large city. But instead of finding a people burdened and absorbed by darkness, we discovered a joyful people who were radiating with light! The happiness they felt for the gospel was contagious and lifted our spirits. The love they expressed for us was humbling. Their smiles were genuine and infectious.

I remember wondering at the time if there could possibly be a happier people on the face of the planet. Even though these dear Saints were surrounded by difficulties and trials, they were filled with light!

The meeting began, and I started to speak. But soon the power went out in the building, and we were left in complete darkness.

For a while I could hardly see anyone in the congregation, but I could see and feel the brilliant and beautiful smiles of our Saints. Oh, how I loved being with these wonderful people!

The darkness in the chapel continued, and so I sat next to my wife and waited for the power to be restored. As we waited, something remarkable happened.

A few voices began singing one of the hymns of the Restoration. And then others joined in. And then more. Soon, a sweet and overwhelming chorus of voices filled the chapel.

These members of the Church did not need hymnbooks; they knew every word of every hymn they sang. And they sang one song after another with an energy and spirit that touched my soul.

Eventually, the lights sparked back on and bathed the room with light. Harriet and I looked at each other, our cheeks wet with tears.

In the midst of great darkness, these beautiful, wonderful Saints had filled this Church building and our souls with light.

It was a profoundly moving moment for us—one Harriet and I will never forget.

As the years go by, I continue to reflect on the Sabbath days of my youth and young adulthood. I still remember the first day I passed the sacrament as a deacon and the little glass cups I passed to the members of our ward. A few years ago a Church building in my hometown was remodeled. A compartment in the pulpit had been sealed. When it was opened, there were some of these little glass cups that had remained hidden for years. One of them was presented to me as a memento.
As I think about those sacrament cups from my youth, one in the sheltered valley of my boyhood home and the other thousands of miles away in the Pacific, I am filled with gratitude that the Savior of the world was willing to drink from the “bitter cup”17 for my sake. And because He did, I can say with the Psalmist, “My cup runneth over”18 with the blessings of His infinite and eternal Atonement.

I experienced the blessing of this promise when Aaron and I lived in Virginia getting ready to go to Law school. One morning when I went out to check our mail I saw a lady on the other side of the street carrying a sewing machine towards the dumpsters. She looked Asian and I thought, maybe she’s Filipino. I called out to her and asked if she was going to throw the sewing machine away. She was looking at me funny and nodded yes.. Then she asked if I wanted it. She said she got a new one and didn’t need her old one. It was still in great condition so I asked for it. Judging by her accent, I asked if she was Chinese. She said yes and without thinking, I said “my husband speaks Chinese. He served as a missionary for our church for two years in Taiwan.” I saw her face light up when I said Aaron spoke Chinese and then a confused look crossed her face as she said “missionary?” I further explained that we were Mormons and when our young men turn 19, they go on missions to different places to share the Gospel of Jesus Christ. From then on Regina and I got together often so our sons could play. We became really good friends. She asked me a lot about the church and what I believe in but I never asked her to take the missionary discussions. I did invite her to church and she came a few times but then she started a laundromat business and got really busy. After a few months, I wondered to myself if I was just scared to ask her if she’d be willing to listen to the missionaries. So Aaron and I prayed about it and decided it’s time for me to ask her. On my way to her laundromat, I prayed for the strength and courage to make the invitation. When I got there, she was so excited to see me. She said “perfect timing, no costumers,” and when we sat down she said “May, I want to ask you something.” I thought she was going to ask me her usual questions about the church, but I was surprised to hear what came out of her mouth next. She said, “May, do you think I could join your church? And what should I do to get baptized?” At that moment, all my fears vanished and my heart was filled with gratitude to my Heavenly Father and love for my dear friend.

Perfect love casteth out all fears! Elder Dallin H. Oaks said, “The most effective missionaries, member and full-time, always act out of love.… I hope no person we approach with an invitation to hear the message of the restored gospel feels that we are acting out of any reason other than a genuine love for them and an unselfish desire to share something we know to be precious. If we lack this love for others, we should pray for it” (Sharing the Gospel, Ensign, Nov. 2001).

I know that as Aaron and I prayed for Regina, we both grew to love her and wanted so much for her to enjoy the blessings of the gospel of Jesus Christ. It was the love I had for my friend that helped me have the courage to go see her with the intention of inviting her. And in the end she beat me to it. While Regina was taking the missionary discussions she invited her nephew, who was staying with her, to join her learn more about the LDS church.
Aaron baptized Regina Au on June 1, 1997, and Regina’s nephew got baptized a week earlier.

A few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to witness, as Nephi had, direct and not so direct answers to my own prayers. Back in January of this year, my brother-in-law, who had just turned 50, set the goal for himself to climb to the top of the Grand Teton, a mountain peak just across the Idaho border in Wyoming that stands at 13,775 feet in elevation. Two of my brothers and I had climbed the mountain before and agreed to help him reach his goal. This adventure quickly turned into a family affair and when we left on the trip at the end of August there were 7 of us total--4 brothers, 2 brothers-in-law, and my brother's climbing partner. Our plan had been to hit the trail at about 3 a.m. on a Tuesday morning, summit, and come all the way back down but due to some concerns about the weather on Tuesday, we made a last minute decision to leave Monday night and hike through the night so that we could summit as early as possible before the weather hit. We were not able to move as fast as we had hoped, but the weather held and we were all able to summit late Tuesday morning.

Storm clouds were moving in so we only spent a few minutes on the top of the mountain. Because of our later summit, by the time we started down, we were the only group still on the mountain. As part of our descent, we had two significant rappels that we had to do. A rappel is a way to move down a steep section of rock using a rope that passes through a device that provides friction. We navigated the first rappel without incident, but the second rappel proved to be a different story. This particular rappel consisted of dropping vertically 10 or 15 feet to a ledge and then backing off that ledge and dropping vertically for over 100 feet. We got our ropes set up and then carefully stacked the ropes so that they would unravel properly as we threw them over the edge.

My brother Matt was the first one to rappel down. He went over the edge and disappeared from sight. We waited for him to reach the bottom and for the tension to come off the rope. We kept waiting and waiting. A few minutes passed and we started yelling to Matt to see if he was o.k. The wind was blowing which made it difficult to hear, but finally in a lull in the wind, Matt was able to tell us that there was a knot in the rope. Two knots had actually formed in the rope as it twisted and unraveled when we threw it over. Matt had been able to work the first knot out, but the second knot got into his rappelling device and he was completely stuck on the knot. Matt had been trying everything to get the knot out. He had tied what is called a prussic to the line to try and ascend back up the rope, but had been unsuccessful in doing so. We couldn't see Matt, but we knew he had to be exhausted. At this point we called 911 and were patched through to the ranger station. The ranger told us they could get a helicopter, but with the weather rolling in as it was, we didn't have time for that to happen.

We decided our best bet was to try to pull Matt back up to the ledge so that he could stand and get the knot out of his rappelling device. Through the wind we asked Matt how far he was from the ledge. We thought we heard "six feet." There was only space for 4 of us to grab hold of the rope, but we figured we could pull Matt up six feet. We pulled and pulled and pulled with everything we had and then tied the rope off. We had pulled at least 6 feet but the rope was still taut. We yelled again to Matt to see how close he was to the ledge and this time we clearly heard that he was 60 feet from the ledge. I couldn't believe it. My arms were burning and I remember thinking to myself that there was no way we would be able to pull him up 60 more feet. Just as I had that thought, my brother Kyle said that we needed to say a prayer. We bowed our heads and Kyle prayed that we would have the strength to save our brother and then we started pulling and strength truly came that was not our own. For every foot of progress, we would lose several inches due to the give in the rope and having to reposition our hands, but slowly and surely we were finally able to pull Matt to the ledge where he was able to stand and get the knot out of his rappelling device and then rappel down safely.

In the very instance of need, our prayer was answered as we were given the strength to pull our brother to safety.

A couple of years ago I was at my cousin’s birthday party. She had invited two of her other friends to the party, and we were having lots of fun when one of her friends said, “Let’s watch a movie.” We all agreed. Then they said they wanted to watch a PG-13 movie.
I had a sick feeling in my stomach. I wasn’t allowed to watch PG-13 movies, and I knew what I had to do. I’d been baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. I had to stand up for myself. That was really hard because I’m kind of shy.
Finally I said, “I can’t watch PG-13 movies.”
I felt a little better then, but they started making suggestions like, “Just plug your ears.” I wouldn’t do it. Finally my cousin said, “OK, we won’t watch the movie.” I’m glad I listened to the Holy Ghost and obeyed the rules my mom and dad made for me.

In 1975, as a result of a civil war, Arnaldo and Eugenia Teles Grilo and their children had to leave behind their home and all that they had built through decades of hard work. Back in their native country of Portugal, Brother and Sister Teles Grilo faced the challenge of starting all over again. But years later, after joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, they said, “We lost everything we had, but it was a good thing because it compelled us to consider the importance of eternal blessings.”
They lost their earthly home, but they found the way back to their heavenly home.

“Hey, do you want to dance?”
I turned around to see a guy I vaguely recognized looking at me quizzically. The lights were dim and the music was loud, but I thought he was in my English class.
“Sure,” I said, and we made our way through the crowd to the dance floor.
“So, what’s your name?” he yelled. I couldn’t hear him very clearly above the music and voices surrounding us, but I knew what he said anyway. The dance conversation at BYU is always the same. It goes: “What’s your name? What’s your major? Where’re you from?”
I know this seems like an innocent conversation and nothing to complain about, but that third question is a real problem for me. I know my name, and I’ve known my major since I was a freshman, but to answer “Where are you from?” is practically impossible.
You see, my dad was in the U.S. Air Force the whole time I lived at home, and we lived in nine different places before I turned 18. So you tell me—where am I from?
Sometimes I give my origin according to my mood. Do I feel like I’m from Nebraska today, or is it more an Alaska day? Maybe I feel Southern and I’ll say Georgia, but then there’s always Colorado, Arizona, or California, if I feel like being from the West.
Of course, this method can get dangerous if friends start comparing notes, so I generally stick to a more honest answer. Lately I’ve taken to saying where my parents live right now. It saves time and gives curious people the definite answer they crave. It’s especially useful for loud and crowded dance floors.
One day I spent a lot of time thinking about where I was from. I tried to imagine a house I would call home, streets that would bring back childhood memories, and friends that could remember elementary school with me. And I realized that for me, home is not any of those things.
For me, home is my family. My two brothers, my sister, and my parents are what I think of when I think of home. Sure, I remember the houses we’ve lived in, but after my family left, the houses weren’t home anymore. I’ve gone back to look at some of them, and there always seems to be something missing.
I remember places I played when I was a child, too, but I don’t have any reason to go back to them now that my family is gone. And the only people who have known me since childhood are the members of my family.
I remember certain pieces of furniture that have been in our different houses, and I admit that I associate those with home. But they could change, just like the houses and towns and states have changed, and I would still have a home. Everything about a house can change, and as long as the love of the family that once lived there stays the same, there is still a home.
At times in my life I have craved a hometown and dreamed of one house to call home.
Now that I’m on my own, I know it’s not a house that I miss but my family. They are my home. Maybe I did miss out on some traditional aspects of home-town America. But I think I gained something beyond the memories of a particular house on a particular street. Instead, I know that no matter where my family happens to be, I can always go home.

In the late 1980s, Elder Carlos A. Godoy had just been released as bishop. He had also graduated from college, was working for a successful company, and thought life couldn’t get better—until an old friend came to visit.
That friend congratulated him but then asked a question that left him unsettled: “If you continue to live as you are living, will the blessings promised in your patriarchal blessing be fulfilled?”
Elder Godoy realized that he needed to make changes if he wanted to receive all his promised blessings. Despite his contentment, he decided to pursue a master’s degree. He quit his job, sold everything he owned, and, with his family, left the familiarity of Brazil to attend school in the United States.
Elder Godoy, named to the Presidency of the Seventy on March 31, 2018, said this experience taught him a lot about trusting in the Lord’s plan and being willing to leave his comfort zone.
“I know that the Lord has a plan for us in this life,” he testified in the October 2014 general conference. “He knows us. He knows what is best for us. Just because things are going well does not mean that we should not from time to time consider whether there might be something better.”

Permit me to illustrate this point with a parable. It involves studying at a university--perhaps some of you can relate to that experience.

Here is the parable:
A student wanted to obtain a good education and chose the university that she wanted to attend. She worked diligently to qualify, studying hard during high school, preparing to take the required qualifying tests, working to save money, and participating in other preparatory activities. Happily, she was admitted. She arranged for her housing, signed up for a meal plan, and registered for classes that sounded interesting. When she got to the university, she saw that there were many more exciting things to do--besides schoolwork--than she had anticipated. As a result, she went to class only when it didn't disrupt her other activities. She seldom completed her homework. She considered tests optional--especially the ones she knew would be hard. She focused on things that were convenient, interesting, and comfortable. After four years, she was shocked to learn that she wouldn't graduate. She had qualified for and paid the price for admission and had been on campus for four years, but she had failed to focus on and accomplish the very things she had come to college to do.
I hope this parable does not sound familiar to any of those listening today.

Last year, my Primary teacher asked us to pray for a girl in our class who hadn’t come to church. I decided to remember her in my personal prayers too. I prayed for her all year, even though I didn’t know her. I reminded my family to include her during family prayer too. I was so happy because that friend came to Primary on Christmas Sunday! She is now my friend and comes to church sometimes. I know Heavenly Father heard those prayers.
Campbell D., age 5, California, USA

Recently I listened to a young mother address a ward Relief Society meeting. She told us that she is losing her eyesight. She expressed gratitude for those who had been reading to her, driving her to appointments, and for another sister who was teaching her to play the piano. Relief Society sisters through their acts of kindness had offered her their light and helped to lessen the fear of this very difficult time of her transition into a world of darkness.

One woman who came to this realization wrote:
“Right after my divorce, I determined that I was going to give my children the best of everything. … I would provide well for them. … I would substitute in every way for their father. I would take them on picnics, build them a tree house, and play baseball with them. I would not allow them to suffer because of our divorce.
“I baked, sewed, ran, played, wrestled. I cleaned, I ironed. I was busy being both mother and father for them.
“One evening I put the three of them in the bathtub together while I finished a chore. Then I came back, soaped the youngest, rinsed him, lifted him from the tub, and stood him on a bath mat while I wrapped a towel around him. Then I carried him off to the bedroom to put his pajamas on and tuck him into bed. I repeated the process with his brother and then his sister.
“As I bent down to kiss them goodnight, my older son said, ‘Sing us a song, please.’
“‘Which one?’ I asked.
“‘“Rudolph”!’ said the youngest immediately.
“‘No, “Johnny Appleseed,”’ said his brother.
“Then their sister said, ‘Sing, “Stay Awake.”’
“‘I can see if I stay to sing one song, I’ll be singing for an hour, and I don’t have an hour to spare. So goodnight.’ I turned off the lights.
“‘Please sing just one song, mommy. You can choose the song.’
“‘What about our prayers?’
“Firmly, I replied, ‘I said goodnight and I mean goodnight.’
“As I walked back to the bathroom to tidy up, I thought of how grateful they would be someday when they were old enough to understand how much I had done for them!
“As I entered the room I stopped short. There on the bath mat were three perfect sets of damp footprints. For one brief moment I thought I saw standing in the footprints the spirits of those precious children I had just tucked into bed. In that instant I saw the foolishness of my ways. I had been so busy providing for the physical needs of their mortal bodies that I was neglecting their spirits. I knew then that I had a sacred obligation to nourish both. If I were to clothe them in the latest fashions and give them all that money could buy and fail to tend to their spiritual needs, I could not justifiably account for my awesome responsibility as their mother.
“Humbled, I went back to their bedroom. We knelt together in prayer. We all four climbed up on the boys’ big bed and sang song after song until I was the only one awake to sing.”

House Build B:
Estefania and her two children, Camila (5) and Diego (2), had been living in an extremely small, one-room home with five other members of her extended family.
As she was handed the keys to her first home, Estefania was brought to tears. She thanked the youth for this act of love and service. To her and her family, it represented the love of her community and the hope of a brighter future.

Though he joined none of the religious denominations that were competing so fiercely for converts, Joseph studied and pondered and investigated Christianity carefully. His inquiries led him to conclude that the New Testament church was no longer on the earth and that mankind “Had apostatized from the true and living faith.” (BYU Studies, 9:279.) While studying the scriptures one day, he read in the writings of James an inspired admonition to seek for divine wisdom through prayer. (See James 1:5.) Joseph concluded that unless he wanted to remain in uncertainty he should do as the ancient apostle suggested.

In the spring of 1820, Joseph Smith, then a boy not yet fifteen years of age, knelt to pray in a secluded grove of trees near his home. According to the accounts which he later gave of that important morning, he was concerned about his own salvation and about the welfare of mankind. More directly, he wanted to know which, if any, of the churches he should join. But as he began to pray, Joseph experienced a desperate struggle. As he tried to pray, he was seized by an evil power so strong that he could not speak. Distracting thoughts ran through his mind, he heard a noise like someone walking towards him, and soon he was enveloped in thick darkness which seemed about to overpower him.

Despite his alarm, young Joseph continued to pray inwardly for deliverance, and the evil presence disappeared, replaced by a bright pillar of light that descended around him in the grove. Within the intensely bright light two glorious beings appeared. One of them spoke to Joseph by name and pointed to the other saying, “This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him.” [JS—H 1:17]

As the solemn vision of the Father and the Son continued, Joseph’s questions were answered. The Savior told him his sins were forgiven, that none of the churches held all the correct doctrines or proper authority, and that the fulness of the gospel would be made known to him at some future time.

Joseph told the story of his sacred interview to his family and close friends. One with whom he shared the account of the vision was a minister, who treated his story lightly and challenged the reality of modern visions and revelations. Joseph was to find both believers and scoffers as he continued his preparation. Fortunately he would also find many, like himself, who were searching for God’s message of salvation. These were people turned toward religion, in part, because of the revivals of the early 1800s.

Welcome to the butterfly garden. Please move slowly, pay attention, and do not touch the butterflies.
Later …
How was the butterfly garden?
It was quiet and peaceful. I was kind of stressed at school today, but being in the garden made me feel better.
That’s how I feel when I go to the temple. I leave all my worries behind. I feel God’s love there.
I can’t wait until I’m old enough to go inside the temple. Can we visit the temple grounds together?
Of course!
This story took place in the USA.

“This is the Lord’s house, so we need to show respect and be at peace,” says Vincent Maiete, 17, of the Ridgeway Ward. Vincent came to the temple early in the morning along with other youth from his ward, including Roxanne Cockrell, Jimmy Plaatjies, and Kyle Zeeman.
Roxanne, 14, says, “It was my choice to come to the temple instead of sleeping.” But getting up early was worth it. She’s glad she chose to perform baptisms for the dead along with her friends. “I helped people. It was a good experience.”

When I was nine years old, I committed a crime. I made a decision to steal a comic book from a store. The owner did not catch me stealing, but at home my parents were suspicious, knowing that I had no money to buy the comic book. Once my mother got the truth from me, she took me back to the store, where I confessed my guilt to the owner. He let me decide how to make full restitution and how I was going to go about learning not to steal again.
The store’s floor was made of hardwood, and each evening the owner would throw sawdust down and sweep it to get up all of the dust and dirt that accumulated during the day. That job was assigned to me. I was sure that I would only have to do it for a few days. As I came into the store each afternoon after school to do my sweeping, the proprietor would nod his greeting and motion toward the broom and cardboard box of sawdust in the back. It was weeks before he told me one night that he thought I had swept long enough.
I tell you this particular story, not to relive the sin, but to point out that it is the sweeping and the price I had to pay that I remember vividly. I still have the memory of taking the comic book, but the feelings of guilt, heartsickness, distress, and deep sorrow are long gone because I was helped to repent. I remember those long hours of sweeping now to remind me of the price of stealing. That encourages me not to be dishonest again.

About seven years ago, when I was 29, I moved to Utah from Oregon, USA. After weighing my options, I decided to attend my local family ward, thinking I needed a change from the singles wards I had attended.
My parents raised me to always accept Church callings, so I made an appointment with the bishop to present myself as someone who wanted to be put to work. It wasn’t long before I found myself teaching the five-year-olds in Primary, which I enjoyed. Five months later the bishop called me to be Primary president. I was stunned. “Can I do that?” I asked myself.
Being single and childless made me wonder if I was qualified to serve in that capacity. In my past experience with family wards, Primary presidents were happily married, accomplished, and devoted mothers. Remembering what my parents had taught me, however, I accepted the new assignment. The bishop truly took to heart the mandate that bishops are to “find meaningful callings for all young single adults.”1 The calling may have been a little more meaningful than I was expecting, but I was grateful for it.
As I served in my new calling, I experienced many sweet, funny, and inspiring moments with the children. One year, during Christmastime, we reenacted the Nativity for a special sharing time. We sang songs. We furnished robes and towel headdresses for the shepherds and for Joseph. We had tinsel garlands for the angels’ heads. We made cardboard and foil-covered crowns for the Wise Men.
As we reenacted the Christmas story and sang the sacred songs of the season, I noticed the beautiful young girl who was portraying Mary. Her example of reverence and gentleness as she knelt, quietly holding the doll that represented the baby Jesus, touched my heart. The spirit of that moment made me thankful to a loving Heavenly Father for our Savior and helped strengthen my testimony of His profound and loving mission. It also made me thankful for the tremendous blessing I had received in being called to serve and for an inspired bishop who helped to make that service possible.
In the Doctrine and Covenants, we read, “Therefore, if ye have desires to serve God ye are called to the work” (D&C 4:3). Though this verse is usually associated with missionary work, I like to think that it can refer to any form of gospel-based service.
Regardless of marital or social status, each of us is first and foremost a child of a loving Heavenly Father, who wants us to grow, belong, develop our talents, serve one another, and help one another return to Him.
The acceptance and love I felt in that ward was instantaneous and remains in my heart to this day. My desire to serve was recognized and utilized, many people reached out and welcomed me, and Heavenly Father truly blessed me. Because of kind and attentive leaders, I was blessed to teach and learn from some of His most wonderful children.

One day I realized that I wasn’t reading my scriptures or doing some of the things I should be doing. I wasn’t being a good example to my brother and sister. So I decided to talk to my parents and my bishop about what was going on, to pray in the morning and at night, and to read my scriptures.

Sometimes I would pray to find answers to my questions through the scriptures. One morning, I prayed to have my eyes opened to something that I needed to know. I opened to Alma 38, where Alma is giving his son advice about things that you should and should not do. That really helped me out. This experience changed me because it opened my eyes to how much God loves us.

Doing what God wants me to do in the little things each day—including praying and reading my scriptures—helped me find these blessings.
Kade M., Hawaii, USA

“Linda Jean, haven’t you ever seen snow before?” Linda jumped and looked into the amused eyes of her fifth grade teacher, Miss Behne. “I’m sorry,” Linda replied, her face slowly coloring. “I love to watch the fat, swirly snowflakes.” Her answer made Bruce Hinds titter. Linda turned to glare at him. Then with a jaunty toss of her braids, she turned back to her book.
Suddenly a curtain was drawn across the sky. The pale afternoon sun ceased filtering its feeble rays through the falling snow, and the room became as shadowy as at sundown. A shiver seemed to shake the old school. Miss Behne glanced out the window apprehensively and said quickly, “All right, class, let’s finish our reading. We may have to leave school early today.”
Linda tried concentrating on the words before her, but Mrs. Mallory’s adventures in the book weren’t nearly as appealing as the world outside the window. The tempo of the falling snowflakes had increased, and the keening wind began an eerie, ominous whistling that meant only one thing in the north country—BLIZZARD! The old brick school was a landmark nestled among the patriarchal pines in the rolling hills. All the students lived on farms in the surrounding countryside. For some, like Linda, it was a long bus ride home.
A restlessness passed through the room like waves on a rough lake. Suddenly one of the seventh graders opened the classroom door and delivered a message from the principal: “School will be dismissed early today because of the approaching storm.”
Filled with excitement, the children and their teacher prepared to leave, chattering about the storm and the distinct possibility of no school the next day. Linda was a little surprised that they were letting out so early, because the storm wasn’t bad yet. Minnesotans were accustomed to violent winter storms.
Aboard the bus, Linda called to her little brothers, Rich and Randy, as they scrambled into the bus together, laughing at the whirling cold whiteness. As the bus rumbled slowly over the country roads, Linda gazed out the window, fascinated once more by the way the snow whooshed and swirled. The steady click-clack of the windshield wipers reminded her of the chch-poo, chch-poo of milking machines. She shivered a little, remembering stories of farmers getting lost just going from their houses to their barns. But that animals had to be cared for, no matter what, was a rule every farm child grew up knowing.
It was cold on the bus. The wind whistled through every crack. Still four more stops before home, she thought. Arriving home was always a cherished part of Linda’s day. Coming into the warm kitchen filled with wonderful smells and music was a delight. Always there was music. Often she and her mother would polka together around the large kitchen as they worked.
Mother was lively and full of fun, whereas Dad seemed more like the river meandering through their farm—deep, steady, quiet. Linda was often with him for hours with few words passing between them.
Linda frowned as she remembered how frustrated her mother had sounded the other day. “All we ever do is work, eat, and sleep. We need to have fun, too,” she had complained to her husband. Linda knew life on the farm could be hard, but she loved it. Her mother’s words were puzzling and disturbing.
“Come on, Lindy, wake up! We’re home!” Rich shouted, punching her arm on his way to the door of the bus. Startled, she realized the bus had stopped. She hurried to follow her brothers.
Darkness began to enfold them. The children struggled through the thick snow to get to the golden warmth of the kitchen. However, to their surprise, no delightful smells greeted them as they stamped into the house. Shrugging out of their pile-lined jackets, they all talked at once, happily emptying out their day to their mother. But today she wasn’t listening.
“Leave your things on,” she told them. “We’re going over to the Bensen’s for supper tonight.”
“In this storm?” Randy asked, his eyes wide with surprise.
Suddenly Dad was standing in the doorway. Tall, lean, and hard, the only softness in him was that which radiated from his eyes when he looked at someone or something he loved. “No, I’m afraid not,” he declared. “We’d have to be crazy to go out tonight, the way this storm is building up.”
“Oh, Jake!” Mother cried, disappointed. “It’s only a half mile up the road. Surely we can make it that far! You’ve got us through bad storms before. Laurie’s been working all day on this supper. It’s ready and waiting for us. And if the storm keeps up, they’ve arranged for us to stay the night.”
Dad looked at the row of expectant faces. “Well, they’ll think we’re nuts to show up in this storm, but let’s go,” he said.
Linda wasn’t worried about going out into the blizzard. Dad was a powerful man. If he decided to go, everything would be all right.
The car moved slowly down the road through the whirling snow and blackness. When they reached the Bensen’s, they were welcomed into the warmth with friendly teasing and heavenly smells of roast beef and apple pie.
The clink of silverware was punctuated with much laughter and talk as they ate. Linda’s father leaned back with a contented sigh, lacing his hands behind his head. “Laurie, it was truly worth coming through a blizzard for such a feast.”
“Well, thank you, Jake,” Mrs. Bensen replied, beaming.
“Have you done your chores yet?” Mr. Bensen asked Dad quietly.
“No,” he replied ruefully, “and I’d better get going while I still can.”
“I’ll go with you,” Mr. Bensen said in a voice that brushed aside any objections. Linda’s father would have gone if the situation were reversed. It was their way.
They armed themselves to do battle against the storm. Heavy thermal underwear was topped with layers of loose clothing and heavy coats. Moving like knights in armor, they went out the door and into the storm.
The joy of the evening went out with the men, and somehow the gloom of the storm came in. Linda usually loved the ritual of the dishes when she helped her mother and Mrs. Bensen. They would sing in harmony and chatter cheerfully. Tonight there was no singing and little conversation.
As the evening wore on, the younger children played themselves into exhausted heaps on makeshift beds scattered around the floor. Linda curled up on some blankets, but sleep would not come. She kept thinking about her father and Mr. Bensen. Her thoughts drifted to some of the special times she’d spent with her Dad. She remembered asking, “Why can’t the cow kick when you hold up her tail, Dad?”
“Oh, she can move around a little, but it kind of paralyzes the kicking muscles so she can’t really kick hard.”
Linda’s thoughts whirled again to the story of the farmer who had been found frozen to death after the last blizzard. Even though he had tied a rope from his house to the barn, he had lost his hold on it somehow and had died just a foot or two from the house!
Frightened by her thoughts, Linda crept quietly toward the kitchen, feeling her way in the darkened house. One tiny light burned over the kitchen table where her mother and Mrs. Bensen huddled together, waiting. Something in their voices made her uneasy. She hung back in the shadows.
“Oh, they should be back by now! My husband would never have come if I hadn’t insisted. Now they’re both in danger, and it’s my fault. Even if you forgive me, Laurie, I’m not sure I can ever forgive myself. If anything happens to them …” Mother’s voice trailed off as she put her head into her hands.
Laurie reached out to comfort her friend and saw Linda standing just beyond the door. “Oh, honey,” she said, surprised, “aren’t you asleep yet?”
A lump filled Linda’s throat as she blinked back tears. Wordless, her mother held open her arms to her daughter. “Listen, sweetie, I’ll come and tuck you in, and I want you to stay there and go to sleep. You have nothing to worry about. The men will be just fine,” her mother said. But her eyes told another story, and that is the one Linda believed.
As she tucked Linda in, Mother whispered, “Say a little prayer for your dad and Mr. Bensen. You’ll feel better.”
For longer than she could remember, Linda had been saying “little” prayers. She had prayed for a pony, and she had prayed to find some money to buy an ice-cream bar. But she knew that a “little” prayer wouldn’t do now. She wondered about Heavenly Father. What is He really like? She remembered her Primary teacher talking about Him and His Son Jesus Christ. She knew that They were real, that They loved her, and that Heavenly Father would hear and answer her prayers. She began to pray: “Dear Heavenly Father, I know my dad needs You tonight. I thought he could get through any storm alone, but I was wrong. He really needs You to help him and Mr. Bensen. Dad shouldn’t have let us come here tonight. I guess parents make mistakes, too, but please, Heavenly Father, keep them safe and help them find the way back.”
No voice spoke to her, but a feeling of relief gradually came and eased away the cold, hurting fear, leaving her with a feeling of peace. She slept.
A door opened and a gust of cold air blew across Linda’s face. She opened her eyes and heard the deep rumbling of men’s voices. She raced to the kitchen and flung her arms around her dad, jostling her mother to find a spot to hug.
“You’re safe!” she cried. It was long past midnight. They had been gone nearly six hours.
“We had to feel our way home,” Mr. Bensen said. “I still don’t know how we made it. Jake drove and I hung out the door and felt for gravel to make sure we were still on the road. Several times we had to stop to shovel the car out of the drifts.” He shook his head. “I’ll never figure out how we found our way. We couldn’t see a thing!” The men were exhausted and their lips were blue and stiff with cold.
Linda never forgot the coldness of Dad’s rough whiskers on her cheek as he tucked her into bed. Before she drifted off to sleep, Linda thanked Heavenly Father for Dad and Mr. Bensen’s safe return.