Gospel Story Finder

Sioux Indian boys earned their names by either doing some great deed or because of some disgrace. They carried these names for the rest of their lives.

More than anything, Little Jim wanted a great name. He tried to gain favor in many ways, but he was not given a new name. Then one day his father spoke of him as “my son, Jimmy,” and Little Jim knew that he had finally grown up!

But what of an existence beyond death? Is death the end of all? Such a question was asked of me by a young husband and father who lay dying. I turned to the Book of Mormon and, from the book of Alma, read to him these words:
“Now, concerning the state of the soul between death and the resurrection—Behold, it has been made known unto me by an angel, that the spirits of all men, as soon as they are departed from this mortal body, yea, the spirits of all men, whether they be good or evil, are taken home to that God who gave them life.
“And then shall it come to pass, that the spirits of those who are righteous are received into a state of happiness, which is called paradise, a state of rest, a state of peace, where they shall rest from all their troubles and from all care, and sorrow” (Alma 40:11–12).
My young friend through moist eyes and with an expression of profound gratitude whispered a silent, but eloquent, “Thank you.”

I’ve been reading the New Era since I was baptized in 1992. It’s always been inspiring and encouraging. The message from Elder Hugh B. Brown, “The Currant Bush,” (April 2001) reminded me of a similar situation I was in. I felt as if I lost so many opportunities because I was a member of the Church. But I’ve gained many too, like coming on a mission which is a blessing to me and hopefully the people I meet.
Elder Romeo N. OwusuNigeria Enugu Mission

Alexis also has a talent for kindness. In her class at school she noticed a boy with autism who didn’t have any friends. He was having a hard time learning and behaving appropriately. Alexis and four other girls decided to befriend him. They started helping him with his schoolwork and playing with him at recess. Pretty soon, he started getting along better with others. He’s a really good friend now, Alexis says.

From the time President Haven arrived as South Africa’s first mission president, a full century passed before a General Authority, President David O. McKay, came to South Africa in 1954. He was followed by other leaders: Elder Ezra Taft Benson in 1972, when he was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, and President Spencer W. Kimball in 1973, when he was President of that quorum. President Kimball rededicated the land while he was in Johannesburg, which by then had become South African headquarters for the Church.
These visits gave encouragement to members and helped speed Church growth, resulting in the first South African area conference in 1978 at Johannesburg. President Kimball, by then Church President, attended, along with several other Church leaders; it was the first time more than one General Authority had stood on South African soil at the same time. Families throughout the country prepared months ahead to share in the pilgrimage to this special meeting.

I sat on my bed hugging my knees, staring at the walls, but seeing nothing. Although it was the end of July, I felt cold and numb. I wasn’t worried about what I would be doing tomorrow, or the next day, or next week even. Everything that had seemed a matter of extreme importance didn’t make any difference to me at all now.
“I hope that’s not for me,” I thought as I heard several car doors slam in the driveway. Smiling and trying to carry on small talk was certainly something I didn’t feel up to today. Besides, none of my friends—or anybody my age for that matter—would have even the smallest idea of what I was going through. All their fathers were still alive.
“I’ll be right there,” I answered when Mother called to me. When I entered the living room, I was a little surprised to find my whole Young Women class, not just the presidency or a chosen few, there to visit me. Somehow, it made me feel special, even important, to know that everyone cared enough to come. They were all standing around looking a bit awkward and embarrassed. It was obvious this kind of visit was something none of them had ever done before.
My adviser stepped forward and spoke for the class. “We just wanted to drop by and let you know we’re thinking of you at this difficult time.”
I nodded, forcing a phony smile on my lips. I hadn’t been able to really smile, or cry for that matter, since the funeral. She ended with the usual, “If there’s anything we can do, please let us know.”
Bev, one of my classmates and a pretty good friend, stepped forward to hand me a single red rose. As I reached out to take it, mumbling my gratitude for their kindness, something unexpected happened. Instead of letting go of the rose, Bev held on to it. Drawing me closer, she wrapped her arms around me and began sobbing. Her crying shattered my resistance, and I threw my arms around her and broke down with weeping of my own. All the pain and grief I had tried to store came flooding out. I hadn’t allowed myself to cry so hard, but with Bev’s arms around me, it was suddenly easy to do.
Then another of my classmates stepped forward and took Bev’s place. It was then that I realized they were all huddled together, wiping tears, and saying nothing. I was amazed at how much better such a good cry was making me feel. Without saying anything, they seemed to be providing just what I needed most. When they had each taken a turn at my side, they quietly whispered good-byes and left.
After the door closed behind them, I still stood where they had left me, clutching the rose.
“That was a wonderful thing they did,” my mother said from behind me. It was then I remembered she had been there, a witness to the whole beautiful scene.
“I didn’t know I needed that,” I quietly mumbled.
Each time I looked at the rose in my vase, I remembered the young women from my class and the supporting embraces they gave me. If there was something to be grateful for during this trying time, it was the feeling of knowing I did not have to endure this suffering alone.
Before my own experience with death, I had often wondered what to say and do for someone at such a time. For me the answer was pretty simple: don’t say anything; just be there. The greatest comfort I received was a shoulder to cry on, arms to hold me, tears of sorrow, and a single red rose to cherish.

Simply giving thanks for the good things in our lives makes a wonderful family home evening and can be used successfully several times a year. James and Kelly Peterson of the Burley 10th Ward, Burley Idaho Stake, enjoyed such a lesson. “One week we had some unexpected challenges and some extraordinary blessings,” writes Sister Peterson. “So we sat as a family and talked about the things we were grateful for. We started with simple things like a home and food. Then we began to notice many things we had taken for granted, and we realized how much the Lord had blessed us. As we expressed gratitude, warmth filled our home; it was a spirit of thankfulness, a feeling of comfort and peace. We felt so close to our Heavenly Father and to each other that night. It was one of our most memorable family home evenings.”

In 1997 my husband was called to preside over the England London South Mission; we began our missionary service in July. Many things were new to me. Embarking on our first round of zone conferences, I hoped to get to know our missionaries, and I hoped they would get to know me. July 11 found us on the stand in the Maidstone stake center chapel for a conference with 75 missionaries.
As we sang the opening hymn, I was suddenly overcome with nausea and dizziness. I turned to my husband and told him I was sick. My husband, an ear doctor, noticed an abnormal jerking in my eyes. He quickly summoned two missionaries to help me out of the meeting and into a classroom. What an awful introduction! Becoming sicker by the minute, I received a priesthood blessing from my husband and a faithful missionary and was then taken to the mission home. Every bump in the road and motion of the car worsened the queasiness and vertigo I felt. Soon I had completely lost my sense of balance and could no longer hear in one ear. Medical tests indicated a probable inner ear blood clot and the possibility of never regaining my balance or the hearing in my right ear.
I was scared, worried, and angry. While I believed my husband and I had been called of God, I wondered, “How can I assist the Lord in this great work if I cannot hear or even walk?” With no other family members or close friends to turn to for help, I felt completely alone. I needed a miracle. Believing I had done God’s will in accepting callings and trying to do what was right, I pleaded with Him to make me well. I was sure I had sufficient faith for a miracle.
With treatment, my balance gradually improved. But the hearing in my right ear did not return, leaving me deaf in that ear. This made me feel more discouraged. Why me? I was serving a mission for three years! Did I deserve this? Unlike Joseph, I did not view this affliction as an opportunity for good. I was more like Joseph’s brothers who, upon finding their money in their grain sacks and fearing an evil stratagem, wondered, “What is this that God hath done unto us?” (Gen. 42:28).
I had forgotten that the same Lord who can turn water into wine can make our weak things strong (see Ether 12:27), that “all things wherewith you have been afflicted shall work together for your good, and to my name’s glory” (D&C 98:3).
Nine years later, with my own deeper perspective, I realize that countless blessings have come from those afflictions in England. For example, like Joseph of old, I was imprisoned—not by bars but by vertigo—in a land far from the help of my extended family. But just as Joseph found support from friends, I found support from my fellow missionaries. Senior couples whom we had barely met came to the mission home and assisted me with my responsibilities to greet arriving missionaries and bid farewell to those departing.
When you hear with only one ear, understanding others when they speak can be extremely difficult, especially if they are on your bad-ear side. By necessity I have become a better listener as I focus more directly on those speaking to me. Looking directly at them helps me better grasp what they are saying and sense what they are feeling.
Partially losing my hearing has helped me develop patience for others, especially those with disabilities. It has helped me find faith to accept affliction. It has given me clarity to realize that instant, miraculous cures are not always the Lord’s will. In fact, sometimes just the opposite is true.
Would I want to go through this experience again? No. Yet has my soul been stretched and expanded from this and other challenges like it? Absolutely. Of course, while the growth has come, my hearing has not; the residue of affliction often remains. What then?

At the end of the California tour last summer, the seven bus drivers (some LDS, some not) gathered together and addressed the group. “We’d like to thank you for the privilege of traveling with you,” said their spokesperson. “We have enough roses for each of the girls, just to tell you thanks for being such a great group.” And 14 dozen roses were presented to the young women.

No matter where she lives or travels, Sally shares the gospel with people she loves. Her best friend, Ariel, goes to a different church. Sally’s family and Ariel’s family have talked together a lot about their churches. Once Sally went to one of Ariel’s church services. When missionaries knocked on Ariel’s door, Ariel’s family invited them in to talk.

Jeremy’s parents were building a bigger home for their family. It was on the next-door lot, and each afternoon on his way home from school, Jeremy stopped to see what the builders had done that day. He’d picture in his mind what his new home would look like and how he would fix up his own room.
One afternoon when Jeremy went there, the builders had already gone for the day. He scrambled over the just-begun walls and down into the unfinished basement.
This is going to be a great home, he thought, walking from wall to wall, seeing how big it was going to be. Then he peered up at the holes where the windows would be. He could see the sky—and big gray clouds coming toward him very fast! I’d better get home before Mom starts to worry about me.
But when he turned to find his way out, he discovered that there were no stairs yet. What am I going to do now? he wondered. He tried grabbing at the walls and jumping as high as he could, but it didn’t work. The walls were too high, and there was nothing to hold onto.
He yelled at the top of his lungs, “Someone help me—I can’t get out!” But no one was close enough to hear. Although he yelled again and again, his words just echoed back.
Feeling afraid, Jeremy sat down in the dirt. Then he remembered what his mom and dad had taught him about how to talk to Heavenly Father and how to listen for His answer, Jeremy knelt near some of the builders’ supplies left on the floor. “Dear Heavenly Father,” he prayed, “I know that I’m supposed to thank thee first, but I’m scared. Please help me to get out of here. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
As Jeremy stayed there with his eyes closed, listening, he thought about what he was kneeling next to: bricks! “Heavenly Father, thank you!” he shouted as he opened his eyes and jumped up. It didn’t take long for him to pile enough bricks firmly against the wall to climb up and over it.
Then he raced home to tell his mom what had happened. He knew that she would want to thank Heavenly Father too.

Such faith and obedience, along with hard work, brought Edward considerable success as a businessman. In later years, as a widower and father of ten children, he continued strong in spirit. When the last of his children was in high school, Edward fell in love with Leona Hyde. Because he was fifty-nine years old at the time and she was nineteen years younger, he hesitated to ask her to marry him. He felt concerned about starting another family at his age. But after fasting and praying, he said, “The absolute assurance came to me so that I knew without a doubt it was right to marry.” He also felt impressed that the Lord would allow him to live long enough to raise another family.
He did raise another family. I am that family.

I used to be afraid to try new things in front of people because I might mess up. I worried what others thought about me. Then I realized I don’t know what they’re thinking. I’m not a mind reader! And it really only matters what God thinks of me. He sent me here to learn, and He loves me no matter what. Now when I mess up I think, “OK. Let’s learn from this and move on.”
Marissa Widdison, assistant managing editor

Alice held the crumbled paper in her hand. She clenched her fist tightly and tried hard to erase the horrible words that now burned in her mind.
Alice is an idiot, the paper read. Alice didn’t know who had written the words—someone nearby, no doubt—but she had found the mean little message sitting on her desk when she had returned to her seat. Now, defeated and miserable, she wished she had never signed up for this section of Speech 1. She wished even harder that she had never had to stand up to give her presentation. And she wished even harder still that she could believe that the words written on the paper were lies. But she couldn’t. She was an idiot, she was sure.
Minutes before, Alice had walked to the front of the class to deliver her speech. She had prepared for her presentation carefully, had even read the book for her report twice. But something unexplained had snatched her confidence from her the moment she had opened her mouth to speak. Her voice had trembled as she spoke, unrecognizable, wobbling foolishly, and her hands had shaken so badly she was afraid she would knock the podium over. She had barely made it through her speech. By the end of it, she was visibly on the verge of crying. During the long walk back to her desk, she had been afraid to look at the students in the class.
Why? she had thought miserably to herself. Why did I have to go to junior high school? Why did we have to move? Couldn’t I have stayed in the sixth grade forever? Everything within her young, thin frame wanted to be back in Mrs. Martin’s class, to be back in her old neighborhood, where all was familiar and sweet.
And then she had sat down at her desk, and there she had found the nasty message she was certain was true.
I am a jerk, she thought bitterly to herself. I’m stupid and dumb and I have no confidence. I have no friends, either. And I hate this stupid school.
The angry bath of self-hatred washed over her, spilled out of the corners of her eyes, made her feel peculiarly numb in her misery.
But the horror was not over yet.
"Alice?" Mr. Goldstein’s voice called to her, as the bell sounded to switch classes. "Alice, can I see you up front for a minute?"
Alice heard some snickers from a group of boys as she gathered her books. She swallowed, then walked up the aisle to Mr. Goldstein’s desk.
"Alice," he began. "I was so surprised by your performance today. I know you’re a bright and talented girl. I think you just need another chance." He paused thoughtfully, then continued, "What if I schedule you to give it another try next time we meet?"
Alice opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Panic filled her. Wasn’t one humiliation enough? Couldn’t he see she was no good at speaking? But Mr. Goldstein’s soft voice rumbled on, something about fitting her in easily at the end of the next class, that he was certain her classmates wanted her to get another chance, too.
Alice walked home from school alone that day. Tami and Susan had offered to walk with her, but she had declined. They weren’t in her speech class, and she didn’t want to have to tell them the sad story of how foolish she had felt. If she didn’t walk with them, she wouldn’t have to speak to any one until she got home. By then, she hoped she could muster a calm hello to her mother, and then take refuge in the room she shared with her older sister until dinner. If she was lucky, Karen would stay late at school, practicing her part for the Autumn Festival play.
Alice walked the blocks home from school, acutely conscious of herself. In every storefront, in the windows of every parked car, she saw her face, her thin and sorrowing face.
Why can’t I wear eye makeup yet? she wondered angrily to herself. Everyone else does, even most of the girls in the ward.
She held her head down before the gusty wind, couldn’t bear to let her bangs blow upward, exposing her large forehead. Oh! it was miserable to be almost 13.
Alice managed to pass by her mother’s scrutiny. Something inside her wouldn’t let her tell her mother. She wanted to keep her horrible failure inside. She wanted to be by herself. Alice closed the door to her room, lay on her bed, face down on the pillow, alone in the safety of her home. Her father had been transferred again. They had lived in this new neighborhood just three months. Alice remembered her painful good-byes now. She rolled over, looked up to the ceiling, felt a flash of nervousness. She was terrorized at the thought of having to present her speech again. How could Mr. Goldstein be so mean?
Dinner passed.
"What’s the matter with the kid, here?" her older brother had asked, affectionately winking at Alice. "You’re quieter than usual."
Karen gave the family home evening lesson that night on joy, of all things. Alice listened stonily.
Who could feel joy when everyone thought you were an idiot? she thought bitterly. Worse yet, who could feel joy when you had to go through another horrible day at school? Alice hardly heard her older sister’s comments about how prayer had sustained her during the first weeks of their move.
Tuesday passed. Alice saw only two of the students that were in her speech class, and both of them were girls. They smiled at her, and Alice felt no menace in them. Inevitably, though, Tuesday evening came, the good-nights, the walk up the stairs to bed, the certainty that tomorrow was coming.
Alice turned restlessly in bed. She was still awake when Karen came in. Alice watched the easy confidence with which Karen removed her makeup, fluffed her hair, then reached for the light. There were a few moments of silence as Karen said her prayers beside her bed, then the comforting sound of the bedsprings, the rustling sheets, of Karen settling into sleep. But Alice was still awake.
Hours passed, it seemed, but always the horror of the morning prevented Alice from surrendering to the black walls of her heavy eyelids. She had said her speech 300 times by now, had practiced taking deep breaths, had even imagined the entire occasion from start to finish, the perfect delivery and confident self-assurance. But reality always filled her. Alice was afraid. This wasn’t Primary, this wasn’t Young Women, this wasn’t even sacrament meeting. It was a class full of strangers, some of them older than she was, and all of them better at speaking than she would ever be.
Alice sat up in bed. She looked over at her sleeping sister, peaceful and at rest. Maybe being 17 did that to a person, Alice thought hopefully.
A thin column of white penetrated the dark room, the glow from the streetlight on the corner reaching in from behind the shade. A car passed by, its headlights shadowing wild patterns in the room. The pipes knocked in the basement, followed by the pleasant sound of steam hissing in the radiator.
Prayer is the best way to get through the tough times, Karen had said the other night. Alice had not wanted to think about it then, had thought it sounded corny and dumb. After all, Alice wasn’t a Merrie Miss anymore. She no longer had to sit uncomfortably in the back of Primary opening exercises.
But prayer?
Alice pushed the covers off. The floor felt cold on her feet. She bent down, then knelt awkwardly. Should she fold her arms, or was it enough just to kneel?
It was an awkward prayer, she knew, her first attempt since the faith of her family had begun to seem something weird and distant to her, something not to tell her new friends about, something that had to be done, she guessed, when her parents made her, a burden more than a blessing.
Alice opened her eyes after the amen, lingered for a moment on her knees, beside her bed, looking at the shadows in the light. And then a feeling warmed her, something real and sweet, a glow not from the hissing radiator, but a quiet warmth just the same. Quite simple, really. As Alice pulled the covers over herself, though, the moment lost its simplicity and became profound. The Holy Spirit had filled her, she knew, had warmed her and given her peace.
Alice walked slowly down the hall to her speech class. She avoided the boys who had laughed. She tried hard not to think of her failure or of the horrid little note, or of the minutes until she must surely try again.
"Alice? Are you ready to give it another try now?" It was Mr. Goldstein’s voice, of course, calling her to her second death, she was sure.
Alice stood slowly, picked up her paper, told her legs to move to the podium in the front of the classroom.
She knew her heart was beating too fast already. She was cold and trembling. She took a deep and trembling breath, smiled weakly to the class, then opened her mouth to speak.
And in a timeless moment, suspended somewhere between her trembling breath and her first uneven words, she remembered the warmth of the night before, the sense that her Father loved her, had heard her.
"Mr. Goldstein. Students. Good morning."

There were at least two Latter-day Saint connections to the Titanic. Both illustrate our challenge in understanding trials, tribulations, and tragedies and provide insight as to how we might deal with them. The first is an example of being appreciative for the blessings we receive and the challenges we avoid. It involves Alma Sonne, who later served as a General Authority.9 He was my stake president when I was born in Logan, Utah. I had my mission interview with Elder Sonne. In those days all prospective missionaries were interviewed by a General Authority. He was a great influence in my life.
When Alma was a young man, he had a friend named Fred who was less active in the Church. They had numerous discussions about serving a mission, and eventually Alma Sonne convinced Fred to prepare and serve. They were both called to the British Mission. At the conclusion of their missions, Elder Sonne, the mission secretary, made the travel arrangements for their return to the United States. He booked passage on the Titanic for himself, Fred, and four other missionaries who had also completed their missions.10
When it came time to travel, for some reason Fred was delayed. Elder Sonne canceled all six bookings to sail on the new luxury liner on its maiden voyage and booked passage on a ship that sailed the next day.11 The four missionaries, who were excited about traveling on the Titanic, expressed their disappointment. Elder Sonne’s answer paraphrased the account of Joseph and his brothers in Egypt recorded in Genesis: “How can we return to our families and the lad be not with us?”12 He explained to his companions that they all came to England together and they all should return home together. Elder Sonne subsequently learned of the Titanic’s sinking and gratefully said to his friend Fred, “You saved my life.” Fred replied, “No, by getting me on this mission, you saved my life.”13 All of the missionaries thanked the Lord for preserving them.14

Because I studied Come, Follow Me, I think Heavenly Father helped me with school. At first I made lots of mistakes in my homework. Then my dad asked me to start by saying a prayer. After the prayer, I understood better. Soon I was no longer making as many mistakes. When my teachers received my homework, they would say, “Congratulations, Sarah! Keep doing what you are doing!”
I successfully completed my school year. And school at home went well, because we always started with a prayer, just like we do when we study Come, Follow Me.

This story happened in El Salvador.

Gerardo roller-skated to the front steps of his house. Mamá’s car was in the driveway. That meant she and his older brother, Alejandro, were back from the doctor. Gerardo pulled off his skates and raced inside.

“Gerardo?” Mamá called. “We’re in here!”

Gerardo walked into the family room. Alejandro was lying on the couch. Mamá sat next to him. She looked worried.

Gerardo was worried too. Last week, they found out that Alejandro had cancer. He was very sick.

But Alejandro sat up and smiled when Gerardo came in. “Hi! Did you have a good day?”

“Yes, but how was the doctor’s?” Gerardo asked.

“He says I’ll have to get surgery,” Alejandro said.

Mamá nodded. “But the best doctors to help him are at the children’s hospital. Since Alejandro is 14, he’s too old to get care there. We’ll have to find somewhere else.”

Gerardo’s stomach tightened. If they couldn’t get help for Alejandro, what would happen? Would Alejandro’s cancer get worse?

Gerardo went to his room. He needed to think.

In Primary, Gerardo learned that Heavenly Father would always hear him. Gerardo knew he could always ask Him for help.

So he knelt by his bed and folded his arms. “Dear Heavenly Father, please help Alejandro,” he prayed. “Please help us find doctors that can do the surgery.”

Soon Mamá called him for dinner. She had made pupusas, Gerardo’s favorite. He took a big bite of the thick, grilled tortilla filled with cheese and beans. But he still felt worried about his brother.

Alejandro only took a few bites of his pupusa. He was frowning and moving very slowly.

Mamá must have noticed too. “Why don’t we watch a Church video?” she asked. They liked watching videos about Jesus Christ when they felt sad.

“OK.” Gerardo cleared the dishes while Mamá got the video ready. Then they all sat down to watch.

In the video, Jesus Christ prayed in a garden by a tree. Gerardo knew this story. It was when Jesus suffered before He died on the cross.

When the video ended, Gerardo felt quiet and peaceful. But he had a question. “Why did Jesus have to hurt so much?” he asked.

Mamá held him and Alejandro close. “Jesus chose to feel the hurt because He loves us. He felt all the pain we go through.”

Gerardo looked at Alejandro. “Does Jesus know what it feels like to have cancer?”

“Yes, He does,” said Mamá. “He knows how hard it is. And because He knows what it feels like, He knows how to help us.”

Gerardo felt warm inside, like he was wrapped in a big blanket. Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ knew and loved his family. They knew how to help Alejandro.

When Gerardo got home from school the next day, he found Mamá packing a bag.

“Good news!” she said. “I talked to the doctor at the children’s hospital. They are going to help Alejandro. He will have surgery tomorrow.”

Gerardo gave Mamá a big hug. “Heavenly Father is helping us! Can we pray and thank Him?”

“Great idea,” said Mamá. “Let’s get Alejandro.”

As they prayed together, Gerardo felt peaceful. Heavenly Father had heard his prayer! Now Alejandro would get the surgery he needed. Gerardo knew Jesus Christ understood what they were going through. And He would always help them through their trials.

Steve agrees. His life is painted in pioneer panorama, but with strokes that show a Master’s gentle touch. Last year when winter was fierce, the whole family gathered in the front room, some of the smaller members in Dad’s arms. They read from the scriptures by the flickering light of kerosene lamps. Through the front window, Steve could see the bright lights of the Aurora Borealis dancing silent approval over the warm scene. This is life at its best—a candle on a very cold hillside.

My family all felt it would be important to start writing in our journals more. I’ve never been very good about writing in my journal, but it’s really helped me remember my blessings and know that I’m not alone, even in the hardest moments.
Mayah S., China

That doesn’t mean it’s always easy for Shannon, a Mia Maid in the Westminster Ward of the Frederick Maryland Stake. When Landis gets upset, she’ll begin, as Shannon describes it, “trashing the house.” Once Shannon was heating up some leftover pizza, when Landis decided she wanted pudding instead. When Shannon told her she’d have to eat the pizza, Landis began throwing her food around the kitchen and knocking things off the counter.
“I get frustrated a lot over the things she does. I don’t mean to get mad but sometimes I do. Then I feel bad because I know she doesn’t quite understand why I’m yelling at her,” says Shannon. It’s at moments like these that Shannon will give Landis a hug, or sit with her in a chair, look at a magazine, and just rock back and forth. “It helps my anger to go away.”