Gospel Story Finder

Kim Ho Jik took a deep breath. It was his first day studying and teaching at a university in the United States.
Learning was important to Ho Jik. He wanted to learn as much as he could about nutrition. Then he could make life better for people in South Korea, where he was from.
Ho Jik carried a box of books up some steps to his new office.
“Hello,” said a man from the office next door. “I’m Oliver. I’m studying here too.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Ho Jik said.
Weeks passed. Ho Jik and Oliver became friends. They talked about what they were learning. Ho Jik noticed that Oliver never drank or smoked. He didn’t work on Sundays either. I wonder why, Ho Jik thought.
One day Oliver gave Ho Jik a book. It was about the Articles of Faith. “This book tells about what I believe,” Oliver said. “Let me know if you want to learn more.”
Ho Jik finished the book in less than a week. Oliver gave him another book called the Book of Mormon. Ho Jik read it quickly too. He started going to church with Oliver. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to be baptized.
Soon it was Oliver’s last day at the university. Ho Jik saw him in the hallway. “I believe God brought you here for a special reason,” Oliver said. “But not just so you can teach your people about nutrition. You need to teach them about the gospel too.”
Ho Jik thought about Oliver’s words for a long time. Finally he decided to be baptized. He was baptized in the same river where Joseph Smith was baptized 122 years earlier!

One bishop’s wife commented, “When my husband became bishop I had a hard time, suddenly realizing I had all the yard work to do—plus all the housework. He wasn’t around and I had to do it.” Her husband agreed. “It puts a lot of strain on my wife. But that also puts an important responsibility on me. I’ve got to remember that when I get home and the dishes from last night’s dinner are still in the sink and the living room is a mess and the lawn needs mowing I can never, never complain. Instead, I must begin to work and help—and get some of the children to work, too. My wife never complains about what I do; why should I complain about what she does?”

Suey watched Deana glide, spin around, and come to a stop at the end of the walk. She’s rolling on magic wheels, Suey thought, trying to imagine having her own magic wheels. She pushed the thought away quickly. Here in America she had so much that it would be ungrateful to want more.
Deana skated back and sprawled beside her friend. “Like them?” she asked.
“Oh, yes! What you call them?”
“Roll-er skates,” Deana said, pronouncing each syllable distinctly. “Roller skates.”
Suey tried to echo the words.
Deana clapped her hands approvingly. “Very good, Suey. You’re getting your r’s much better.”
Suey grinned. “How you get?” she asked.
“For my birthday,” Deana answered. Seeing Suey’s puzzled look, she tried to explain. “In America we get presents on our birthdays.”
Suey shook her head. The words had come too fast for her to understand. She tried another question: “Cost lots of money?”
Deana tried to speak more slowly. “I guess so. My mother told me that if I lose them I’ll be sorry.”
“Is it hard to make skates go?” Suey asked next.
“Just a little, at first,” Deana replied. “Here,” she offered, “try them yourself.”
Suey felt as if she were wobbling like a little baby as she stood up with the skates on. She clung to Deana and managed to not fall down. When she finally tried to move down the walk, her feet wanted to go every which way. Soon, with Deana’s help, she skated teeteringly to the corner, where they both collapsed on the grass with laughter.
“You did OK,” Deana said to her Laotian friend. “If you had your own skates,” she continued, speaking slowly, “you would soon skate like me.”
“No money,” Suey confessed.
Deana got up and brushed herself off. “Maybe you could earn some money. Sometimes I work for the neighbors, and they pay me for it. Maybe you could do that too.”
That night as Suey lay in her bed, she thought about Chu Nam, her brother. He earned money by cutting grass and by washing dishes at a restaurant. She sat up excitedly. She knew how to wash dishes! She could hardly wait until morning.
Suey was eleven, but she was small and looked much younger. She hoped the ladies in the neighborhood would not think she was too small to wash dishes.
She went to see Mrs. Bonn first. Mrs. Bonn had helped to bring Suey’s family to America.
When Mrs. Bonn opened the door, she smiled and said, “Why, hello, Suey. Come in.”
Suey searched her mind for the right words to say. “I come, wash dishes for you,” she managed.
“Suey, how nice of you. But I have a machine that washes my dishes for me. Come into the kitchen, and I’ll show you.”
Suey was bewildered as she went home. Chu Nam washed dishes for a lot of people, yet Mrs. Bonn had a machine to wash just a few dishes! Disappointed, she decided to try to forget about the magic wheels.
At home Ling Kou’s new baby was fussing. Suey picked him up, glad to have something else to think about. She discovered that he was wet, so she diapered him, then rocked him while her sister-in-law cooked.
“You’re a big help to me,” Ling Kou told her.
Suey flushed with pleasure. She loved to take care of the baby. Sometimes she would watch her other niece and nephew, too, while Ling Kou went to the washing place.
Suddenly Suey knew what she could do. She could tend children! Ladies might have machines to wash their dishes, but a machine couldn’t tend a baby. This afternoon she would find a lady who wanted a baby-sitter. Soon she would have her own magic wheels. And she would glide and spin and stop on them just like Deana.

It was while Hal was studying physics at the University of Utah that a conversation with his father marked one of those defining influences in his life. He asked his father for help with a complex mathematical problem. “My father was at a blackboard we kept in the basement,” Elder Eyring recalls. “Suddenly he stopped. ‘Hal,’ he said, ‘we were working this same kind of problem a week ago. You don’t seem to understand it any better now than you did then. Haven’t you been working on it?’”

A little chagrined, Hal admitted he had not. “You don’t understand,” his father went on. “When you walk down the street, when you’re in the shower, when you don’t have to be thinking about anything else, isn’t this what you think about?”

“When I told him no,” Elder Eyring concludes, “my father paused. It was really a very tender and poignant moment, because I knew how much he loved me and how much he wanted me to be a scientist. Then he said, ‘Hal, I think you’d better get out of physics. You ought to find something that you love so much that when you don’t have to think about anything, that’s what you think about.’”

The advice deeply impressed young Hal. He went on to finish his degree in physics, graduating not long after the end of the Korean War. During the war, the number of missionaries called from each ward had been greatly restricted. Further, by the time he graduated, Hal had already committed to a commission in the United States Air Force. So he entered the military without having served a full-time mission. But in a bishop’s blessing prior to his departure, Hal was promised that his military experience would be his mission.

That blessing proved to be prophetic, for though Hal was originally sent by the Air Force to the Sandia National Laboratories near Albuquerque, New Mexico, for temporary schooling, circumstances were such that he stayed on there for the full two years of his duty. Two weeks after his arrival, he was called as a district missionary in the Western States Mission. He served almost two years to the day in that calling.

Ten-year-old Ellen Pucell refused to move another step. For endless days and endless kilometers she’d been dragging herself over snowy, frigid ground. Now, with the merciless cold biting through her ragged clothes, the pain in her feet had grown unbearable, and Ellen, or Nellie as everyone called her, sat down shivering and couldn’t go on. Her older sister, Maggie, coaxed her to get up. But while her weary friends trudged on ahead, struggling to pull handcarts through the snow, Nellie still sat, unable to move her stiffened legs.
Maggie again pleaded with her young sister to walk with her before the pioneer company left them behind. As their hope of catching up faded, a horse-drawn carriage approached them. The driver, one of the leaders lucky enough to have a wagon, stopped to ask about the young girls. When Maggie explained the situation, Nellie was lifted into the back of the wagon, where her feet dangled over the edge as they hurried to catch the others.
Nellie’s family had sailed from Liverpool, England, in May of 1856 with a large group of Latter-day Saints. After a safe voyage on the ship Horizon, they docked in Boston, then traveled by train to Iowa. From there Nellie had set out with her parents, her sister, Maggie, and more than five hundred other pioneers. They were bound for peace and new homes in the Salt Lake Valley. Too poor to afford wagons or the animals to pull them, the great majority chose to build smaller, two-wheeled wagons called handcarts, which they would pull themselves. Only the most necessary provisions could be carried. Extra bedding, clothing, household supplies, and even extra food had to remain behind.
For the first few weeks the handcart company enjoyed good weather, but in October early snowstorms and bitter cold slowed down the pioneers.
Nellie’s family suffered along with the rest. Her mother became ill and had to be pulled for some distance in their cart. Nellie’s father slipped into the waters of one of the rivers they crossed, and because there was no dry clothing or warm shelter, he was bitterly cold. The family’s food supply grew scarce, and the snow hid any fuel that they might have gathered for a fire.
Nellie’s father died on October 22, 1856, from hunger and exposure to the cold. Five days later her mother died too. Graves could be dug only in the snow because the early winter had frozen the ground. Nellie and Maggie wearily and sadly walked on alone. They watched as more of the company died and the weather’s cold fierceness strengthened.
One day as Nellie and her sister made their way at the head of the group, two men appeared and motioned for them to come closer. At first the girls refused but soon decided that the men meant no harm. The men gave Nellie some money and instructed her to buy something to put on her feet at the trappers’ trading post they were nearing. Nellie gratefully accepted the money and the chance to cover her bare feet, which had long since grown numb with cold.
In Salt Lake City, President Brigham Young had called for volunteers to meet the handcart company on the plains. When the volunteers finally reached the company, near Laramie, Wyoming, they found the pitiful group nearly buried by the snow. Nellie’s feet were badly frozen. The rescue party gathered her and the remaining members of the company into their wagons and returned to Salt Lake, arriving on November 30.
Nearly everyone in the handcart company had endured painfully frozen feet, hands, and ears and had witnessed the deaths of family members and friends. The doctor had to amputate Nellie’s feet. There was no skin to cushion the bone, so she was left with throbbing sores that never healed.
Nellie and her sister eventually moved south from the Salt Lake Valley to Cedar City. Here Nellie married William Unthank and reared their six children. With a leather apron slid under her damaged legs, Nellie crawled about their small home on her knees, keeping it spotless.
Nellie willingly worked at whatever she could to help provide for her family. Along with other jobs, she took in other people’s clothes to wash, and made articles to sell to add to the family income. If anyone offered food or assistance, she insisted on repaying the favor. As a way of showing gratitude, she gathered her children once a year to clean the church meetinghouse. While the boys carried water, the girls washed windows, and Nellie scrubbed the floors.
William carved wooden “cup feet” for Nellie, but they only irritated her never-healing stumps. Later, through donations, wooden legs were given to Nellie, but these she only wore on special occasions, because they added to her constant pain.
Despite poverty and pain, Nellie rarely complained. She had come to know her Heavenly Father in her sufferings. From the shoes provided for her bare feet, the carriage sent when she couldn’t go on, help given to her through a lifetime of affliction, Nellie Pucell Unthank knew she could count on the Lord.

Like the time Grandpa got real sick and had to go to the hospital. Everyone fasted and prayed for him, including Eugene. He climbed up into his quiet place and prayed for a whole hour.
Two weeks later, Eugene’s father lay in the tree house and cried. Eugene heard him because he was there, too. Everyone was happy because although the doctor had said that Grandpa was going to die, he got better. Eugene climbed up into the tree and lay close to his father. Neither of them spoke. At least not out loud. They were busy thanking Heavenly Father in their hearts, warm tears trickling down their faces.
After a while, Eugene asked his father why he had come to the tree instead of staying at the house with everyone else. “Everyone needs a quiet place where they can go to be alone sometimes. Even grown-ups. I don’t have one,” he said. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I came up here for a few minutes.”
Eugene was happy that his father thought having a quiet place was important.
“Besides,” his father added with a wink, “with Aunt Althea at the house to greet your grandpa coming home from the hospital, it’s a bit noisy there. I needed a moment alone to thank the Lord for your granddad’s recovery.”
A few moments later, Eugene walked back to the house with his father. The back screen door whined as they joined the others. Eugene paused to look back over his shoulder at the old tree. It was like an old friend—warm, inviting, peaceful. And always there when he needed it. He smiled, went inside, gave Aunt Althea a big hug, then hurried over to Grandpa’s bed.

About five years ago, two missionaries came to my home in Ecuador. I was impressed with their appearance and kindness and agreed to listen to their message. I found their message interesting, but I had some doubts about it. However, I completed the reading assignments from the Book of Mormon for each of our meetings and accepted the challenge to pray.
When they finished the six lessons, the missionaries invited me to be baptized. Although I prayed constantly to know if these things were true, I didn’t believe I had received an answer. I expected to see an angel, the gold plates, or some other heavenly manifestation.
One night I was reading something about Ezra Taft Benson, who was then the President of the Church. I felt a strong desire to know if he was a prophet. I no longer aspired to see a vision—I simply wanted a witness of the truth. After praying for some time, I heard a quiet, penetrating voice testify to me that Ezra Taft Benson was a prophet, and I felt a burning sensation in my chest.
I had obtained my testimony—not through an angelic visitation, but through the still, small voice. It was with great joy and gratitude that I accepted the invitation to be baptized.

I’m glad this question was directed to me, because it’s a problem I have struggled with several times in years past. I thought for years that being called as president of the Relief Society was the greatest achievement for an LDS woman. If that did not happen then being called as president of the Primary or of the Young Women would be almost as satisfying.

Instead, I found myself serving as everything else. Several times I was a counselor in Relief Society, but never president.

I found reasons: “I wasn’t called because I have too many young children.” Then the next president would have four children not yet old enough to go to school. “I wasn’t called because I’m too young.” The next president would be younger. “I wasn’t called because I’ve only been in the ward five years.” The next president would be someone who had just moved into the ward.

Finally, there was to be another change, and everything seemed to indicate that I would be released as Junior Sunday School coordinator and called to lead Relief Society. I was sure my time had come. The bishop made an appointment with me “to talk about how things are going in Junior Sunday School,” but I knew he just wanted me to be surprised when he called me to a Relief Society position. I was ready with a list of things I thought would be new ideas; I had even decided who I would request for counselors.

Then came the meeting with the bishop. And do you know what we talked about? The Junior Sunday School!

I was really disappointed. I complained to my husband that the bishop must not think I was capable. When he gently replied that callings are from the Lord, I started to cry: “It doesn’t make me feel any better that the Lord doesn’t think I’m capable, either.”

Yes I really suffered at the time, but something happened to me, and I have never felt those feelings again. Like you, I was shocked and ashamed of my negative feelings; I really desired to change my attitude. And I finally did what I should have done before: instead of finding “reasons” for why someone else was chosen, or suppressing my disappointment, I went before the Lord, confessed my feelings—all of my feelings—and searched more deeply than before for the Lord’s reasons. When I was ready to learn, he was ready to teach me. Over the next few weeks, a process began that is still continuing. Gradually my understanding was opened, and the true nature of callings in the Lord’s kingdom was impressed on my heart. I’ve come to know the following things:
A calling is an opportunity to serve, not a reward. We sometimes carry over from the business world the idea that unless we are able to “work our way up” and become president of an organization our abilities have not been properly recognized. We have to be aware that the Lord is not giving us rewards by calling us, but is asking for wholehearted service. A calling may prove to be a blessing to us, it is true, but that depends upon our efforts after the call.
The true hierarchy of the Church is a hierarchy of righteousness. The Lord judges our hearts and actions, not the “level” of our callings. We have celestial visiting teachers in many wards, and celestial choristers and teachers. It’s character that pleases the Lord, not calling.
We cannot anticipate (or predict) the actions of our Heavenly Father. “My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith Lord.” (Isa. 55:8.) Sometimes when we look back after a few years we can see the purposes of the Lord unfolding in our lives. It may be as hard for us to see this as it sometimes is for our own children to understand the direction we give to their lives. We marvel that the Creator has worked things out with such delicate balance in nature. Why not trust him, then, and strive for understanding? Why not truly say with Mary, “Be it unto me according to thy word.” (Luke 1:38.)
We can fulfill our own callings better. President Duane Lloyd, a counselor in the Philadelphia Pennsylvania Stake Presidency, comments, “No one is doing his own calling as well as he could be doing.” He recommends redoubling our efforts in our present callings as an antidote to desiring the callings of others. It means to change your attitude so that you feel your calling is the best one in the Church. It is really effective.
We need to be humble. Jesus told several parables and gave much counsel on the importance of being humble. He knew that we (and those around us) will be happier when we are not lifted up in our pride, happier when we are not coveting another’s opportunities. One of Lehi’s sons, Jacob, appropriately summarized all these thoughts when he said, “Wherefore, brethren, seek not to counsel the Lord, but to take counsel from his hand. For behold, ye yourselves know that he counseleth in wisdom, and in justice, and in great mercy, over all his works.” (Jacob 4:10.)
My earnest hope in sharing these experiences and thoughts with you is that your heart may be softened to the ways of the Lord, and that you can come to know that your Father loves you and cares for you. Who knows but that your service, wherever it may be, might be an example to someone who, unknown to you, models his attitudes on yours.

“I’ll race you to the church!” Mórmon said, pointing to the church steeple poking out above the palm trees. Then he ran as fast as he could to stay ahead of his younger brother, Morian.
The boys and their parents had already walked about a mile from their home, but Mórmon and Morian were still racing hard when they reached the metal gate outside their ward meetinghouse. They stopped to catch their breath.
Before they could decide who won, a boy called out to them, “Want to play futebol?”
Mórmon loved futebol, but he and his family were going to clean the ward building so it would be ready for church the next day.
Mórmon shook his head. “Not now—maybe later!” he called back.
Soon Mórmon and Morian were working hard. Mórmon moved chairs and swept floors with Papa while Morian mopped floors with Mama.
Later the boys were washing mirrors in the bathroom together. “I didn’t think I’d like cleaning the church, but it’s fun,” Morian said. “What about you, Mórmon? Is that why you came instead of playing futebol?”
Mórmon thought about Papa. He was the bishop of their ward, but he still took time to help clean the meetinghouse.
“I’m here because I want to be like Papa,” Mórmon said.
Then he thought about the missionaries in his ward. They were busy knocking on doors and sharing the Book of Mormon with others. They would invite people to come to church at the building the boys were cleaning.
I’m here because someday I want to serve a mission too, Mórmon thought. I can help the missionaries by getting the church ready.
Mórmon thought about tomorrow, when he and his brother would get up at 6:00 a.m., walk to church in their white shirts and ties, and prepare the chairs and songbooks in the Primary room.
I’m here because I want to serve in a Church calling, he thought.
Mórmon thought about how he would soon be a deacon. He would pass the sacrament and do many other things to serve.
I’m here because next year I will receive the priesthood, and I want to do everything I can now to get ready.
Mórmon had already done something to prepare for the priesthood: he had earned his Faith in God Award. He was already learning to live the gospel and serve others.
Finally he looked at his brother’s reflection in the mirror and smiled.
“I’m here because I love the Lord,” he said, “and because serving now will help me get ready to serve later.”

Province of Quebec—
You’ll see it on every license plate in the province. You’ll see it on coats of arms “Je me souviens.” It means “I remember.”
And this is a place where there is much to remember. The Province of Quebec is where France and Britain once battled for control of North America. It is the home of vast wildernesses and nomadic Native American tribes, where wise use of plentiful resources is still a challenge. It is the home of some of the oldest settlements on the continent, of walled fortresses and cobblestone streets now surrounded by business districts and skyscrapers.
And it is a place where young Latter-day Saints are acutely aware of many things they must remember, not just to maintain their sense of history or identity, but to live more fully the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Léa Dussault, for example, has a checklist she follows. “I work on it every day,” says the 15-year-old from St. Polycarpe, a tiny town on the Quebec-Ontario border near Hawkesbury. “I read the scriptures for 30 minutes, do at least half an hour of seminary, work with Personal Progress, and read my patriarchal blessing. I pray a lot, too. It gives me more confidence. At bedtime, I make sure all my spiritual goals for the day have been met. Otherwise, I won’t feel good when I go to sleep.”
Léa has a personal motto: “I choose to be one with Christ today.” She’s doing her best to live up to that statement.
“You must remember the blessings you can have by being faithful,” says Marc-André Côté, 15, of Chicoutimi. “You should always keep that goal in mind. When Joseph Smith was discouraged once, the Lord reminded him to remember what he had been promised if he would remain faithful. [See D&C 6:13.] By thinking of the celestial kingdom and exaltation, you can find strength to overcome the struggles in your life.”
Marc should know. For four years he was away from the Church, but about two years ago he kept “asking myself what I was doing with my life. I was searching for something, and I remembered what I had felt in the Church. I felt the Spirit saying to me, ‘Go!’ and so I decided to try it just one time. I had imagined it would be difficult to come back, but it was easy. It was even better than I remembered. I read a lot and studied a lot and really gained a testimony that this is the true church, organized the way the Savior wants it to be.”
Julia Awashish, a 17-year-old Native American from Quebec City, agrees with Marc. “We need to always remember the covenants we made at baptism,” she says. “The promises we have made to our Heavenly Father are the things that make us strong as members of the Church. It’s been six years since I joined the Church. I’m glad my mother and I joined, because it helps me so much when I have a problem to deal with, and it helps me to remember to be happy, because the gospel is a message of joy.”
Julia says that when she and her mother returned to visit relatives in their village of Obedjiwan, which is far to the north of Quebec, at first “there was a lot of gossip about us being Latter-day Saints. But now everyone has seen by our example that we are friendly, normal people, so they accept us just fine.”
Vetséra Lapierre, 14, also from Quebec City, says she will always remember her first trip to the Toronto Temple to do baptisms for the dead. “I was so happy just to be with so many young members of the Church, the joy of it filled my eyes with tears of gratitude,” she explains. “It was something I had dreamed of for years, and now my dream was coming true. When we walked in the doors of the house of the Lord, I immediately felt a perfect peace, a spiritual strength that grew and grew as we did the baptisms. That feeling has stayed with me ever since. Now when I face a temptation, I remember how I felt in the temple. I always want to feel that peace, and I want to return to the temple again and again.”
Alexandra Gilbert felt a similar reassurance when she met President Gordon B. Hinckley at the dedication of the temple. The 14-year-old from the city of Alma says, “He wasn’t the President of the Church at the time, but now he is. He was going up the steps to go into the temple, and he paused and shook my hand and we chatted for just a moment. He’s very likable. I didn’t understand a lot, because he only spoke English to me. But I had a wonderful feeling about him. I’ll always remember meeting him, and I’ll remember that we have a living prophet.”
Robert-Emmanuel Duchesne, 13, lives in the little town of St. Monique, about 45 minutes from Alma on Lac St.-Jean. “Even though we go to a small branch, we do the same things others do in the Church. We have youth activities. We go to our meetings every Sunday. Sometimes when there’s something they want to do together, my friends will say something, but they know my Sundays are taken for church.” He made a promise to keep the Sabbath holy, and he remembers the promise.
He also remembers a commitment that he would magnify his calling. “There are only two Aaronic Priesthood holders in the branch of Alma, and that’s not a lot. But we do our best to serve, and I remind myself all the time that there are many young children in our branch, who will grow up in the Church and who will make the branch grow. The younger kids need us to prepare the way, to work hard and be good examples.”
There’s a similar commitment to the Aaronic Priesthood in Rimouski, a town in the eastern part of the province nearing the mouth of the St. Lawrence.
“We’ve started gathering fast offerings from door to door at all the members’ homes,” explains Hugo Lêvesque, 16. “We have to do some of them by car, because about 50 per cent of the branch members live in other small towns in the area. But our branch president said that during the time of Joseph Smith the Aaronic Priesthood went door-to-door gathering fast offerings, so why shouldn’t we? It helps us to remember our responsibilities.”

One illustration:
The setting is a rocky valley. The young anthropologist, Loren Eiseley, considers his two duties: one, “to capture the past,” and, two, “to lay hands on the present”—in this case, to trap animals to be sent to zoos. In the dark of the night, previously having discovered the nesting place of some birds in an old abandoned cabin, he quietly and quickly opened the door, shone a spotlight into the dark, and grabbed with his two hands whatever was blinded by his cohort, the light. Two sparrow hawks, a male and a female, were there. What he hadn’t planned on was that the male would protect the female. When the light went on, the male gave a cry and began to peck and claw the young man’s hand. The light was knocked over, and the female regained her sight and flew out through a hole in the roof. But he had the male in his possession. A fine sparrow hawk in the prime of life who had saved his mate by diverting the young “assassin’s” attention. The hawk was placed in a box to await the morning, the trip to civilization, and a cage where he would spend the rest of his life. The next morning the young man brought the box in which the little hawk was imprisoned out onto the grass where he was building a cage. But then he paused; he could see no sign of the female. He opened the box, paused again, and then took the bird in his hands. It lay limp in his grasp, but he could feel the heart pound under the feathers. He then laid the bird on the ground. The hawk looked beyond the man and into the sky. “He lay there a long minute without hope, unmoving ,” his little breast against the grass, his eyes still fixed on the sky above. Then he was gone, soaring into the sky. The young man watched and listened—silence, then a cry ringing from somewhere high overhead. His heart turned over, for it was not the cry of the hawk he had captured but the cry of its mate from where she had been soaring restlessly above for hours. He saw them both whirling together—then, once more, there was another cry of such “unutterable and ecstatic joy” that for the young man it sounded in his heart throughout his years (See Loren Eiseley, “The Bird and the Machine,” The Star Thrower [New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1978], pp. 83–91).

Embedded within this narrative is Loren Eiseley’s response to his responsibility, his relationship to the others of God’s creations, and the agency that would direct his response. And what of our response? How will we relate to them?

Soon after beginning LeGrand’s project, we met in his office each Friday morning. He answered all of my questions. At age ninety-four, his recall was remarkable. I was never intimidated by him. Then why, upon returning home, was I so exhausted that I went to bed?

After several weeks I came to know that it was the Light! The veil was very thin, and LeGrand lived so close to the Lord that His Light shone through His great servant.

My mind raced back to the days of my youth on the farm. In the summertime one of our responsibilities was to haul hay from the fields into the barn for winter storage. My dad would pitch the hay onto a flatbed wagon. I would then tromp down the hay to get as much as possible on the wagon. One day, in one of the loose bundles pitched onto the wagon was a rattlesnake! When I looked at it, I was concerned, excited, and afraid. The snake was lying in the nice, cool hay. The sun was glistening on its diamond back. After a few moments the snake stopped rattling, became still, and I became very curious. I started to get closer and leaned over for a better look, when suddenly I heard a call from my father: “David, my boy, you can’t pet a rattlesnake!”

Elder Justin Hill set down his Book of Mormon and looked out the window. The morning sun was just beginning to reflect off the glistening blue and gray tile rooftops of the Japanese houses below his apartment, and he knew that meant his study time was almost over.
“Hey, Rob, I mean, Elder Crosby, what are we doing for breakfast this morning?”
“Not my problem, Elder,” Rob answered without looking up from his scriptures. “As senior companion in this apartment, I delegated breakfast to you, remember?”
Justin got up off his futon, folded the quilts, and walked over to the cooking area of their small gray apartment. “Let’s see,” he said as he looked through the canisters that sat on a metal shelf over the sink. “We’ve got rice … more rice … or mugi.”
“If we’ve got any sugar left, let’s have mugi, okay?” called Rob.
Justin dumped three cups of milled wheat into a pot of water and set it to boil on the stove. The heat and rising steam from the pot took some of the chill off the room, and as Justin stirred the boiling and bubbling mush, his eyes wandered to the calendar pinned on the wall over the kitchen table. April 22.
“Hey, Elder, our birthday is exactly one month from today.”
Rob rolled over and looked at the calendar. “Sheesh,” he said, “we’re going to be 21 years old. Can you believe it?”
Justin nodded. “I can believe that, but it’s still hard for me to believe I’m on a mission, and even harder to believe that you’re my first companion.”
He gave the now vigorously boiling wheat a few stirs. “Back when we first met in high school in Tucson, I thought you were such a jerk that I wanted nothing to do with you, much less your church.”
Rob chuckled. “Hey, I was as surprised as you were, Elder. Who would have thought the old Tucson Twosome would be reunited in Japan?”
Justin nodded and grinned. The Tucson Twosome. He’d never forget how they got stuck with that nickname. It marked the beginning of his interest in the Church.
Ms. Hornbaker tried. Justin had to give her credit for that. English composition isn’t exactly a hot topic with high school students, but she did her best to make it interesting.
The students filed into her class one day to find that she had pushed all the desks to the back of the room and had taped 12 pieces of paper on the floor, each with the name of a month written on it.
“Okay, everybody,” she said when class began, “find the paper that has your birth month and stand by it.”
Students milled around for a while looking for their places. Justin found his—May—and stood next to it. In a few minutes, the entire class was separated into 12 groups, each group with two or three students in it.
“Now what,” someone wisecracked, “are we going to square dance?”
Justin hoped not. The only other person in the May group was Rob Crosby.
“Sorry,” said Ms. Hornbaker, “this is an English class, remember?”
“Oh, no,” a kid moaned from the back of the room. “That means we’re going to have a writing assignment.”
Ms. Hornbaker smiled, “How perceptive. Today you’re going to do some comparison/contrast writing.”
They had to interview a person in their group, come up with at least three similarities and three differences, and then write a paper comparing and contrasting themselves with the person they interviewed.
“You’ve got 20 minutes to talk. Rough draft’s due Friday.” Her directions finished, Ms. Hornbaker told the class to pull the desks from the back of the room, get into their groups, and start working on the assignment.
Rob slid his desk up to Justin’s and sat down.
“So you’re a May baby too. When’s your birthday?” he asked.
“May 22.”
“No kidding? So is mine. I can’t believe it. We’re practically twins.”
Great, thought Justin. Robert Crosby was the last guy in the world he wanted to be twins with.
“What time were you born?” asked Rob.
“What difference does that make?”
“Because,” Rob said with a grin, “I want to know who’s older, me or you.”
“Sometime around noon,” Justin’s mother said that evening, “but I’d have to look at your birth certificate to be sure. Why?”
“Nothing, really,” replied Justin, concentrating on his supper. “Just curious.”
Mr. Hill folded the evening paper and set it on the table next to his plate. “Justin, how’s the basketball team shaping up?”
“All right, I guess.”
“Is that hot dog Crosby kid playing?”
“Guard,” Justin nodded. Losing the tailback spot to Robert in football had been almost as hard on his dad as it had been on him. Since then, Rob Crosby was one of the least popular topics around the Hills’ house.
“Coach Simmons still have you at forward?”
Justin nodded. “He said I’m too big and slow for guard, and too small and slow for center.” He was relieved that in basketball he wasn’t competing with Robert for the same position.
“Well, Mount Vista should have a decent team then. With a gunner like Crosby at guard and you at forward, it’s going to be tough stopping you guys. Still, I’d rather see somebody else at guard. Crosby’s too selfish. Granted, he’s a great shot, but he’s got to learn to be a team player.”
“He’s not that bad, Dad. He’s just really intense.” That was a first—Justin defending his arch rival.
Mr. Hill frowned. “I’ve never liked that kid. He’s one of those Mormons. You knew that, didn’t you, son?”
“He mentioned it once.”
“Of course he did. That’s how they operate. Next thing you know he’ll be pushing Mormon propaganda on you, inviting you to his church, or sending missionaries here to pester us. Best thing you can do is stay away from him.” Mr. Hill made it sound more like a warning than advice.
It was funny he felt that way because, if anything, Rob had a positive influence on Justin. Sure, Justin didn’t like Rob’s ego, but competing with him helped make Justin a better athlete. In sports, he always knew Rob was giving 100 percent, and it made him determined to give his all too.
And, no doubt about it, Robert’s cockiness—at least a little of it—had rubbed off on Justin. After spending a football season as Robert’s teammate, his own confidence increased, not just in sports, but in school as well. He didn’t mind talking in class as much as he used to, and he was more comfortable around girls than he had ever been. Justin’s new motto had become, “If Rob Crosby can do it, so can I.”
It was at one of those Friday night after-the-game parties that Justin first talked to Liesel Smith, the great-looking blonde who graced the seat in front of him in English class. Parties ranked second only to dances on Justin’s Ten Most Hated Things list, but at Rob’s insistence, he went to one that celebrated their team’s 10th straight basketball victory.
The beat of the music mingled with laughter echoed from the house and down the street. Without bothering to knock, Robert swung open the front door and walked in. Justin followed and was immediately swept up in a flood of people.
“Hey, look who’s here,” someone yelled, and kids turned to watch them make their entrance. Rob loved the attention. Justin looked for someplace to hide.
He recognized a few basketball players and other kids from school, but there were also a lot of people he didn’t know. Feeling as comfortable as a boxer in ballet class, he was ready to turn right around and walk out when someone tugged on his shoulder.
“Justin, I didn’t know you were coming tonight.” It was Liesel Smith.
“Huh? Oh, yeah, well, Rob talked me into it. I usually don’t go to parties and stuff, but I finally got all caught up with my knitting and decided to go out and celebrate.”
Liesel giggled and playfully slapped his shoulder. “Rob said you were crazy.”
“So what did you think of the game?”
“It was great. That’s 10 in a row, isn’t it?” Liesel moved a little closer so he could hear her over the party noise. “Do you think you guys will go undefeated?”
Justin shrugged and looked for a place where they could sit down. Liesel was only about five-foot-four, almost a foot shorter than he was. He had to bend halfway over to hear her. “I sure hope so,” Justin said. “We’ve still got 10 games left, but after the game tonight Coach Simmons said that if we keep playing like we have, we might be able to pull it off.”
It was his first time to see Liesel up close, face to face. He had long admired the back of her head from his seat behind her in English class, but she was even better from the front. Her brown eyes were riveting, the kind that seem to open wide and swallow you up. From such close range, Justin noticed for the first time that she had a dash of freckles over her nose and cheek bones, and he recognized the delicious aroma of the perfume that he had become so familiar with in English class. There was no doubt about it—Liesel was gorgeous.
They finally found a place to sit down and continue their conversation.
“So what’s the deal with you and Rob?” Justin asked.
“Huh?”
“I mean, why would he bring someone like me to this party when he could’ve brought you? You two are, according to Rob, very close friends.”
“According to Rob? Well, according to me, Rob and I are only friends. We just happen to go to the same church.”
“Yeah, he told me.”
Liesel was quiet a moment, obviously trying to think of something to talk about. Finally she said, “I think that nickname Ms. Hornbaker gave you and Rob is cute.”
“The Tucson Twosome? Cute to you maybe, but I don’t think it’s very cute to be paired with Robert Crosby just because we were born on the same day. He’s much uglier than I am.”
Liesel laughed. “Rob said that Coach Simmons is using it on you guys too.”
“Yeah. In football, I blocked; Rob ran. In basketball, I rebound; he shoots. So Coach thinks we make a pretty good one-two combination. And I guess we’re okay.”
As the night went on, Liesel’s bubbly friendliness put Justin completely at ease. The party was fun, even Rob’s balancing a spinning basketball on his nose stunt and the wild peanut butter and cracker eating/whistling contest.
By the time Liesel looked at her watch and announced that she had to be home by midnight, Justin felt that he had made a new friend. Not a girlfriend-friend, not yet, but a friend-friend. Who knows, he thought as she waved good-bye and stepped out the front door, what might develop later?
Justin was stuck at the party for another hour waiting for Rob to give him a ride home. When they were headed for Justin’s house, Rob asked, “So, you liked the party?”
“I could tell you did. I thought we’d never get out of there.”
“Yeah, well, I was having a blast, but my dad’s kind of strict about my curfew. If I’m late, no car for a month. Hey, didn’t I see you talking with Liesel?”
Justin had been hoping he hadn’t. “We talked.”
“And?”
“And what? We talked. That was it.”
“Nice girl, huh?”
“Yeah, she’s real nice.”
“She’s one of us, you know. A Mormon.”
“Well, I’m not going to hold that against her.” It suddenly occurred to Justin that many of his friends lately were Mormons. He hadn’t planned it that way, but if his father ever found out, there’d be fireworks. Well, he’d worry about that if and when the time came. He certainly wasn’t planning on joining their church, but he didn’t see any harm in having Mormon friends. “You know, seems like I’ve been surrounded by you guys lately.”
“We were hoping you wouldn’t notice. See, we’ve got this plot all figured out. We’re going to keep hanging around you until our good influence rubs off, and then sometime when you’re standing by a swimming pool, we’re going to shove you in and make you one of us.”
Justin just rolled his eyes.
Rob went on, “What’d you and Liesel talk about?”
“Us.”
Rob broke into laughter and pounded on the steering wheel. “Wooo-ee! It’s more serious than I thought. You sure don’t waste any time, Justin.”
“Not ‘us,’ me and Liesel, you jerk; ‘us,’ me and you. She asked about the Tucson Twosome.”
Justin’s house came into view. Rob stopped in front of Justin’s house to drop him off. He held out his hand, palm up, to Justin before he left the car. “Hey, dude, the Tucson Twosome.”
Justin slapped his hand and turned his over to receive Rob’s return slap. “See you Monday,” Rob said before driving off. “And, Justin, don’t worry about the Mormon stuff. We’re not out to get you or anything. Just friends, know what I mean?”
Justin knew, and it made him feel good. “Thanks,” he said, and he waved as Rob drove back into the street.
Justin switched off the gas and set the mugi to one side to cool off. In the end, he thought, his dad had been right. Rob had influenced him. So, fortunately for him, had Liesel. And there had been fireworks—plenty of them—first about Mormon friends, and later when he announced he was going to get baptized. But, after a time, his dad got used to the idea of having a Mormon son, and when Justin was ready to go on his mission, almost a year after Rob had left, his father was surprisingly supportive. “Guess there’s a heck of a lot worse things you could be doing,” he said as he embraced Justin at the airport.
Justin scooped the mugi into two bowls and set them on the kitchen table. Today would be his first day of tracting in Japan, and he was a little nervous. “Hey, Elder,” he said after the food had been blessed, “about today … you know, my Japanese still isn’t too hot, and I was wondering …”
“No sweat, Elder,” Rob stirred a slab of butter into his mugi. “You knock; I’ll talk. The Tucson Twosome will blow ‘em away. Know what I mean?”
Again, Justin knew, and it made him feel awfully good.

Da Rock
As it is with most relationships, there is a period of time where you are trying to figure each other out. This band of brothers was no different. At this particular stage in our childhood, I think we were just trying to figure out which house would be best to play at, which house had the best food, and which house gave us the best opportunity to do whatever we wanted.
So, we planned a day to play at my house after school. I don’t remember what we did but I know I had a good time; and when my mother called me to come in, I didn’t want to listen. So, I told her no.
Have you ever told a Samoan mother no? Well, I’m about to explain what happens to you when you do.
She looked around for something to reprimand me with and finding nothing nearby, she picked up a rock. She raised her hand up behind her head and looked at me, waiting for a response.
So, I gave her one. I started dancing around like a boxer, “float like a butterfly, sting like a bee,” and said to her, “Go ahead!”
Like a quarterback watching the tendency of a Defensive Back, she did a double-pump... and I bit. She got me in the air before she let the rock go. It hit me square on the ankle and I started howling.
I looked around for my band of brothers for help and they had disappeared.
Would it have been easier for me to listen? At that stage of my educational process, I would have to say no. So, the Lord sent me to the back of the “line upon line, upon line, upon line. . . until I learned.
Did the consequences of my actions teach me anything? At that stage of my educational process, I would have to say no. So, the Lord sent me to the back of the “line upon line, upon line, upon line. . . until I learned.

Ellie pulled the zipper up to her chin and shoved her hands deeper into her jacket pockets. Her worn tennis shoes scuffed along the sidewalk. The Saturday morning was dull and overcast. The cold rain had stopped, but everything was wet; her bike had a flat tire, and none of her friends could play, anyway. I hate days like this! She thought as she angrily kicked a rock.
She didn’t lift her head when Mr. Coriman’s front door slammed. “Hey, you, missy! Come here!” Mr. Coriman’s booming voice made her jump. She froze right there on the sidewalk in front of his house.
Mr. Coriman was a crotchety old neighbor who lived four doors down from her house. Ellie and her friends called him “the crank.” Once Marty had dared Alex to ring his doorbell and run away, but Mr. Coriman had caught them. He had stood on his porch, shaking his cane at them, and had shouted at them to stay off his property. Now he was hollering at her!
“Me?” she asked nervously. “I haven’t done anything!”
“I didn’t say you had! Just come here!”
She wanted to run home; instead her feet walked unwillingly up the worn path to his front porch, where he stood staring down at her.
“Do you know why you’re bored? ’Cause you can’t be loud!”
Ellie looked up at him in surprise. This wasn’t what she had expected. Mr. Coriman’s face was scrunched up and angry. She watched his bristly eyebrows shoot up as he opened his watery eyes wide and tottered toward her, buttoning his heavy sweater against the chilly air as he came.
“All day long you and your friends scream up and down this street with your sleds or on your bicycles, and now that you don’t have anyone around to be loud with, you can’t think of anything to do!”
He leaned so far forward that Ellie wondered if he would tumble down the front porch steps. He spoke more quietly now, and the corners of his mouth lifted in what might have been a smile. It was hard to tell—she had never seen him smile before. “That’s a shame. There’s a lot to see and hear if you’re quiet and listen for a minute.”
He turned away from her and scraped a battered old lawn chair across the porch to the top of the steps. As he slowly settled himself into it, Mr. Coriman pointed to the steps. “Sit down for a bit.”
She really didn’t want to stay here with this crabby old man, but since she didn’t have anything else to do, she sat down on the creaky, weathered step. She glanced up warily at Mr. Coriman, but he wasn’t looking at her now. He was squinting and looking into the distance.
“Look at how many birds there are today in my maple tree over there.” He poked her with his finger and pointed towards the far corner of his yard. The maple tree was huge and spreading, with thorny branches from nearby bushes growing around the trunk. Beneath the tree, she noticed that the grass was long and scraggly.
“I bet you can’t name all the kinds of birds in it!” Mr. Coriman leaned toward her, and she saw with surprise that he really was smiling. He challenged her again. “What do you see?”
“I don’t know—I can’t see that far away. And I don’t know their names, anyway,” Ellie admitted.
Mr. Coriman chuckled, “I can’t see them very well, either. But I listen to them singing. You get to know each bird when you listen to its song.”
They both sat quietly and listened for a moment. There were so many birds singing that it seemed impossible to listen for just one bird’s song. This is stupid! Ellie thought. She shifted impatiently on the cold step and turned toward the old man.
He put his finger to his lips, then whispered, “Just listen. You have to wait and be patient.” He looked into the sky above the tree and closed his eyes. “And maybe close your eyes.”
Ellie scrunched her eyelids closed and sat still for longer than she ever had before. At first the birdsongs all blended, but as she listened, they became separate sounds that split and overlapped. She tried to catch up with them, and for a few seconds, Ellie did hear just one song. Her eyes flew open. “I did! I heard a song! It was a ‘tweet tweet tweety tweety tweet.’”
“That was Mr. Meadowlark. Now we know he’s here this morning. Look on a middle branch.”
Hopping to the end of the branch as if to help Ellie see him better, the little brown meadowlark sang again, and she heard his song above all the others.
Ellie moved to the other side of the post and sat closer to Mr. Coriman’s chair. “What others are there?”
“Oh, no,” Mr. Coriman said, his eyes twinkling, “I’m not going to tell you. You have to hear them for yourself.”
Ellie concentrated and looked at the tree. Soon she ventured, “I hear ‘cheep cheep cheep.’”
“That’s Mr. Sparrow—but he’s not in the tree. He’s up on the power lines with his friends.”
Way up high, Ellie saw two tiny birds perched on the power line that stretched across the gray sky to Mr. Coriman’s house.
He leaned toward Ellie and cupped his ear. “Hear that other one?”
Ellie nodded. “It’s really pretty and ends with a ‘brrr.’” She trilled her tongue.
“He’s one of my favorites, Mr. Red-winged Blackbird.”
Ellie stopped listening for a moment and looked at the long grass and overgrown brambles. Then she wondered aloud, “Why is your yard so messy?”
Mr. Coriman pulled his sweater closer around him. “I can’t keep it up. My heart’s bad, and I have to take medicine.” He looked down and shifted his chair. “My nephew used to mow and trim for me sometimes, but then he had to move.”
The silence hung between them. Ellie thought of the lawn mower and clippers in her garage, and of her three older brothers. She should talk to her mom. It would be fun to surprise him.
“Well, Missy, do you hear any more birds?” the old man’s voice broke into her thoughts.
Just then Ellie’s friend Marty screeched to a halt on his bike by Mr. Coriman’s driveway. He looked puzzled. “Uh, Ellie,” he finally said, “you want to come play?”
“Come here, Marty!” Ellie stood up and waved to him. “We’re listening to the birds. Mr. Coriman is showing me how to tell the birds apart!”
Marty leaned his bike against the rusty mailbox.
While he was coming up the walk, Ellie explained, “You need to sit down and be quiet. Sometimes you have to wait and be patient and listen for each bird’s song. Listen to his song, and then you’ll know who he is!”
She looked up with pride at Mr. Coriman, and his wrinkled smile warmed her.

When Kate Hansen was 10 her father drove her to Slider Search, a local clinic being held for kids to try out for luge. “I tell people that luge is like bobsledding,” says Kate. “At the clinic, they set up hay bales and cones on the street and then let the kids ride a trainer sled with wheels down the course. I went through the cones without crashing. I remember it being really fun. Plus they wanted to see how well I took direction.”

As a result of the clinic, both Kate and her cousin were invited to come to Lake Placid, New York, where the national luge training facility is located. The first time Kate tried out a real sled on an ice course, she loved it. It was fast and fun. “It’s like a roller coaster but pretty relaxing. It’s very flowing.”

Just after their conversion, I underwent surgery for cancer in my upper jaw. On the day of my surgery, the president of the temple, where I served as an organist and an ordinance worker, fasted and prayed for me. After my surgery, I found it difficult to speak, eat, sing, and do other normal things.

“If you can’t speak,” the temple president told me, “you can still be an organist!”

That encouraged me to resume my service after I had healed. As I played the organ in the temple chapel, I was filled with the Spirit of the Lord and felt strengthened spiritually and physically. I often gave thanks and prayed silently over the words of the hymns.

I know where you be coming from. My mother died when I was eight. I was bitter, and I hated everything that had anything to do with the Church. I especially hated God for taking my mother from me and my family.
For the longest time I just went through the motions of Church activity, and then when I was 17 my Laurel adviser gave a lesson on families being forever. That lesson really made an impression on me. After that I started praying and reading my scriptures. I finally got some answers that were real to me. I also talked to my bishop. He helped me understand what I was reading and receiving in my prayers.
Families are forever.
Tina Miller, 19Danbury, Connecticut

The warm August sun gave Margaret a feeling of peace and happiness as she gingerly set one foot exactly in front of the other and balanced herself with outstretched arms. The abandoned, rusty train track glowed like a long brown ribbon as it ran off into the distance. Jeff, her brother, was right behind her.
“C’mon, slowpoke,” he chided her as he accidentally stepped on the back of her shoe.
“Oh, Jeff, look what you’ve done! This is the first time I’ve stepped off the track since we began. You go ahead of me if you’re in such a great hurry.”
She glanced across at her best friend on the other rail and grinned. Allison was having a harder time staying on, and she reminded Margaret of a circus tight-rope walker. Cory, Allison’s brother, was quite far ahead of them. He’d had more practice at rail walking, but it seemed to Margaret that he skipped off often, even though he moved faster.
Looking down the track, Margaret had warm memories of past days when her father came home from the mine with coal dust on his face, hands, and clothes, set the wooden kitchen chair in the middle of newspapers spread out on the floor, and carefully removed his boots. Even more carefully he shook out his tucked-in pant legs. Margaret liked the sound of the coal particles falling onto the paper, and she mentally compared each little pile with the previous night’s. She missed those days. Diesel engines and other inventions had almost eliminated the need for coal, and many of her father’s friends and coworkers had had to move. It will be all right as long as Allison and Cory Anderson stay here, she thought now.
Cory was now out of sight around the bend and headed toward the forest. It was full of wonderful paths created by the miners when they’d walked between the town and the mine. The children spent hours galloping through the trees on pretend horses or playing king and queen on the large boulders in the woods. “Pretend” was always their favorite game, and Cory had a new variation in mind as he waited for them.
“Let’s pretend we’re miners,” he suggested, “and that we’re searching for gold. We must find it by dark so that we can take it to the wicked king and free the good prince before the rats go into his dungeon. Rats always come out at night, you know, and the prince hates them—they scare him almost to death!”
The four friends galloped through the forest toward the old tipple. Margaret was surprised at how quickly the three-story gray building where the coal had been washed and sorted had deteriorated. A few of the windows were broken, and the whole building seemed to be sagging as they stared at it in the shadows of the late afternoon.
To their dismay, they saw that fencing had been put up and that no-trespassing signs had been posted.
“Well,” sighed Jeff, “so much for finding gold.”
“Aw, c’mon,” Cory argued. “We aren’t going to let a little fence stop us. We can find a place to climb through.”
They found a sagging wire, and each crawled through as they held the other wires apart.
Just then something very strange happened to Margaret. She thought she heard a very quiet whisper: “Don’t go in there!” She wasn’t sure where the sound came from, but it seemed to come from deep inside her. Or did it? Maybe she had just imagined it. But as they climbed the hill to the back of the tipple, her spine seemed to tingle.
The four friends peered into the opening where the coal cars had once rolled on tracks into the building and were filled. It was dark and foreboding, and, of course, the boys had to hoot like owls and make ghostly sounds as they entered.
“Jeff,” Margaret pleaded, “it’s time for us to go home. Please, Jeff, don’t go any farther in there! Allison, Cory! Let’s go home now. Please!”
“Ha! Look at Margaret. She’s afraid.”
“No, I’m not. I just don’t want to go in there, that’s all.”
“C’mon, Margaret,” pleaded Allison. “It sounds like such a fun game, and I don’t want those two boys teasing me about being a scaredy cat. We’ll only be in there for a few minutes.”
“C’mon, Margaret,” begged Jeff. “This is the most fun we’ve had in a long time. All we have to do is cross the boardwalk and dig up the gold on the other side. It will only take a minute, and then you can run right back out.”
Margaret could see the board walkway just inside the big entryway. It seemed like only yesterday when she had stood with her father, watching the coal pickers standing on the boards next to the conveyor belt. It was their job to sort the “bony” coal, which was full of rocks, from the good ore by throwing the bony lumps over their shoulders into a huge bin behind them. The good coal continued on to a waiting coal car, which hauled it away to be processed. Even with her father there beside her, Margaret hated the steep drop behind the boardwalk. Now, standing just inside the old, dilapidated tipple, she felt much more uneasy. “I know what I’ll do!” she said. “I’ll stay here on guard while you three get the gold. If the wicked king’s men appear in the forest, I’ll hoot like an owl three times.”
“Good idea!” Cory seemed relieved that Margaret’s fears hadn’t discouraged the others. “You wait here, but hide inside the door. Spies might be crawling all over the forest, and you wouldn’t want to be captured and thrown in with the rats too!”
Margaret watched them scamper across the boards and into the dark shadows. She sighed as she glanced outside. Early evening was usually her favorite time of day because it was so peaceful. However, she wasn’t feeling very peaceful just then.
Her thoughts were shattered by a loud crash and the sound of splitting wood. She heard a scream and more splitting wood, then silence. She froze for an instant with the deepest fear she had ever known. Filled with panic, she ran to the edge of the boardwalk. She could see nothing, and she could hear only her own heavy breathing.
“Jeff! Allison! Cory! Somebody answer me. Jeff, please—answer me!” She tried hard not to breathe as she listened for a sound. None came.
She sobbed, then fell to her knees. “Please, Heavenly Father, help us. Help them not to be hurt!” Scrambling up, she ran out of the tipple, down the hillside, back through the fence, and through the forest. She slipped and fell, rolled and tripped for what seemed miles to her home.
When she gasped out what had happened, her father’s face went white. As he grabbed his miner’s hat and other equipment he thought he might need, he said, “I’ll stop by the Andersons’ on my way. I may need all the help I can get.”
“We’re going too!” Margaret’s mother was emphatic. “I’ll get some blankets and coats.”
Five very grim faces retraced the path to the tipple. Five very serious pleas were silently sent heavenward.
When they reached the entrance of the dark, rickety building, the two mothers and Margaret waited while the men lit the lights on their hard hats, gathered the ropes, and cautiously advanced to the edge of the bony bin.
“Jeff! Cory! Allison! Are you all right?”
Jeff answered. “Yes, Dad. I think I’ve broken my arm, but otherwise we’re fine.”
The two women and one very relieved Margaret gave thanks as they hugged each other with joy.
The house seemed extra cozy to Margaret when her parents tucked her into bed later that night. Cory and Allison were bruised, badly shaken, and very dirty. And Jeff had broken his arm. How grateful they all were that the bony bin had been half full instead of empty and that only the wind knocked out of them had prevented them from answering or even functioning for a few minutes. It had taken a while for them to crawl through the dark bin to find each other, but they were glad to be together until help came.
“Margaret,” her mother asked when she bent to kiss her good night, “why didn’t you go farther into the tipple with the other three?”
“My Primary teacher taught us the same thing you and Dad did about the still, small voice and how it speaks to us when we need comfort or are in danger. She said that it sometimes is so quiet that you can hardly hear it and that at other times it is clear and loud. Well, I heard it this afternoon when we were on our way to the tipple. I should have told the others about it, but I wasn’t sure until the boardwalk caved in. All I know is that it caused me to be afraid, even though I didn’t feel that way at first.”
Her father gently hugged her. “I’m grateful for your teacher—and for a daughter who paid attention in class. It might have taken days for us to find you. However, there was one thing you didn’t pay attention to when you played around the tipple. Do you remember what that was?”
Margaret thought very hard, then said, “Yes, Dad. We should never have crossed the fence that had those no-trespassing signs. That was very wrong. You taught us to regard warning signs and to not trespass on other people’s property. We were so excited about our new game that we just ignored those rules. None of this would have happened if we’d listened to our consciences right at the beginning.”
“That’s right, honey. We all learn through our experiences, and Jeff has learned the same lessons you have. I’m sure that Cory and Allison have learned them too. One of the greatest tools we can use in helping us through this life is to become a listener. We’re grateful that you did listen the second time.”
Eight hearts gave thanks that night to Heavenly Father, who also had listened that day, just as He always listens.