Gospel Story Finder

When I was called to the Quorum of the Seventy, Sister Afton Pedigrew, one of my faithful Primary teachers, was at a meeting at which I spoke. She told me, “If someone had told me thirty years ago that Ronnie Rasband would someday be a General Authority, I wouldn’t have believed it.” But tears were flowing from her eyes, and I could hear a quiver in her voice as she complimented me in her sweet way and said as my Primary teacher that she was proud of me. There were tears in my eyes, too.

“Then there was the time on the bus going to play in a soccer match. (The girls and boys teams ride together.) I was reading the Book of Mormon. I have a big quadruple combination, and it was rather conspicuous. One of the boys who had been living in Utah said he’d never seen a Book of Mormon before and wanted to see it. He started looking through it and asking me questions about it. Before long, the whole back of the bus was involved in a discussion about the Book of Mormon. It was as if a curtain had been drawn between the front of the bus and the back, because up in front they were telling inappropriate jokes.”

As you exercise your agency, remember, you are not alone. In addition to a kind and wise Heavenly Father, there are others who are praying for you to make wise choices. As a youth, when I would go out on a date or with my friends, I would always check in with my parents when I came home. Usually I would just knock on their door, open it and say, “I’m home,” and then go to bed. One night I came home from a date, knocked as usual, and then opened the door. As I did so, the light from the hall fell on my angel mother on her knees in prayer. And as I saw her there, I knew whom she was praying for. I have never forgotten that experience. And the knowledge that my mother still prays for me today bears me up and reminds me who I am and that I am not alone.

BYU student Pam Richmond, 18, was on her way to work when a man asked her for directions. She thought he was probably a conference visitor, so when he said he’d drop her off at work if she’d point him toward the freeway, she wasn’t worried. It was only a few minutes later when he drove past her stop and pulled out a gun that she knew she was in real trouble.
“At first I couldn’t believe this was happening to me,” said Pam. “The gun really scared me, and I didn’t know if I’d get out alive. When I understood that he intended to hurt me, I said a prayer, and then I felt very calm. I knew I had to do something to get away from him.
“The car was going about 60 miles an hour, but I felt very strongly that I should jump—so I did. I remember the ground whizzing by me, I didn’t feel anything, though I got scraped up. When I stopped rolling, I just got up and ran as fast as I could, yelling at people to stop and help me. Finally someone took me to the police.”
Pam is one of the fortunate people who was able to escape without being seriously hurt. But it was a frightening experience, and she was very lucky. Afterwards she realized that it isn’t just other people who need to be cautious—that a life-threatening incident can happen to anyone.

Preston Ward had a devotional with a tenor in Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square, Rick Olsen.
In the Zoom question-and-answer type devotional, he shared some of his experiences in six years of singing in the choir.
Growing up, Brother Olsen played the trombone—the only choir he participated in was the missionary training center choir and that was a spiritual experience to him which inspired his participation in the Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square.
His two daughters, who are also involved with the choir, shared their experiences as well. The three of them and Brother Olsen’s wife also played instruments and sang a few songs for the Preston members.
Brother Olsen’s wife, Sister Olsen said, “It really is a blessing to have a member of the Tabernacle Choir in our home.”
“They come home with good stories and a good feeling, a feeling that comes with performing with the choir and it spreads. Plus, we get to watch them perform in the wonderful performances the Church does.” She added.
One of Brother Olsen’s daughters, Marie, who plays the violin in the Orchestra at Temple Square, said, “The orchestra is a lot less demanding. It’s professional. We don’t attend general conferences which are always busy for the choir. We also don’t require so much practice as the choir does.”
One of the Preston members asked which of the two locations at Temple Square is nicer to sing at, The Olsens agreed the old Tabernacle building is better for its history, and acoustics are better in the Tabernacle but they all said the Conference Center is an “awe-inspiring” place to perform. “The crowd is better in the Conference Center,” “When 21,000 people sing a hymn back at you, it’s quite the experience.” Brother Olsen said.
“Choir directors say they are coming home when they are at the Tabernacle though.” Brother Olsen also added.
Another member asked how many languages the Olsens have sung. The Olsens listed Latin, Spanish, French, German, Jewish, and one said they usually have a returned missionary from the country somehow in the choir when they are learning something new, which is amazing in itself.
Brother Olsen said the most memorable experiences in his opinion are not just how close they are to the Church leadership in their performances, but the most memorable are the people, the friendships made during tours, etc., because Brother Olsen admitted, “we can’t speak too much with one another, but we can sing together.”
COVID-19 has affected the world, but from Brother Olsen’s perspective, the choir is missing one another. He told the Preston members that in the choir Facebook group, “I get the feeling there’s going to be a lot of tears when we get back together and sing again.”
He added that the last time they had sung all together normally was, “We Thank Thee O God, for a Prophet” in German. A recording was done for the April 2020 General Conference. The Olsen’s assured the Preston members that they love to serve with their musical talents and are very blessed to have music be used as a powerful sharing tool and expressed love and anticipation for when the choir can visit the United Kingdom.

“You’re going where?” The Mexican official seemed genuinely amused.
“Quitovac.”
“But nobody goes to Quitovac,” he laughed. “There’s nothing there.”
“We’re going to the school. To see friends.”
“Okay,” he said, shaking his head. “Go ahead. But if I were you, I’d go to the beach instead.” He was still chuckling as we left.
Americans do come down this way from Tucson, Arizona, across the Tohono O’odham Nation (Papago) Indian Reservation to the Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, through Lukeville, then over the border into Sonoita. Mostly the Americans are tourists or university students on break, looking for the sun. They find it on the beaches of the Gulf of California, which aren’t far away.
But nobody goes to Quitovac. Nobody.
That is, of course, unless you have friends there. And the LDS youth of Tucson have friends in Quitovac, more than 70 of them.
The friendships began, as many good things do, at Christmas. And even though right now the sun was beating down, the five young people and two leaders headed to Quitovac today were quick to tell their Christmas story.
“Brother Rehm got things going, I guess,” said Brian Simmons, 18, referring to Norbert Rehm, a high councilor in the Tucson Stake who previously served as branch president on the Indian reservation. Through that association, Brother Rehm became aware of the Alberque School in Quitovac, a school in need of help.
“It’s a boarding school where parents who can’t afford to raise their children send them to live,” Brian explained. “The government built the school for the Indians, but it’s funded only by donations.”
Conditions are tough. The dormitory is a barracks-like structure with concrete floors and broken windows. There is no running water. Showers from a bucket are allowed once a week. Two small bathrooms serve all 70 children. Toilets don’t flush unless tanks are filled with water carried from half a mile away. Electricity is available only when a generator is working—twice a year. Sometimes food runs out.
“To keep warm, the kids sleep two to a bed” (four to a bunk bed), said Danyel Colvin, 15, also of the Tanque Verde Ward. “In the winter, the cold wind blows right in.”
The LDS youth wanted to help. With Brother Rehm acting as go-between with the school and the Mexican government (there are strict limitations about who and what—like glass for windows—can cross the border), a campaign was launched to gather supplies the school could use. Youth in the Tucson 17th Ward gathered and prepared clothing and toys. Canned food, some basic medical supplies, and vitamins were also collected. When the ward was divided to form the Tanque Verde and Bear Canyon Wards, both units kept the project going.
The day after Thanksgiving, about 30 young Latter-day Saints and their leaders (one dressed as Santa Claus) headed to Quitovac. “We got our first look at the village,” Danyel said. “Many houses were built only of sticks. There were no trees or bushes, no roads. Just dirt and some buildings.” The school yard—an administration building, a study building with two classrooms, a covered pavilion for outdoor assemblies, and the dormitory—was also set in a barren landscape.
“Then we met the children,” Danyel continued. “There were lots of kids with no shoes. It was cold and windy, but they were wearing shorts and T-shirts.”
“We started by handing out some candy,” said Michael Walston, 14, of the Tanque Verde Ward. Then, with help from school officials, shoes and clothing were distributed. And toys.
“I helped one boy put together a toy,” Michael’s sister Susanne, 17, remembered. “He kept talking and talking. He knew I didn’t understand Spanish, and he didn’t understand English. But it was like I was his best friend. We didn’t have to speak the same language. We could communicate without saying anything.”
That was typical of the magic that happened. Teenagers and young children paired up like they’d known each other forever. There was a Christmas program, there were lots of hugs, and there was a lot of joy in Quitovac that day. But the thing Susanne remembers most is how eager the children seemed just to have someone take an interest in them.
“Sure, they were glad we brought some things,” she said. “But more than that, they wanted to share with us, even if all they could share was a smile.” That was what made the memory pleasant. That was what made a return to Quitovac worthwhile.
And now, here we were.
We turned from one dirt road to another, came over a small hill, and there, in the middle of nowhere, was the village. Now, months after Christmas, would the children even remember the earlier visit? Now, when the sun was hot and winds calm, would the friendship still be there?
The answer was quick in coming. The dust from our arriving vehicles had hardly settled when we were mobbed by children. Yes, we brought some supplies, some candy, some food. But again what mattered was the sharing. Children who didn’t speak English guided teenagers who didn’t speak Spanish around their school, their classrooms, their playground. Kids watched Brian, who brought along a tool kit, fix a broken swing and re-attach fiberglass panels on the pavilion.
Michael and Susanne organized volleyball and basketball games. Danyel gave piggyback rides. Crystal Smith, 15, of the Sonora 18th Ward, Tucson Stake, became an instant celebrity with school officials because she speaks Spanish and could act as an interpreter.
We were shown the school’s new hand-operated mimeograph machine. A flag ceremony and school assembly were held in our honor. And the principal presented a letter of thanks to the LDS youth.
But it was Walt Stone, a seminary teacher who accompanied the group, who summarized what meeting with the children of Alberque School taught us. “These kids have dignity,” he said. “Everything they own fits on the half of the bed they sleep in. But they share whatever they have.”
An example: “One boy brought out his bag of marbles—the only marbles in the school,” Walt said. “A bunch of us joined him in a game. Nobody argued about winning anything; they just had fun. And when the game was over, the marbles went back in the bag, and he put them back on his bed. He knew they would be safe.”
Many times we saw older children looking out for others, making sure the youngest (some are little more than one year old) weren’t neglected. If anyone tripped and skinned a knee, others were instantly there to help. When teachers asked students to do something, it was immediately taken care of. Students marched, stood at attention, posed with us for a school photo, hugged us over and over again, and literally clung to the teenagers when it was finally time to leave.
All the way home, the youth talked about their day in the sun.
“That was great, even better than Christmas,” Brian said.
“What you never forget are their faces,” Danyel added. “There’s such joy in their faces. Designer jeans and worldly things don’t really matter down here. What’s important is to enjoy life, and to share your joy with others.”
Nobody goes to Quitovac, the Mexican official said. But he was absolutely wrong. Friends come to Quitovac. And their friendship shines all the brighter when they leave. The tourists and the students who drive to the beach seeking the sun take the wrong road. The brightest light is found where people help each other. It’s the light of Christlike service, and it’s a light that shines brighter than any sun.
The friendship with Quitovac didn’t end with just two visits. As this story was being prepared for publication, we learned that the youth from the Rincon Stake had been to the Alberque School again.
They brought quilts they had made, one for each child at the school. An LDS dentist came along to check the children’s teeth. And they also brought a foot-powered sewing machine, with the promise that a Relief Society sister would soon be along to teach villagers how to sew.
“When we arrived, the children lined up on the left and right of the road, clapped their hands, and saluted us,” Brother Rehm said. “We played the same games, had the same fun, left with the same feelings.”
And, he noticed, the school was cleaner. The students all had shoes and proper clothing. And even though there were still some broken windows in need of repair, it seemed like there was a brighter, happier feeling in this place in the sun.

Most people do the best they can. They try hard to do the right things.
I believe my dad did his best. Maybe he could have done better if he had joined Alcoholics Anonymous. Perhaps a hospital for alcoholics might have helped. Maybe going to a counselor would have helped. But he didn’t get help.
Living with him was very difficult. Living with him was disgusting sometimes. Living with him was embarrassing sometimes. Living with him was sad many times.
Sometimes I was ashamed of him. Sometimes I was scared of him.
Other times I felt angry when our Mormon neighbors didn’t seem to like him. I knew he was a good person when he was sober. Why couldn’t other people see it?
One of my children asked me what I did for fun when I was a child. At first I didn’t have an answer. Of course, I had some good times. But the strongest memories of my childhood all involve alcohol.
Alcohol steals childhood. Instead of many carefree days, there is premature responsibility. Instead of happiness, there is anger and fear and guilt. Instead of openness and trust there is secrecy. Often there is a falling away from the Church.
But I survived, and others can too, if we all help. I hope we will.
It was Christmas Eve. I sat by our Christmas tree that was decorated with sparkling icicles and glowing red and white lights. I was sad my dad was not home. He was drinking at some bar.
It’s not the way I wanted Christmas to be.
Drinking ruined birthdays. It ruined Thanksgiving. It ruined New Years and Easter and other special days.
Holidays were often the saddest, loneliest, most painful time of the year. On those days the contrast was sharp and bitter between how life could and should be and how it really was.
The movies and television show handsome men and beautiful women drinking. These people do clever and funny things.
It’s not like that in real life. My dad didn’t do clever things. He did disgusting things. He would wet the bed. I would have to strip off the sheets and blankets. Then it was my job to turn over that big, wet mattress. I would pull and push to turn it and sometimes it would spring back, wet and smelly in my face.
He vomited. He vomited and then vomited some more. My bedroom was next to the bathroom. I would bury my head in my pillow. I didn’t like that sickening smell.
Sometimes my dad would walk around without clothes on when he was drunk.
He never hit me when he was drunk. But lots of people do get mean when they drink. They hit their children and abuse their families.
Now I’m an adult I can forgive him. I know now that alcoholism is a disease that requires treatment. He did the best he could do without help. But I didn’t forgive him while we were living in the same house.
I was afraid a lot.
I was afraid my dad would kill himself while driving drunk. I was afraid he’d kill someone else when he was driving drunk.
Late at night I would lie in my bed with all the lights out. I would wait and wait to hear his car pull in. I’d pray over and over, “Please help him get home safely. Please don’t let him hit anyone.”
In the morning I’d look at how the car was parked in the driveway. Sometimes it would be barely an inch from the house. Sometimes it would be over into the neighbor’s flowers.
I was afraid he’d embarrass me. He did. He’d wake up from sleeping off a drunk and not really be sober. He’d stumble out of the bedroom. He’d stink of beer. He’d say dumb things. I hated it.
My real friends still liked me. Still, it was embarrassing.
I was afraid my parents would get a divorce. Many times they would have fights when my dad drank. He had a black leather suitcase in his closet. He’d get it out and start packing his clothes. If it were daytime I’d run out of the house. One day I took my dad’s white pocketknife with me. I wanted to have something of his if he left.
Sometimes I was afraid my parents would not get a divorce. I was afraid they would keep living together and I would never have a home that was nice. I thought my mother and I could go live with my grandparents. It sounded so safe.
At sacrament meeting I watched other families sit together. I watched them smile at each other. I wanted my dad to be there. I wanted our family to sit together.
But he never came to church. He said they didn’t like him because he drank beer. My ward had parties for fathers and their children. I helped plan these parties. I never got to go to them.
On Father’s Day our ward gave rosebuds to all the fathers. I helped pick every rosebud in our garden. My dad didn’t come to the meeting.
I hated it when they talked about temple marriage at church. I hated hearing my family was different. I knew as long as my father drank we could not go to the temple. I loved my mother. I loved my dad. I wanted to be with them forever. It’s very difficult to sit in class when they are teaching about the temple.
I just kept going to church. I decided I would not drink. I decided I would be married in the temple.
I’m an adult now. And I definitely don’t drink. And I have been married in the temple. I am happy that my children are sealed to me.
My mother came from a very religious family. They went to church together. They did a lot of fun things together. I loved to hear her talk about when she was a child. I would pretend that I had been a child then too. It must have hurt her a lot to live with a man who got drunk.
She was ashamed of his drinking. She told me over and over not to tell anyone. “It’s a secret,” she’d say.
I loved her. I kept her secret. But it was lonely. I thought I was the only young person in the Church who had this kind of home.
What a relief it would have been for me to share the burden, to know that I was not alone.
My dad insisted he was not an alcoholic. He said he only drank beer and you couldn’t be an alcoholic if you only drank beer. I believed it for a long time because I loved him. Maybe he believed it himself.
My dad would sometimes disappear for two or three days and then come home drunk.
He never just smiled and said, “I’m going to go get drunk.” He always left when he was angry.
Many things made him angry.
If I cried he would get angry.
If I asked too many questions he would get angry.
If I didn’t say the right thing he would get angry.
Sometimes I didn’t say anything for fear I would say the wrong thing. Then he would be angry because I wasn’t talking.
Usually he started drinking Friday night. Toward the end of each week I tried very hard to be good. I thought if I didn’t do anything wrong he wouldn’t get angry and go drink.
Occasionally he didn’t drink on Friday. I thought it must be because I had been good.
My mother encouraged this way of thinking.
I tried very hard to be good, but he kept on drinking. I thought it was all my fault.
I prayed he wouldn’t get drunk again. He kept drinking. I thought my Heavenly Father didn’t make him stop because I wasn’t good enough.
I remember trying to do everything perfectly. I didn’t want to “make trouble” at home. As I look back, I realize I have always tried to earn people’s acceptance. If I did things well enough, they would like me in spite of my father’s drinking.
This is the story of my growing up years. It’s not a happy story, and I don’t enjoy telling it. But it’s a story that’s happening over and over again—perhaps to you or a friend of yours. My story has a hopeful ending, and I want you to know that yours can too.

(3) In far-off Europe, beyond a curtain of iron and a wall called “Berlin,” I visited, with a handful of members, a small cemetery. It was a dark night, and a cold rain had been falling throughout the entire day.
We had come to visit the grave of a missionary who many years before had died while in the service of the Lord. A hushed silence shrouded the scene as we gathered about the grave. With a flashlight illuminating the headstone, I read the inscription:
Joseph A. Ott
Born: 12 December 1870—Virgin, Utah
Died: 10 January 1896—Dresden, Germany
Then the light revealed that this grave was unlike any other in the cemetery. The marble headstone had been polished, weeds such as those which covered other graves had been carefully removed, and in their place was an immaculately edged bit of lawn and some beautiful flowers that told of tender and loving care. I asked, “Who has made this grave so attractive?” My query was met by silence.
At last a twelve-year-old deacon acknowledged that he wanted to render this unheralded kindness and, without prompting from parents or leaders, had done so. He said that he just wanted to do something for a missionary who gave his life while in the service of the Lord. I thanked him; and then I asked all there to safeguard his secret, that his gift might remain anonymous.

When I was a child, my dad worked far away and always came home when it was pitch dark. I would stay awake until he came home. But one day he was very late, and I couldn’t reach him on the phone. I was very scared. I remembered that my parents had taught me to pray always and to ask for help whenever I was scared, so I knelt down and prayed that my father would return home safely. To my surprise, as I ended my prayer, I heard my dad’s bike outside. I was so grateful to my Heavenly Father for watching over my father.

On Christmas Day in 1993, the single adults of the Caracas Venezuela Stake visited an orphanage that housed some 40 children. We wanted to bring some happiness to God’s precious little ones. I will never forget the expression of one four-year-old boy named Gustavo.
As we arrived, the children enthusiastically greeted us with hugs, kisses, and other expressions of affection, which we happily returned. The hope and innocence in their eyes helped me better understand the Lord’s admonition to “become as little children” (Matt. 18:3).
Our activity began with a little party, at which we gave out treats and toys we had brought. When lunchtime came, each of us sat down next to a child to help serve the meal. Many were too excited about their toys to want to eat; others told us fantastic stories woven from their imaginations. Some were extremely quiet and just stared at us, but they laughed when we made funny faces at them.
I asked the workers how many occasions like this the children had already experienced. They told me the children were seldom visited; as a result, many of them were lonely and shy. Many were ready to be adopted, but the law has many requirements that delay the adoption process. Most of the orphans could not be adopted until legislation was passed in their favor.
When the children finished eating, Gustavo came up to me and began to play. I tried to talk to him, but he answered only in short phrases. At the end of our brief encounter, he gave me a hug and a big smile and said, “Thank you, Daddy.” A lump formed in my throat.
By midafternoon it was time for the children’s nap. We helped put them to bed, but they were too excited to sleep. When they realized we were preparing to leave, they began to cry, and it was hard to comfort them. There was nothing to say; we could only give them our love, expressed in hugs and kisses. Gradually, sleep began to overcome them.
And then, as we left, I again encountered Gustavo’s smile. He was still awake, and he said to me, “Come back soon, Daddy.”
I spent the rest of the day thinking about him and feeling sad that I couldn’t do more to help him. Shortly thereafter, I learned he had been adopted. I don’t know who adopted him, but I believe my prayers and the pure desires of his heart helped bring him this blessing.
I will probably never see Gustavo again, but his smile that Christmas Day taught me about the importance of giving love and being willing to receive it.

In one of my school classes, we were reading a book that critiqued the Church. I knew I needed to speak up about the truths of the restored gospel. So I raised my hand. The teacher called on me, but I didn’t know what to say. For some reason, I started to sing the songs of the Articles of Faith. To my surprise, a profound reverence came over the room. Afterward there was less confusion, and my teacher and classmates treated class discussion and me with more respect.
Monique, Massachusetts, USA

Another learning experience happened after I graduated from high school in Lima. I went to Ricks College on a basketball scholarship. I had the opportunity to go to other schools, but I went to Ricks because my parents moved nearby. Basketball and baseball were all that I was concerned with at that age. I loved playing. The fall that I arrived, to help me with my finances, my coach got me a job outside of Rexburg, working at a beet dump. The first day of work, I rode there on a motorcycle with another team member. On October 15, 1951, we finished work at 10:30 P.M. and were coming back into town, going about fifty miles (80 k) an hour. It was storming, and we ran head-on into a car. I was thrown about seventy feet through the air and landed on my back on the pavement. As I flew over the top of the car, my right foot went through the windshield. I broke a number of bones and came within a fraction of having cut off my right foot.
At the hospital, the doctors decided that they would have to amputate my foot. My mother stepped forward and said, “Not until he’s received a blessing.” So my bishop and my stepfather gave me a blessing. My bishop told me that I would keep my foot and that I would be able to run and enjoy many of the things I’d always loved. The doctors then decided to try to save the foot. After they operated, I was in bed for three months, then spent six months on crutches, waiting for my foot to heal. It did. I never was able to compete in sports as I had before, but I could still play.

On one occasion a girl was trying to decide whether or not to marry a certain young man and was confused because at times she felt doubt and uncertainty and at other times was certain she wanted to marry him. When they were together it seemed right, but when she was alone or away from him, there was much doubt and uncertainty. We talked about many things: the kind of person she wanted to marry, the element of trust in marriage, possible reasons for her doubt, and why at times it seemed all right. Toward the end of the conversation she was asked to consider what she really felt was the right thing to do. After a few moments she said that she had really known all along it wasn’t right but had just put aside those feelings. One must follow the counsel of Mormon and “search diligently in the light of Christ that ye may know good from evil …” He then promised, “… if ye will lay hold upon every good thing, and condemn it not, ye certainly will be a child of Christ.” (Moro. 7:19.)

My sister Rylee is allergic to nuts. If she eats any, they can make her stop breathing. One night we ate some salt water taffy, not knowing that some of the pieces had nuts in them. Rylee’s mouth started burning. Mom gave her some medicine, but it didn’t help. Next, Rylee’s throat started to burn, and she couldn’t swallow. Then her chest started to burn. It soon became hard for her to breathe.
Dad was out of town, so he wasn’t around to give her a blessing. Mom decided to call 911. The operator told her to stay on the phone until the paramedics arrived.
My sisters Kelsey and Haley and I were really worried about Rylee. We knelt on the kitchen floor and said a prayer asking Heavenly Father not to let Rylee die. Soon the paramedics arrived, but Rylee was already doing better. Mom was really surprised at her recovery.
Later, after everyone had left, we told Mom about our prayer and asked if she thought it had helped. She told us that it was probably the reason why Rylee was all right. I am grateful that Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers.Mason Cate, age 4, with help from his familyLayton, Utah

The choirmaster of St. Michael’s Church looked up in surprise at the two travel-stained young boys the doorkeeper had just brought into the room. “What’s that you say?” he asked, turning to the youngsters. “You want to sing in my choir?”
“Oh, yes, sir. Please take us into your choir and school,” both boys answered at once, their eyes lighting up and brightening their faces in spite of their tired, dusty appearance.
“You must be able to sing well to join the choir of St. Michael’s,” the choirmaster said. “But first, tell me about yourselves. What are your names, and where are you from?”
“My name is Sebastian Bach,” the younger of the two boys said. “This is my Georg Erdmann. We have come from Ohrdruf.”
“Bach. Ah, yes,” the choirmaster said. The musical Bach family, he mused. How well they are known throughout the countryside. “But tell me,” he said, turning to the boys and staring into their dusty faces, “Ohrdruf is two hundred miles away. Surely you did not walk all the way here to Lüneburg.”
“Yes, sir, we did,” Sebastian answered.
“Except when a kindly old man gave us a ride in his oxcart,” Georg added.
“Sir,” Sebastian said. “We have a letter for you from our choirmaster in Ohrdruf. He told us to come here.”
“He said that to sing in your choir would pay for our tuition and lodging at St. Michael’s,” Georg added.
“Yes, that is so,” the choirmaster said, “and you must sing well, or Elias Herda would not have recommended you. But now you must have food and rest. Tomorrow we shall hear you sing.”
Sebastian and Georg ate heartily the soup and bread that were placed before them. When they finished, they sat wrapped in blankets before a warm fire. Soon they were sound asleep.
The next morning, when the choirmaster saw how easily they could read music and heard what clear, beautiful tones they sang with, he was delighted. “Yes, indeed,” he said, nodding his approval. “We certainly have a place for such fine voices in our choir.” Turning to Sebastian, he said, “Even for a Bach, your musical training has been superior.”
“My brother Christoph taught me a lot the last five years,” Sebastian told him. “When my parents died, I went to live with him in Ohrdruf.”
Sebastian’s home had been in Eisenach, Germany. Like almost all the other male Bachs, his first name was Johann. His family was very musical, and there was always much singing and music-making in their home. In fact, once a year all the Bach relatives gathered together for a three-day music fest.
When Sebastian went to live with his brother, Christoph taught him to play the clavier, which was a forerunner of the piano. Christoph taught him to play other musical instruments, too, and it was the organ that thrilled Sebastian the most. He loved to sit in church and listen to the music flowing from the mighty instrument. It was the most beautiful music he had ever heard. Now that I am in the choir school, I want to learn to play the organ better, he thought.
Sebastian eagerly began his new life at St. Michael’s. There were other lessons to study, but he was happiest when it was time for music. When his voice changed and he could no longer sing in his fine soprano tones, he played the violin and other instruments in the church orchestra. He spent countless hours practicing the music of the great masters and learning from them. Many, many years later Johann Sebastian Bach would be considered one of the greatest masters of music, but today he was just a young boy eagerly learning all he could from the opportunities he found before him.
One of those opportunities was that of studying the organ with the accomplished Georg Böhm, organist of St. John’s Church in Lüneburg. Sebastian loved to send the music echoing through the church, sometimes softly, sometimes loudly. Melodies began to flow through his mind, and he wrote them down.
During his lifetime Sebastian became famous as an organist. Most of the music he wrote was played or sung in churches. But although he wrote a vast amount of music, very little of his work was published in his lifetime. It was not until Mozart, and later Beethoven, heard the music of Johann Sebastian Bach and taught it to their students and presented it to the world that people realized what a great genius Bach was. March 21, 1985, will be the three hundredth anniversary of his birth. Today, Johann Sebastian Bach is still bringing joy to those who listen to his beautiful music.

When our oldest daughter, Jen, brought her third daughter home from the hospital, I went to her home to help. After getting her oldest daughter off to school, we decided that what Jen needed most was rest. So the best help I could give was to take her daughter Chloe home with me so her mom and new baby sister could have some quiet time.
I buckled Chloe into her car seat, secured my own seat belt, and drove out of their driveway. However, before we reached the end of the street, Chloe had unbuckled her seat belt and was standing up, looking over my shoulder, and talking to me! I pulled the car over to the side of the road, got out, and buckled her back into her seat.
We started again but had gone only a short distance when she was out of her seat again. I repeated the same steps, but this time before I could even get back into the car and fasten my own seat belt, Chloe was already standing up!
I found myself sitting in a car, parked on the side of the road, having a power struggle with a three-year-old. And she was winning!
I used every idea I could think of to convince her that remaining fastened in her car seat was a good idea. She was not convinced! I finally decided to try the if–then approach.
I said, “Chloe, if you will stay buckled in your car seat, then as soon as we get to Grandma’s house, we can play with play dough.”
No response.
“Chloe, if you will stay buckled in your seat, then we can make bread when we get to Grandma’s house.”
No response.
I tried again. “Chloe, if you will stay buckled in your seat, then we can stop at the market for a treat!”
After three attempts, I realized this was a futile exercise. She was determined, and no amount of if–then was enough to convince her to remain fastened in her seat.
We couldn’t spend the day sitting on the edge of the road, but I wanted to be obedient to the law, and it wasn’t safe to drive with Chloe standing up. I offered a silent prayer and heard the Spirit whisper, “Teach her.”
I turned to face her and pulled my seat belt away from my body so she could see it. I said, “Chloe, I am wearing this seat belt because it will protect me. But you aren’t wearing your seat belt, and you won’t be safe. And I will be so sad if you get hurt.”
She looked at me; I could almost see the wheels turning in her little mind as I waited anxiously for her response. Finally, her big blue eyes brightened, and she said, “Grandma, you want me to wear my seat belt because you love me!”
The Spirit filled the car as I expressed my love for this precious little girl. I didn’t want to lose that feeling, but I knew I had an opportunity, so I got out and secured her in her car seat. Then I asked, “Chloe, will you please stay in your car seat?” And she did—all the way to the market for a treat! And she stayed buckled all the way from the market to my home, where we made bread and played with play dough because Chloe did not forget!
As I drove back onto the road that day, a scripture filled my mind: “If ye love me, keep my commandments.” We have rules to teach, guide, and protect children. Why? Because of the great love we have for them. But until Chloe understood that my desire for her to remain securely fastened in her car seat was because of my love for her, she was unwilling to submit to what she considered a restriction. She felt her seat belt limited her freedom.
Like Chloe, we can choose to see commandments as limitations. We may feel at times that God’s laws restrict our personal freedom, take from us our agency, and limit our growth. But as we seek for greater understanding, as we allow our Father to teach us, we will begin to see that His laws are a manifestation of His love for us and obedience to His laws is an expression of our love for Him.
If you find yourself figuratively parked on the side of the road, can I suggest a few principles that, if followed, will help you get safely back on “the road of faith and obedience”?
First, trust God. Trust in His eternal plan for you. Each of us is “a beloved spirit son or daughter of heavenly parents.” Their love for us is apparent in commandments. Commandments are vital instructions to teach, guide, and protect us as we “gain earthly experience.”
In the “premortal realm” we used our agency to accept God’s plan, and we learned that obedience to God’s eternal law was vital to our success in His plan. Scriptures teach, “There is a law, irrevocably decreed in heaven before the foundations of this world, upon which all blessings are predicated.” If we obey the law, we receive the blessings.
Even with all of the mistakes, opposition, and learning that accompany our mortal experience, God never loses sight of our eternal potential, even when we do. We can trust Him “because God wants His children back.” And He has provided a way through the Atonement of His Son, Jesus Christ. The Atonement “is the core of the plan of salvation.”
Second, trust Jesus. The ultimate expression of obedience and love is the Atonement of Jesus Christ. Submitting Himself to the Father’s will, He gave His life for us. He said, “If ye keep my commandments, ye shall abide in my love; even as I have kept my Father’s commandments, and abide in his love.”
Jesus also taught:
“Love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.
“This is the first and great commandment.
“And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.”
Each Sunday we have the opportunity to ponder and remember our Savior’s pure love as we partake of the emblems of His infinite Atonement. During the sacrament, I watch as hands and arms extend to pass the bread and the water. As I extend my arm and partake, I covenant that I am willing to take His name upon me, always remember Him, and keep His commandments. And He promises “that [we] may always have his Spirit to be with [us].”
Third, trust the whisperings of the Spirit. Remember during my experience with Chloe that the Spirit whispered a scripture to me? It is in John 14:15: “If ye love me, keep my commandments.” And these important verses follow:
“I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you for ever;
“Even the Spirit of truth; whom the world cannot receive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him: but ye know him; for he dwelleth with you, and shall be in you.”
Every worthy, confirmed member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has the right to the companionship of the Holy Ghost. Fasting, prayer, scripture study, and obedience greatly enhance our ability to hear and feel the promptings of the Spirit.
When your mind is filled with doubt and confusion, the Father and the Son will send the Holy Ghost to warn you and guide you safely through the dangers of this mortal journey. He will help you remember, comfort you, and fill you “with hope and perfect love.”
Fourth, trust the counsel of living prophets. Our Father has provided a way for us to hear His word and know His law through His prophets. The Lord declared, “My word shall … all be fulfilled, whether by mine own voice or by the voice of my servants, it is the same.”
Recently, living prophets have counseled us to “remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy,” and to live the law of the fast. Obedience to this prophetic counsel provides a way for us to be obedient to God’s commandment to love Him and our neighbor as we increase our faith in Jesus Christ and extend our hand to love and care for others.
There is safety in following the word of the Lord through His prophets. God called President Thomas S. Monson, the counselors in the First Presidency, and the members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles as prophets, seers, and revelators. In this world of increasing fear, distraction, adversity, and anger, we can look to them to see how disciples of Jesus Christ—filled with charity—look, sound, and react to issues that could be divisive. They testify of Jesus Christ and respond with charity, the pure love of Jesus Christ, whose witnesses they are.
After my experience with Chloe, I searched the scriptures for verses that mentioned commandments and love. I found many. Each of these verses reminds us that His commandments are a manifestation of His love for us and obedience to His commandments is an expression of our love for Him.
I testify that as we trust God, our Eternal Father; trust His Son, Jesus Christ, and exercise faith in His Atonement; trust the whisperings of the Spirit; and trust the counsel of living prophets, we will find our way off the edge of the road and continue safely—not just enduring but finding joy in our journey home. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Valeri Oswald’s favorite subject in school is gym “because we play basketball and all that sort of stuff.” It’s easy to see why she likes gym when you know that Valeri played T-ball for three years and started taking figure-skating lessons recently. Her skating group put on a performance with a circus theme, and she skated the part of a little brown pony, complete with ears and a tail! Valeri thinks that she might want to teach figure skating when she grows up. And if she doesn’t do that, she might be a pediatrician—“because I like babies,” she said.
Valeri (9) lives in the country near Hannon, Ontario, Canada, twenty minutes from Hamilton and an hour from Niagara Falls. Behind her house are wildflowers and a small woods. Squirrels run up and down the trees and sometimes watch while Valeri and two of her brothers, Chris (11) and Kyle (3), ride their bikes in the driveway. Chris and Valeri gathered a pile of woodchips there, then placed a board on top of it, making a ramp to ride their bikes over.
When it’s too cold to play outside, Valeri likes to watch TV or play computer games. Sometimes some of the younger kids on her street come over to her house to play school. Since Valeri is the oldest, she gets to be the teacher.
In the summertime, Valeri’s mom, Olivia (Libby) Oswald, works in the Little League Park. Chris, Valeri, and Kyle go with her. When Valeri isn’t playing baseball or watching Chris play baseball, she plays with the other children at the park and baby-sits Kyle. Kyle says that she is a good baby-sitter.
Valeri also has two older brothers, Dave (25) and Malcolm (24), and a sister, Marni (21). It’s fun to have older brothers and sisters because sometimes they take her to movies and to eat at a drive-in. And when Dave got married, she got to be a flower girl!
Some of the other things that Valeri gets to do she isn’t as excited about—like vacuuming her room and emptying the dishwasher. But when she’s done, she might get to make cookies, play hide-and-seek, or even ask one of her friends to come and stay all night for a miniature slumber party.

Indio High School’s water polo team was surprising everybody. The Southern California 3-A championship game was half over, and they were thrashing the El Dorado Hawks, 7–3. Indio’s Rajahs were considered a Cinderella club, strong on teamwork but lacking the polish and size necessary to pull off an upset. Yet somehow they were winning the game!
Calvin Lowell, 17, braced himself at the edge of the pool, ready to sprint to the center. (In water polo each quarter begins when the referee tosses the ball to the middle of the water, and players swim toward it in a scramble for possession.) He knew El Dorado would come out fighting.
Cal looked up at his father, Dr. John Lowell, who was standing near one of the diving boards, ready to shout encouragement. It wasn’t just another case of a proud spectator cheering on his boy. Cal’s father is the Indio coach.
The whistle shrieked. Waves foamed and churned. One blazing shot after another skittered into the net, despite flailing arms and lunging defensive maneuvers. Two of Indio’s top players fouled out. The lead narrowed to 8–7. Each team scored again quickly. Then with two minutes and 36 seconds remaining in the fourth quarter, an El Dorado forward slapped the ball from the goalie’s hand and it floated into the net to knot the score at 9–9.
Coach Lowell bowed his head. Ignoring thousands of screaming fans, he said a silent prayer. He knew the Lord couldn’t promise a victory, but he hoped that each player would perform to the best of his ability. A new strategy came into his head, and he called a time out.
He gathered the players around him and counseled them to avoid the congested area just in front of the goals, concentrating on outside shots. Play resumed. The tactic worked perfectly, but the man who wound up free with the ball was the team’s poorest marksman. “Not him,” Coach Lowell wanted to shout. “Anybody but …”
The ball slammed into the goal’s canvas backing. Indio led again, 10–9. The same play worked twice more with other Indio shooters, while the Hawks tallied only one more point. The seconds timer read zero. The championship game was over, and the Rajahs had won, 12–10!
The CIF (California Interscholastic Federation) victory over El Dorado was the culmination of a lot of struggle and practice for the coach and his players. But more than that, it was the realization of a goal shared by a father and a son. Cal Lowell and his father, both active members of the Church, have been working together to build water polo in Indio for a long time.
The Lowell family came to the community under unusual circumstances. Brother Lowell had just finished his doctorate degree at BYU and was searching for a job. “I knew I wanted to coach swimming because Cal was in swimming. He showed talent as a youngster, and all I really wanted to do was help him develop it. I wanted to find a job that would allow me to spend time with my son.”
But after graduation Brother Lowell was 50 and unemployed. He’d been fasting and praying about finding a job and worrying particularly about his older son Ron who was still on a mission. As he sat at the kitchen table reading a swimming magazine, a small classified ad caught Brother Lowell’s attention. It described a coaching position available in a desert town 150 miles southeast of Los Angeles. Every detail seemed to be describing him. “It was like a hand came down on my shoulder, and I had to get up and call the number. I figured that an ad in a national magazine would already be filled, but I knew I had to call just the same. I told the man who answered the phone, ‘You may think I’m crazy, but I think the Lord wants me to come to Indio and coach swimming. I’m a Mormon, and I think that I’m being told that that’s what I should be doing.’ The man said, ‘I don’t think you’re crazy; I’m a Mormon, too!’” Brother Joe Rile, the man Brother Lowell had phoned, was on the board of directors for a private swim club in Indio. Soon the whole Lowell family was relocated.
When they arrived in Indio, there were good facilities, but there was no solid program for water polo. Brother Lowell started talking to community leaders, and Cal and his friends started “recruiting” potential players. The combined community and high school effort they initiated for both swimming and water polo has produced an enviable record.
Four boys formed the nucleus of the original team. (There are seven players per team, counting the goalie.) They played a summer of AAU league water polo in eighth grade before their freshman year in high school. In their first high school season they won athletic letters and started on the varsity polo team. In swimming they won the CIF freshman-sophomore 6-by-50-yard relay (freestyle). Then they captured the national Junior Olympics water polo crown (15 and under) in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and six of the players on that trip, including Cal, were named to the All-America team.
The next year Indio’s high school team won the league water polo championship and made it into the second round CIF playoffs. Then during swimming season they won four out of seven events in the CIF freshman-sophomore relays, setting three records, including one national record that beat the previous time by three seconds. Cal was the anchor (final) swimmer on all the relay squads and qualified for the state championships in all four strokes on varsity time standards as a sophomore.
Brother Lowell also arranged for the team to travel to Australia and to the Church College of New Zealand and to play several exhibition games en route. To help fund that project, the polo players swam 7,000 laps in a hotel pool, with people pledging money for each lap completed. During the tour they stayed part of the time with LDS families and were impressed by their friendly attitude, high standards, and enthusiasm for life. “They made us feel at home,” Guy Baker, one of Cal’s teammates, said. The team gained enough recognition with its 13–1–1 record during the tour to receive tentative invitations to Japan and Cuba next year.
But the team members feel the high school championship over El Dorado in 1977 still tops their list of achievements. No team outside the Los Angeles area had ever won the 3-A water polo title before. (And incidentally, all of the starting Indio players were named to the all-CIF team, and Brother Lowell was named coach of the year.) It’s indicative of the growth water polo has made since the Lowells arrived in Indio. So is the formation of the Indio Aquatics Club, an AAU (Amateur Athletic Union) organization founded by Brother Lowell, which stars the same swimmers in tournaments against amateur teams.
Both Cal and his father are quick to point out, though, that their success hasn’t come without effort. “When we organized our first summer polo program here,” Cal said, “we didn’t even know what the tournaments were. We called up team after team, but they wouldn’t practice with us. Mira Costa (150 miles away) was the only team that would play us, and that was at seven in the morning.” So Sister Lowell and the players got up at 4:00 A.M., drove for three hours, played the game, and drove home. (Brother Lowell had to work at the high school and couldn’t leave.) They lost 14–2. They battled through the rest of that initial AAU season, too. In nine of the eleven final games, they won by only one point. (But then they battled on in championship playoffs to the Junior Olympic title mentioned above.)

When Etienne Marakavi arrived in South Africa at the age of 25, he had no family, no home, and very little money.
Having lost his parents and survived many civil war atrocities in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, he left the country by himself on foot. At 19 years old, he began an epic journey, travelling from country to country in pursuit of a new home. He stayed in refugee camps along the way, relying on donated food and shelter to survive.
Eventually, Etienne found himself in Norway. There, he had the life-changing experience of meeting the missionaries and joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. But a fruitless attempt to gain asylum status meant that after some time, he was forced to leave. “I went to Rwanda, Uganda, and then Kenya,” said Etienne, “where I was advised to leave the country. Then I moved to Tanzania, where I was told the country does not accept asylum seekers. I moved to Malawi, where I unsuccessfully tried to apply for asylum, and I had to leave due to the harsh conditions of life. I managed to slip through Mozambique, where I got mugged and robbed.” He made it to Tongogara, a refugee camp in Zimbabwe. But the conditions in the camp were extremely harsh and “hopeless,” said Etienne, so he left again—this time bound for South African shores.
Because he had found the Church, he had something he didn’t previously: a testimony. But his temporal circumstances were dire.
“I had every expectation of being homeless for several years,” says Etienne.
And in the beginning, he was. He joined a group of homeless people on the streets of a small border town called Musina and lived on discarded food to stay alive.
But some months later he managed to travel to Johannesburg. There, he gradually started finding menial jobs. Now, a few years later, he pays his own rent, has completed his high-school certificate, recently finished the Church-sponsored distance-learning “Pathway” programme, and is now registered with BYU–Idaho to earn a degree in computer science. He has also remained active and faithful in the Church, currently serving as the ward assistant clerk.
Etienne shares the three biggest things he learned about self-reliance in this extraordinary journey, and his answers show an understanding that self-reliance permeates every part of our lives. “People should not confuse the topic of self-reliance with self-sufficiency,” he says. “I firmly believe that self-reliance involves both spiritual and temporal aspects of people’s lives.”
His three personal lessons are:
“What I first learned about the principle of self-reliance is to always rely on the Lord through the basic routines such as morning prayers and daily scripture studies while I am trying to achieve the goals that I set out,” says Etienne. “Self-reliance in this case means to have faith in the Lord and at that time I am exercising the free agency that the Lord bestowed upon me”.
“The second thing I learned is the ability to seek help that will impact your life positively in the long run both temporally and spiritually,” says Etienne. “In other words, you better learn to ask people to teach you how to fish, rather than constantly asking people to give you the fish.”
When he first arrived in South Africa, Etienne remembers the struggle of meeting basic financial obligations. “It was really very difficult,” he said. But as he battled through these challenges and asked for help when he needed it, he always kept in mind his end goal: “finding a job so that I could take care of myself.”
“The third thing that I learned about self-reliance is the ability to help others to become in their turn self-reliant,” says Etienne. “We all are gifted in one way or another, and we can use our gifts to help and bless others so that they too, in their turn, can even help many more. By empowering our fellow beings, we learn and enrich our lives in the process.”
Above all, Etienne’s faith in the Lord helps him maintain perspective through the tough times. “I think my trials are small compared to what Joseph Smith and the early Church pioneers went through,” he says. “In the trying moments, I always try to remember the words that God told the Prophet Joseph Smith while he was in Liberty Jail, as recorded in Doctrine and Covenants 122:
“If thou art called to pass through tribulation; if thou art in perils among false brethren; if thou art in perils among robbers; if thou art in perils by land or by sea; . . .
“. . . And above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good. . . .
“. . . Therefore, fear not what man can do, for God shall be with you forever and ever” (verses 5, 7, 9).

“What special things, Kate?” Papa winked at Mama. “I thought I was to get flour and sugar and salt. Nothing special about that.”
“You know, Papa,” Molly burst out. “Get a bolt of the prettiest calico you can find! Mama’s going to make me a new dress, and shirts for John, and curtains for our new glass windows!” She stopped, and everyone was quiet as Papa gave thanks for the food.
“Papa,” John asked, taking a bite out of his corn bread, “do you remember the other two special things?”
“Let’s see,” Papa replied. “I’m to get some smooth boards to cover this dirt floor.” His eyes sparkled. “We’re going to be the first family out here to have a real wood floor!”
“And then, Frank, if there’s enough money left over, get that last special thing,” Mama said excitedly. “Bring home some oilcloth to cover the walls with and some pretty wallpaper to go over the oilcloth. Then we’ll have a real house, like the one we had back east.”
They all looked at the hardpacked dirt walls. Papa had tried to make them look nice by painting them with whitewash, but most of it had come off. “I think if we put oilcloth up first, the wallpaper will last longer,” said Mama.
The little sod house seemed even warmer as Papa laughed. “I’ll do the best shopping I can,” he promised, and his smile wrapped around Molly like a hug. “Now, Molly,” he said as they finished their squash and ham, “get out your favorite book. It’s your turn to read tonight.”
Early the next morning as the sky turned pink along the eastern edge of the prairie, Papa hitched the horses to the wagon. “I’ll be back in three days,” he called as he drove off.
Molly watched until Papa was out of sight and only the tall prairie grass waved back at her.
Molly and John carried water to the chickens. They collected buffalo chips to burn in the stove and helped Mama milk the cow. They gathered the eggs and shelled the corn. They studied their lessons—and they counted three days.
By dinnertime on the third day Papa wasn’t home. Molly squished her nose flat against the wavy glass window. “I still can’t see him, Mama,” she said.
“Don’t fret, Molly. Papa’s been to town many times since we’ve been here.” Mama’s voice was calm and quiet. “Don’t you remember he said it would take three full days? Now let’s put the lantern in the window so he can see the light shining out over the prairie.”
They had just finished their mush-and-milk supper when John shouted, “Listen! I hear the wagon!”
In a few minutes Papa was in the house. He gave Mama a big hug and picked up Molly and John. “Just wait until you see the special things I’ve brought!” he said, whirling them around the room.
Papa and Mama and Molly and John carried in the food supplies for winter. Then Papa brought in a big package. “Here’s your calico, Molly—the prettiest in the country, I’ll wager.” The calico was a soft blue, with little red and yellow designs scattered all over it.
“Oh, Papa,” Molly cried, “I’ve never seen such pretty calico!”
“Frank, it’s lovely,” said Mama. “Did it take you a long time to find it?”
“No,” said Papa, laughing. “I just matched Molly’s blue eyes.”
“And was there enough money to get the second special thing?” John asked.
“Wait and see,” said Papa. He came back with one wide, smooth board and laid it on the dirt floor. “There you are, Kate, the finest floor on the prairie!”
“But, Papa, that’s not big enough!” cried John.
Papa chuckled. “Don’t worry, John. The rest of the floor is in the wagon.”
“And the third special thing, Papa?” Molly jumped up and down on the board. “Did you get the oilcloth and the prettiest wallpaper in the country too?”
“I got the oilcloth and the best wallpaper you ever saw,” said Papa. He went to the wagon again and came back with two heavy brown packages.
Papa unwrapped a roll of oilcloth first. Then he opened a squarish package and held up a large dictionary. “Here’s the wallpaper. And it’s a brand-new 1870 edition, too,” he announced.
“Frank, I don’t understand. Where is the wallpaper?” Mama sounded puzzled.
“Just watch, Kate.” Papa’s eyes twinkled as he carefully fastened a piece of oilcloth over one of the hard-packed sod walls. Then he opened the dictionary and carefully cut out some of the pages with his knife. He took one of the pages and nailed it up, right through the oilcloth and into the sturdy wall behind it. He nailed up another, and another. Soon the wall was covered with pages. The white paper made the sod house look large and bright, and the words looked like tiny stripes across the wall.
“How beautiful!” cried Molly.
Mama looked at the wall without a word. Then she turned to Papa. “Frank, who else would ever have thought of papering the walls with a dictionary!” Mama’s eyes were bright as she hugged Papa. “You really did bring us something special!”
“And, Kate,” said Papa, “when we’ve learned all these words, we’ll just add more pages and keep on reading.”
Molly gave a happy sigh. “Papa,” she said, “now we have the prettiest calico, and the finest floor, and the smartest walls in the whole world!”