Gospel Story Finder

“Well, believe it or not, I used to be his Primary teacher,” Sister Jensen explained.
“Oh.” Robby nodded. “I guess you could have been; you are old.” Robby blushed when he realized what he’d said.
Sister Jensen laughed heartily. “That’s true! He was a sweet little boy, just like you. You and he have a lot in common—his parents never brought him to church, either. I used to pick him up all the time. He even sat with me in sacrament meeting.
“When he was about your age,” Sister Jensen continued, “he decided to make choices that would help him the rest of his life. He had a little problem with angry words, and he decided that when he became upset, he’d say ‘How exasperating!’ I told him that was a good start but he also needed to fill his mind with good things. That way only good things would come out of his mouth.”
Robby traced on the floor with his other shoe. “Well, maybe when I’m a grown-up, I can do that, too,” he told her.
“But now’s the time to make important choices that will bless you throughout your life, including your choice of words.”
“How can words bless me?”
“When you are careful with the words you choose to say, you show others you care enough about them not to offend them. Choosing good words helps you gain more friends, and you’re also not offending your Heavenly Father. Besides, when you have good words inside, good actions often follow.”
Robby nodded that he understood, and he helped Sister Jensen gather up the rest of her teaching materials.
The next Sunday, Sister Jensen picked Robby up in time for sacrament meeting. The bishop was conducting, and he seemed to be having a difficult time with some of the announcements. Finally he put down the paper he was reading, smiled at the ward members, and exclaimed, “How exasperating!”
Robby giggled as Sister Jensen nudged his arm. He leaned over and whispered, “That’s what I’m going to say when I’m mad, too.”
“Good for you, Robby,” Sister Jensen said with a wink.
Later, in the Primary room, Robby again noticed his name on the yellow birthday board. “That’s funny,” he said.
“What’s that?” Sister Jensen asked.
“Last week my name seemed different.”
Sister Jensen looked puzzled. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“Well, last week my name looked out of place up there by the names of the church kids. But today it looks like it belongs.”
Sister Jensen put her arm around Robby, and he noticed tears in her eyes. “That’s because you do belong here,” she said.

Good work attitudes, habits, and skills are learned through successful work experiences. Let me illustrate. On the ranch where I grew up, the cows had to be milked before dawn every day. It didn’t matter if it was Sunday or Christmas or any other holiday. It didn’t matter if it was cold. It didn’t matter if someone had the flu. It didn’t matter whether the sun was shining or a blizzard was raging. Every morning and every evening it was the same—the cows had to be milked.

Before my brothers were called off to war, they did most of the milking. But in 1943, when I was just 10 years old, I would enter our barnyard where there were about 10 to 12 cows waiting for me to let them into the milking barn. My mother and father used to say out loud to the cows, “Good morning. It’s good to see you!” I have to confess that as a young boy I didn’t feel quite the same way toward the cows.

After each cow was milked, I poured the milk from the pail into a 10-gallon can. Each can weighed about 80 pounds when full. It made me stretch my young muscles as I carried them to the road for the dairy to pick up.

My father quite frequently helped me with milking the cows, and occasionally Mother helped. I remember my father and mother continued to milk until they were in their late 80s. But Father didn’t milk the cows because he had to; he milked them because they needed to be milked. There is a difference. To him these animals were not just cows—they were Big Blackie and Bossie and Sally and Betsy. He wanted them to be contented. He always said that contented cows give good milk. To my father, milking cows—as unsophisticated as it may seem—was not an imposition; it was an opportunity. Milking was not a job for him; it was a service.

This philosophy is something that helped me as I grew up. It helped me to find out that all honest work is honorable. Within a few years I realized that routinely performing these chores actually began to give me a sense of confidence and empowerment. I took pride in my work. I found out that no one could make me feel inferior about the kind of work that I did. As Eleanor Roosevelt said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent” (Points to Ponder, Reader’s Digest, February 1963, 261). You control your own attitudes—especially you young people—in your attitude about work. Self-confidence and empowerment can serve you well—in the classroom, on State Street, or on Wall Street.

Instead of thinking of our daily work as an imposition, we should think of it as an opportunity. That’s just the way my father taught me to feel about the cows. Those teachings have remained with me all my life, and I continue to visit the ranch and its memories as often as possible.

Think about it. If my father could find purpose in a few cows, surely each of us can find purpose in our work.

When I was a little girl growing up in Perú, I dreamed of traveling through time. But it wasn’t until I was older that I found a way to do so. I don’t have a spectacular machine with flashing lights and strange sounds, and I don’t have to wear a special suit. All I have to do is open a book. But it is not just any book—it is my book of memories, where I keep things that have special meaning to me.
One of my favorite trips through time begins with the cover of a card. On it are beautiful flowers in a vase. Whenever I see this card I am taken back, and it seems like yesterday I held it in my hands for the very first time.
Sister Nancy Pace was one of my Primary teachers; we called her Sister Nancy. We Primary children loved her very much for teaching us new songs and telling us about Jesus Christ. Sister Nancy and the other Primary leaders worked for many months to help prepare the CTR class for their baptisms. Knowing we would be baptized like Jesus Christ was exciting for us, but we still felt nervous.
One day Sister Nancy told us the story of Nicodemus and the Savior, and we read John 3:5: “Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God.” Sister Nancy told us that once we were born of water through baptism, we would be born of the Spirit through receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost by the laying on of hands. She said that baptism was a commandment from the Lord and that by being obedient to this commandment, we could show our love for Him.
As the day of my baptism approached, Sister Nancy told me and the other children who were going to be baptized that she was very sorry but she was not going to be able to attend our baptism. But she said her heart would be with us.
The day before I was baptized, I began feeling very nervous. I repeated again and again to myself, All you have to do is go down a few steps and take Daddy’s hand. But when I thought about going down under all that water, I was afraid I would never come back up. As I worried about this, someone delivered to me a white envelope from Sister Nancy. When I opened it and read the message in the beautiful flowered card, my fears disappeared.
Romy,
I want to send you special greetings. I know that tomorrow you are going to be baptized. It is such a special day, and I wanted to be there, but I am not going to be able to. You are a good girl, and I know that Father in Heaven is very happy with you and that you are going to have a very special day. I am very happy for you and grateful for your strong desire to obey the Lord. I hope everything goes well.
With love,
Sister Nancy
Reading these words strengthened my desire to be obedient to the commandment to be baptized. At that moment I was more sure than ever that the Church is true.
The following day I was nervous, but the words of my teacher echoed in my heart: “I am very happy for you and grateful for your strong desire to obey the Lord.” Again, my fears vanished, and I felt confident as I was baptized.
Remembering my baptism is one of my favorite trips through time—a trip that begins with the cover of a card and ends with a special feeling—the testimony my dear teacher planted in my heart.

This story happened in Bolivia.
Papi clapped his hands at the end of family home evening. “I have an idea for a family goal,” he said. “Let’s read the Book of Mormon together every day.”
Sami’s older brothers, Andrés and Juan, nodded with big smiles at the idea.
“OK!” said Andrés.
Sami was excited too. But then he remembered something. He raised his hand. “I don’t know how to read. How will I help?”
Juan shrugged. “You can just listen.”
Sami’s brothers already knew how to read. But Sami was only five. He hadn’t learned to read yet.
“But I want to help too!” Sami said with a frown.
Mamá gave Sami a hug. “And you will,” she said. “There is always a way to do what God has commanded us.”
The next night, Sami’s family gathered to read the Book of Mormon. They all brought their own scriptures, except Sami. Mamá gave him a picture book of Book of Mormon stories.
“You can’t read words yet. But you can read pictures,” she said with a smile.
Sami held the book close. Now he could read with his family too!
They all took turns reading. Sami looked at the pictures that showed the story. When it was his turn, he told the others what he saw in the pictures. He told as many details as he could.
As the days passed, Sami wanted to read more and more. Mamá taught him what sound each letter made. Then she showed him how to sound out words. Months later, Sami didn’t need the picture book as much. Instead, he read the last word of every verse his family read. Mamá read the word first, and Sami said it back.
At first, they read slowly. Getting to the end of each chapter took a long time. Andrés and Juan groaned when it was Sami’s turn. But they still read as a family.
Little by little, Sami read more. He read one word of a verse, then two words, then three. Then he started reading a whole verse!
Near the end of their goal, Sami could read a few verses by himself. His reading had gotten much better. His love for the Book of Mormon had grown too.
At last, Sami’s family finished the Book of Mormon. It had taken two years! Now Sami was seven years old, and he had learned to read very well.
“Congratulations!” Papi said. “We did it!”
Sami cheered with his family. He had helped them finish the Book of Mormon!
Juan gave Sami a big hug. “What will be your goal for the next two years?”
Sami smiled. He stood tall and said, “I will read the Book of Mormon again!”
What helped Sami read the scriptures?
Illustrations by Melissa Manwill Kashiwagi

The first things I noticed among the hustling paramedics and the wailing sirens that cold January morning in Utah were Esther’s hands. Her long, strong fingers, which had always been so busy serving others, were now cramped and motionless. My own hands reached out to warm hers, and her closed eyes fluttered open briefly. She looked around as though to identify who was near her.
“It’s okay, Esther,” I said, trying to comfort her as I straightened her nightgown and covered her with a blanket. “The doctors will find out what has happened to you.” I felt Esther relax; then we were both swept into the ambulance and rushed to the nearby hospital.
To say Esther was only a neighbor is like describing the sun as only a source of light. Esther’s hands had reached out to me when I was a teenager and had led me to the treasures in my junior high school library. For more than 40 years, her hands had dispensed knowledge and service throughout the neighborhood. She had hired and patiently taught many young people how to prune and care for her orchards, how to improve the neighborhood, and how to love their neighbors. She had reached out to old and new alike, and her hands had sewn the fabric of our block into a quilt of friendship that spread far beyond its physical boundaries.
All that busy winter, I had yearned to help someone. But I knew it was a futile desire. I was working full time in a very stressful job, and I was the harried mother of five very involved and very busy children, ages 5 to 25, including two who were getting married within weeks of each other. My family, work, Church and community responsibilities had strained my capacity to do more than survive each day. But something in the depths of my being kept calling out, wanting to help someone in some way.
Many mornings, as I checked off my accomplishments of the previous day and plotted my strategy for meeting the struggles of the dawning one, I had recalled the Lord’s admonition to “not run faster or labor more than you have strength,” (see D&C 10:4), and I had thought, “Maybe tomorrow I’ll find time to take dinner to someone or to take flowers to a sick friend.”
Service, to me, was a physical object one presented as a gift: it was homemade candy or doughnuts at Christmas, freshly baked bread for a new neighbor, or outgrown clothes for needy families. Now, as I sat at Esther’s bedside on a cold wintry day, Esther taught me that service was something else.
“Esther, squeeze my hand,” the doctor coaxed. “Come on, Esther, you can squeeze my hand.”
“I’m trying,” Esther answered, but her words collapsed into themselves, and her voice trailed off. The doctor shook his head, slipping his hand from Esther’s unmoving one.
“Esther, they are going to move you to another room now,” I explained as they wheeled her bed out of the emergency room. “It’s going to be all right.” Her frightened eyes searched mine for reassurance and then closed in peace.
Surprisingly, despite my fear for Esther, I felt an unusual sense of peace. For once in my harried, over-full life, I knew that I was where I was supposed to be. I wasn’t worried about my list of Saturday chores. I wasn’t concerned about my family. They knew I was with Esther, and their prayers were with me in that cramped, bare cubicle.
Morning edged into afternoon. I called Esther’s family in another state and told them of the situation. I served as a link between the hospital, Esther, and her family members, who were trying to cope with this emergency. And I talked to Esther.
As I sat by Esther, I watched storm clouds gather and snow begin to fall. My thoughts went back 35 years to when my grandmother had had her final stroke. Others had been frightened of the silent stranger who inhabited my grandmother’s frail body, but my mother had told us to hold her hand, to stroke it, and to talk to her.
“I think she can hear you, even if she can’t communicate,” my mother had said. “She needs to hear and feel your love. Talk to her, touch her, and let her know you love her.”
I hadn’t thought of my mother’s words for many years, but they came back as I talked to Esther, stroked her immobile hands, and filled the tiny room with my whispered prayers.
Too soon the room was crowded with Esther’s family, and I eased out of their way as they gathered around her. When they reached out to caress her still hands, stroke her hair, and talk to her, the urgent need that had held me captive all morning disappeared.
“She’s slipped into a deep coma,” the nurse explained to Esther’s loved ones. “Earlier she was trying to communicate, but now she’s unconscious and unaware.”
I stood at the doorway and took one last look at Esther’s inert hands. They were more relaxed now, but they remained open and reaching out to others. I dashed tears of appreciation from my eyes and thanked Esther for her last gift to me.

In addition to the summer farm work, Franklin’s father kept him busy at home. To make sure he didn’t run out of jobs around the house and to develop his sense of responsibility, his father had coops and runs for fifty chickens built in the backyard. Franklin had to feed and water the chickens, keep the coops clean, and gather the eggs. Since there were more eggs laid than the family needed, he was allowed to sell the extra eggs and keep the money. Brother Richards said, “I’m grateful that I had a father and mother who taught me the joy of working, the value of spending less than I made, and the importance of paying my tithing.”
Back then tithing was paid to the bishop’s storehouse, sometimes in kind, meaning eggs, wheat, or other farm produce. During 1908, when Franklin was only eight years old, he paid $7.50 in tithing on earnings of $75.00. He still has the bishop’s storehouse receipt. In those days $75.00 was a large amount of money. It represented a lot of hard work.

Before I was baptized, I decided to invite my friend Thomas to church. He said OK, and we went to sacrament meeting and then to Primary. When everything was done, we went home.
I thought that next time I needed to invite every member of Thomas’s family to come to church. On the next fast Sunday, I decided to fast for Thomas and his family. In the morning when I got up, I prayed to Heavenly Father that all of Thomas’s family would agree to come to church. I didn’t eat breakfast or lunch. I took the sacrament but had nothing else to eat or drink. During the day, I prayed about four times for Thomas and his family.
That night we went to the chapel to hear the Christmas Devotional broadcast from Salt Lake City, but the satellite dish wouldn’t work, so we sang Christmas hymns and bore testimonies instead. I got up and bore my testimony for the very first time, and I asked everyone to pray for my friend and his family. A couple of Sundays later, he and his family did come to church, and his mom is now taking the missionary discussions. I think prayer and fasting work.

I grew up in a home where my mother gave me a list of all the household chores I needed to do. One day, not long after we were married, I told Sue that if she would give me a list of chores I would do anything she wanted me to do. I thought this was pretty generous, but she got upset with me! She stamped her foot and said, "I am not giving you a list. This house is just as much your responsibility as it is mine. If you see something needs to be done, just do it."
That was a new thought for me. I had to learn a whole new way of thinking about the house. I had to take responsibility for seeing what needed to be done and doing it without a list. I started from that day to try to do that. But it was hard to change old habits and attitudes. I tried, and Sue had to learn to be patient with me. We both learned--with a lot of help from heaven. We had to humble ourselves before the Lord and seek His help. We learned there is a great unifying power in hard work and humility in marriage.

Working with horses also taught me to be patient and to never give up. Progress comes a little at a time. Once I had a colt named Planchet. Someone said, “That horse is weak. He will never be worth anything.” But someone else told me that if I would be patient and exercise my colt’s muscles, he would someday be a good horse. I fed Planchet and took care of him and loved him. For one whole year, I just walked him to strengthen his muscles.
I worked and worked with him. And, sure enough, this weak colt became one of the best horses in Brazil. He won the Brazilian championship in a three-day-long competition.

During a recent stake conference assignment I attended in the Philippines, my heart was broken as I learned of the tragic experience of Brother Daniel Apilado. Brother Apilado and his wife were baptized in 1974. They embraced the restored gospel and were sealed in the temple. Thereafter, they were blessed with five beautiful children. On July 7, 1997, while Brother Apilado was serving as the stake president, a fire broke out in their small home. Brother Apilado’s oldest son, Michael, rescued his father, pulled him from the burning structure, and then ran back into the house to rescue others. It was the last time Brother Apilado saw his son alive. Taken in the fire were Brother Apilado’s wife, Dominga, and each of their five children.
The fact that Brother Apilado was living a life pleasing unto God when tragedy struck did not prevent the tragedy, nor did it make him immune from the sorrow that followed. But his faithfulness in keeping his covenants and exercising his faith in Christ gave him assurance in the promise that he will be reunited with his wife and family. This hope became an anchor to his soul.
During my visit, Brother Apilado, now the stake patriarch, introduced me to his new wife, Simonette, and to their two sons, Raphael and Daniel. Truly, Jesus Christ can and will “bind up the brokenhearted.”
In sharing Brother Apilado’s story, I am concerned that the enormity of his loss may cause many to think their own sorrows and sufferings are of little consequence in comparison. Please don’t compare, but seek to learn and apply eternal principles as you wade through the furnace of your own afflictions.

Antonio follows Jesus by sharing his testimony. One Sunday before church, Antonio decided he would share during testimony meeting that day. He wrote his testimony down in a notebook and read from it. “I shared my belief that Jesus Christ died on the cross and that He loves every one of us and cares for us,” he says.
Antonio knows that sharing his testimony helps him feel the Holy Ghost. It also helps him feel closer to his grandad who died a few years ago. He says, “I know my grandad and my entire family support me, and that helps my testimony to grow!”

One day at recess my friends and I were picking flowers off a tree. Some girls came up to us and told us we weren’t supposed to pick the flowers. We stopped picking the flowers and walked away. I told my friends we should tell the truth. We told a teacher that we had been picking the flowers for our teacher. The teacher said we could pick the flowers as long as we didn’t pull on the branches. I’m glad I told the truth.

“I’m 18, too, and had been inactive for several years. Recently this changed. My branch president began visiting me, and he gained my trust to the point that I talked with him about my problems. This greatly relieved the burden I was carrying.

“The missionaries also began visiting me. I began reading the Book of Mormon and praying again. Much of this was because of a long period of fasting, praying, and fellowshipping by members of the Church. Because these people would consistently show their love for me, I gradually came around. They also showed me how the Church could help me with personal goals.

“If you truly want to reconvert your friend, try doing with him what my friends did with me. And pray for the Lord to soften his heart. With God’s help, he’ll come around. I know I did. But it may take a while.”
Braun ThompsonAustin, Minnesota

The second question: “Recently we have been shocked at the tragic deaths of full-time missionaries. What shall we do, as family members and friends, in relationship to our Heavenly Father when this is allowed to strike us?”

Some of you from Honolulu knew Tony Sanchez. Others, like President Golden K. Driggs, who is in attendance today, knew him in the Louisiana Shreveport Mission. I never knew Tony Sanchez as a missionary. I only knew him as a hospital patient in the St. Francis Hospital in Honolulu, where his stake president took me to see him following a serious injury on a tricky bar or recreation bar while serving in the mission field. He had fallen and broken his back. Now he was resting motionless in the hospital. What could we say to give him comfort and hope? As we walked into his room, we met his mother standing at his side. Tony was completely immobile, unable to talk. I think the only thing he was able to move at that time was his eyeballs. While I was wondering what I should say to Tony and to his mother, his mother spoke first and said, “Elder Ashton, I have always wanted to be a nurse, and I have never had the opportunity. Now I am a nurse to my injured son.” Later she said, “Elder Ashton, I hope we will be blessed with the privilege of sending our other son into the mission field. Just because we have had this tragedy is no reason why our other son should be deprived, is it?” I understand, following the death of Tony in that hospital a few days later, that the mother, the father, and the entire family have their desire. Tony’s brother James is in the Language Training Mission on campus today, preparing himself to go to South America on a mission. It was interesting when someone said, “Could I help with funds for James’s mission?”

The family said, “No. We have a little money left over from Tony’s insurance, and that is going toward his brother’s mission.” This is a tremendous example of courage and character in action. What shall we do then? The Sanchez family knew well what to do and did it.

In January 2022, over 300 Saints gathered at the Umuahia Nigeria Stake centre for an award night organized in deep appreciation for the enormous contributions of the modern-day pioneers and Saints in the stake. As part of that celebration, plaques and letters were presented by the stake presidency after assigned young single adults read out short descriptions of the service lives of the awardees. The choir sang hymns of gratitude, pioneers shared their heartfelt testimonies and stories of consecrated efforts, the less active members and friends were invited and the history of the stake was presented. The level of socialization among Saints was on this great day very historic and all inclusive.
The then-stake president, Samuel Ekpolo, shared thoughts with us on what motivated his presidency to honor these Saints. He said, “The memories of the great sacrifices of the early Saints, the Nauvoo story, their efforts in establishing the kingdom, even the Nauvoo Temple, despite the many persecutions and attacks inspired deep thoughts of how the local Saints sacrifice their little possessions, abandon their personal and family pleasure to build, establish and restore Zion in Umuahia. Although we may not have their names in the worldwide history of the Church, they are indeed the Nauvoo people of our time whose selfless efforts in magnifying their callings and talents are yielding the unstoppable growth of the kingdom of God in Umuahia, a place where Zion hitherto fled but now restored to her beauty. It was only fair that the rising generation in the years to come may one day know by the records made of this celebration, how the Lord honors His faithful servants. Indeed, beyond appreciation for their labors and consecration, that they may be remembered as instruments in the hand of the Lord during our Nauvoo time in gathering Israel from both sides of the veil”.
There was an outpouring of powerful emotions when some awardees were asked how they felt receiving awards. Here are a few of them:
“As a pioneer, I was very excited that for 40 years of my membership, this is the first time I received an award. I found much evidence of the Lord’s blessings resting upon African Saints, many of whom had been so faithful and patient for so long. We are beginning to have a vision of the important role we need to fulfil in the Lord’s kingdom.” — Brother Kalu Ichie
“It was great and an honor receiving such award. It really motivates me to work in the vineyard of the Lord anytime, anyday.” — Brother Ukauwa Chimaobi
“I indeed was speechless, sufficiently humbled and indebtedly grateful that Elohim chose me to be used in promoting music in the Umuahia Nigeria Stake of Zion, the gathering place of the Saints, even Israel.” — Sister Linda Ajah
We are indeed so grateful for the example of the Umuahia Nigeria Stake in aligning its efforts to the Africa West Area goals by celebrating and honoring the Saints. That was a great and faith-promoting Church history activity in our area that blessed lives, reactivated many, provided missionary opportunities and inspired greater commitment among Saints, especially the rising generation who were also awardees.

Why do we need the Book of Mormon when we already have the Holy Bible? I’ve thought about this question a lot. As a teenager I was curious about the Book of Mormon, but I didn’t have the motivation to read it. For one thing, nobody encouraged me to read it at home because I was the only member of the Church in my family, except for my grandfather who had passed away.
One Sunday at a testimony meeting, many members testified about the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, which I had recently begun to doubt. They challenged those who hadn’t read it to gain their own testimony that the Book of Mormon is true, that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, and that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the kingdom of God on the earth.
I pondered if my testimony of the Church and of Joseph Smith was strong enough to withstand the temptations and enticements of Satan. I realized that it wasn’t. My testimony was weak because I had depended only on the testimonies of Church leaders and members. I promised myself that starting that day, I would seek my own testimony.
I decided to read the Book of Mormon. In the introduction I read, “We invite all men everywhere to read the Book of Mormon, to ponder in their hearts the message it contains, and then to ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ if the book is true. Those who pursue this course and ask in faith will gain a testimony of its truth and divinity by the power of the Holy Ghost. (See Moroni 10:3–5.)” I knew I was personally being invited to read the Book of Mormon. As I continued reading, I felt the warmth of the Holy Ghost testifying of the book’s divinity and truthfulness.
I found that the Book of Mormon does testify of Christ, and I was ashamed for doubting its truthfulness. At school I had learned how judges of the law carefully study a case’s evidence before passing judgment. I had done the opposite with the Book of Mormon: I had judged it before I read it.
I finished reading with a humble heart and courage to defend what I believe. Also, I’m happy because I have a companion as I read the Book of Mormon again. My grandmother was baptized shortly before I finished reading the Book of Mormon the first time.
I have a firm testimony that Jesus Christ is my Savior, that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, and that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the true and living Church of God here on the earth.

Dr. Neal Halfon, a physician who directs the UCLA Center for Healthier Children, Families, and Communities, refers to “parental benign neglect.” One example involved an 18-month-old and his parents:
“‘Their son seemed happy, active and engaged, clearly enjoying time and pizza with his parents. … At the end of dinner, Mom got up to run an errand, handing over care to Dad.’
“Dad … started reading phone messages while the toddler struggled to get his attention by throwing bits of pizza crust. Then the dad re-engaged, facing his child and playing with him. Soon, though, he substituted watching a video on his phone with the toddler until his wife returned.
“… [Dr.] Halfon observed a dimming of the child’s internal light, a lessening of the connection between parent and child.”

Then in January 1999, the Lindon 17th Ward, Lindon Utah Stake, was created. The new ward members didn’t talk much to Fernando. He was just beginning to speak again, and his words were not clear and came very slowly.

The leaders of the new ward, however, felt very strongly that President Gordon B. Hinckley’s directive that new members of the Church need “a friend, a responsibility, and nurturing with ‘the good word of God’ (Moro. 6:4)”* applied to all the members of their newly formed ward—including Fernando. He was called to be the Primary greeter. That calling has been a great blessing in his life and in the lives of the children in his ward.

Fernando welcomes each child and adult to Primary. “The first time he was there,” said Sister Terris, a counselor in the Primary, “the Spirit was so strong that I had tears in my eyes. He was so excited about his calling!”

That first Sunday Fernando struggled to speak and shake hands with everyone. But each week, his arms and hands grew a little stronger and his speech became a little clearer.
“Even though the little kids don’t always understand him,” Tasha Hansen (11) said, “they feel his spirit and pay attention. You really feel it.”
“He’s nice,” Britton Green (6) added. “He always gets so excited when he sees us.”
“And he knows my name,” Cade Terris (7) said.
“The calling as a greeter let me get to know the little children,” Fernando pointed out. “They are the greatest! Then I got to know their parents. They are all my friends now.”
The children are very comfortable around Fernando because they know that he loves them. Once, the Primary chorister asked him to hold up a poster for a song. Fernando tried, but he did not have the strength to do it. One by one, the children came up and encircled him so that he could rest the chart in his lap and they could still see it.
As they came to know him better, the children wanted to help him recover. They wanted to help him fulfill his desire to serve the Lord with all his heart. They wanted him to be able to serve a mission, which he still hopes to do one day.
“The children are always there to help me. I’m learning to speak better because they are always speaking to me,” he said.
“At first, sometimes I would know what he was going to say and answer him before he finished,” Tasha Hansen said. “But I don’t do that now because I know that he needs to practice talking.”
“Once I walked into Primary and he gave me a special handshake,” Jake Green (9) said. “Now he does it with all the boys.” The children created other new handshakes to help Fernando strengthen all the different muscles in his hands.
One Sunday, when Fernando entered the Primary room dressed as Abinadi, the children suddenly quieted down. Knowing how hard it is for him to speak, they know that each word is important.
Now Fernando has also been called to help teach two classes of eleven- and twelve-year-olds. “He’s getting really good at talking,” said Tori Hansen (11).
But Fernando isn’t the only one with new responsibilities in his ward. Families and individuals, including Primary children, have been asked to help with his therapy. They listen to him read, play with him to exercise his muscles, and talk with him. Or they may take him walking.
Jake Green enjoys playing Chinese checkers with him, “but Fernando always wins. He’s too good!”
“It’s quite a sight when we take Fernando walking,” the Terris family laughs. “We squeeze everyone and everything into the car—his wheelchair, his walker, Fernando, and, of course, all of our family. Then we drive to the place where we walk.”
Once the Green family was walking with Fernando by the Provo River. He stood by a fence and threw a stone into the water. It gave him such pleasure to at last be able to stand balanced against the fence and throw a rock, that Britton and Jake picked up several more stones for him to throw.
“We feel good when we help him,” Jake explained.
“The first time I saw him walk with his walker was really special,” Sammy Whirley (7) said. “We have also tried flying kites. We still need to work on that.”
Shayly Terris (11) was asked to read with him and help him practice pronouncing words. “He asked me questions, and I got to know him better. After we finished reading, my mom and I went to help him get back into bed, and he fell and hit his head. He just said, ‘Shhhh, don’t tell Mom.’ He never complains!”
“He helps me look at other people in wheelchairs differently,” Eddie Terris (14) said. “They really can do a lot of things!”
Meagan Hansen (15) remembered the first time her family took him walking at the track. “There is a chain that prevents people from driving cars onto the track. My Dad asked Fernando, ‘How do you get over that?’ ‘I jump,’ he answered. Dad gave him a look, and Fernando said, ‘Seriously.’ So we wheeled him up to the chain and waited to see what he would do. He just lifted the chain up and rolled under it.”
Conner Hansen (8) said, “Sometimes I think my problems are really bad, but when I look at Fernando’s problems, I don’t complain.”
The Hansens add, “No matter what comes up, we don’t miss walking with Fernando. He’s amazing! He helps us keep an eternal perspective. It’s the best thing we do each month.”
Fernando works hard every single day to improve. “I always believed I would get better. I just take it one day at a time.”
“In time he will get better,” Talmage Hansen (11) declared. “He believes it, and so do I.”
Having so many friends in the ward who love and help him, and knowing that he is an invaluable influence in their lives, has helped Fernando continue trying. His strong spirit and testimony have spiritually strengthened those who have helped him strengthen his physical body.
Fernando may have to wait to serve a full-time mission, but he is touching the lives of the Primary children in his ward right now by his example of faith, patience, and trust in the Lord. And they are touching his with their patience, love, and service. “I hope that the children know that they really can help others,” he said.

Oh, kids! All the flowerpots on the porch are knocked over!” exclaimed Mrs. Rossini in a very exasperated voice.
“Petey did it, Mom,” Robbie and Marsha responded in unison.
Of course. Whenever an “accident” happened in the Rossini house, the other children always claimed that “Petey did it.”
The kitchen door swung open, and with every step, three-year-old Peter left a little pile of sand on the kitchen floor. “Mama, come see. I made the biggest mountain in the world in the sandbox. It’s beautific!”
“Petey, please shake the sand off before you come into the house. Now then, is your mountain beautiful, or terrific?”
“It’s both—my mountain is beautific!” Petey grinned as he ran out the door, knocking over the scrub bucket of water his mother had just used to clean the kitchen floor.
Petey “did it,” all right. Everywhere he went, a mess was sure to follow. Mrs. Rossini wiped up the water and sand with a sigh, then went out to view Peter’s sand mountain.
Marsha and Robbie giggled over their little brother’s disasters. It was almost a family joke for them to shout, “Petey did it! Petey did it!” even if little Peter wasn’t around.
It just seemed funny for Marsha to say “Petey did it!” when Mother wondered what had happened to the last cookie in the bag. Or Robbie might smile and say, “Petey did it,” when no one could quite remember how the schoolbooks were misplaced.
When all three children were scrambling to get the first waffle from the big platter on the table at breakfast, the syrup was knocked over. Of course, Marsha and Robbie giggled and claimed that “Petey did it.” When his mother asked, “Peter, did you bump over the syrup?” he answered, “Yes, Mama. I did, and I’m very sorry.”
After breakfast, the Rossini children were sent to sweep the garage. Marsha moved the boxes and straightened things a bit while Robbie started with the broom. Peter tried to hold the dustpan.
“Marsha, I can’t sweep that corner unless you move Dad’s bike. Why don’t you put it in the driveway.”
“Sure. Hey, Petey. Do you want to sit on the seat while I push the bike into the driveway?”
“Yes, yes, yes! Lift me up, Marsha, please.”
“Up you go,” Marsha said as she lifted the little boy onto Dad’s bicycle. “Hold on to me while I push you.”
Robbie quickly swept that corner of the garage, then followed Marsha and Peter. “That looks fun. Let me try it, Marsh.”
Off the children went, down the street, taking turns pushing Peter on the bike. They hadn’t gone very far when one of their friends shouted to them from his yard.
“Robbie! Marsha! Peter! Do you want to see my new kitten?”
Who could resist? Marsha helped Petey jump down, and all three ran to see Kevin’s new kitten. No one thought at all about Dad’s bike. A few minutes later a big garbage truck rumbled around the corner and ran right over the front wheel of the bicycle.
All afternoon the children sat in their rooms and worried about what to tell their father. How could they explain it? Somehow, when Dad came in, before he could even say anything, the words just rushed out of Robbie’s mouth, “Petey did it.”
“That’s right,” said Marsha. “Petey was riding your bike and left it in the road, and the truck ran over it.”
“I did, Daddy. I went to see Kevin’s kitten, and I forgot your bike, and it got runned over. I’m sorry, Daddy,” Petey said with big tears in his eyes.
“Well, we’ll talk more about this later. All of you go wash your hands for dinner now.”
During dinner, Marsha felt terrible and Robbie felt worse. The two children thought over and over about the questions that Dad had not asked them. Dad hadn’t asked how Peter could have gotten on the bike, or how he could have ridden it by himself when his feet didn’t even reach the pedals. Dad knew that Peter couldn’t even open the garage door by himself.
It didn’t feel like a joke to blame Peter anymore for everything. Robbie pushed his potatoes around with his fork and thought how he was really more to blame than Peter. He knew better than to leave a bike in the road.
Marsha stared at her plate. She thought about little Petey telling Dad that he had ridden the bike. It was time to be accountable for her part in the ruined bike. “Dad,” Marsha blurted out, “it wasn’t really Petey. I’m the one who put him on your bike and gave him a ride. I’m really sorry I took your bike and let it get run over.”
“Me, too, Dad,” Robbie hurried to add. “Petey was just riding, and I was pushing too. We all left it in the road. Can I do something to help get it fixed?”
“Thank you, kids, for telling me the whole truth, not just part of it. Maybe we can figure out a way for you to help fix the bike. Maybe we also need a new family rule. From now on the only one in the Rossini family who can say ‘Petey did it’ is Peter himself.”
“And I’ll tell you when Marsha did it,” said a smiling Marsha.
“And I’ll learn to say ‘Robbie did it,’” said a much happier Robbie.

At the end of that summer, I walked onto this campus with two pieces of luggage and $45 in hand. I met with Brother Charlie Goo who encouraged me to find a job and to not be picky about it. And so I did. I worked in the cafeteria as a dish room worker in the early mornings and a line server during lunch and dinner. When I left home that summer, my family was very upset that I had converted to the LDS Church and so I did not get any support from them. There was a point in my dorm life that I had only enough money to do my laundry but I did not have any laundry soap. I remember the spirit whispering to me, "Go ask Evie!" and so I did. She gave me a cup of soap and I was able to do my laundry. Once I had to leave my laundry and return to my room for something. When I came back, my new pair of jeans were no where to be found. The Lord told me, go tell Char about this. And so I did. A couple days later, I found my new jeans nicely folded on my bed. I suppose if I had had lots of money and extra pairs of jeans this would not have mattered, but my meager paycheck and no support from home made this difficult. The whole year was such a humbling experience. I relied on the Lord for everything. He helped me. Elijah's reliance on the Lord to be fed by the ravens and the widow helps me to appreciate how I relied and continue to rely on the Lord on a daily basis. I live so that I can have the still small voice guide me.