Gospel Story Finder

I remember the time so well as we were preparing for my very first invasion, sitting out in the Pacific on a troop ship with three thousand men aboard. This large group of soldiers represented the first seven waves in the invasion force. Prior to disembarking, one of the Protestant chaplains held a final church service. He had us all look around and get acquainted with each other and then he said: “Now, gentlemen, I don’t want to worry you, but do you realize by tomorrow morning at eight o’clock, many of you will be standing before your Maker? Are you ready?”
Well, how would you feel, young men, if that challenge were hurled at you? At that time I was almost nineteen. Shortly after the service I found a secluded spot on the ship and called time-out and talked to my Heavenly Father. I didn’t sleep that night nor did most of the men. The next morning as the seven waves of infantry went ashore, many not making it, I dug my first foxhole and took another time-out. I remember the event well. I called upon my Heavenly Father and said, “I really need to know if thou art there.” Heavenly Father spoke to my mind, and I haven’t been the same since.

Pocahontas, the beautiful Indian princess, was excited as she waited for her carriage. She and her husband, John Rolfe, were in England. It was Christmas, and they were going to a Christmas party at Windsor Castle. Pocahontas wondered if the lords and ladies would like her.
She was dressed in a red silk dress covered with a velvet cape. The freshwater pearls that her father had given her when she was married in Virginia circled her neck. “Do I look all right?” she asked her husband.
“You are the most beautiful princess in the world!” he told her. His smile was tender.
“But will the lords and ladies like me?” she asked.
“Don’t forget,” he reminded her, “that you, too, are a lady, now that His Majesty has given you the title Lady Rebecca. You, too, are of the court, and they will respect you for that. And they will like you because you are a dear person.”
The carriage stopped, and the gates of Windsor Castle were flung open. The carriage went on a short distance, then rocked to another stop. The footman opened the carriage door and held out his hand to assist Lady Rebecca.
Inside the castle the rooms glowed with thousands of candle flames in crystal chandeliers. Everyone was dressed in silks and laces.
As Pocahontas stood in the entryway with John, she heard two ladies whispering behind their fans. Perhaps they do not realize that their voices carry in this great hall as voices sometimes carry in my beloved forest in Virginia, thought Pocahontas. She heard the lady in lavender ask, “Who is she?”
“She’s an Indian princess from Virginia,” answered the lady in blue, “and her father is Powhatan, chief of the confederation of Algonquin tribes.”
“She is beautiful! So delicately formed!” remarked the first lady.
“She saved Captain John Smith’s life when he was founding the Jamestown colony back in 1607,” continued the lady in blue.
“Oh, she’s the Indian maiden who brought food to the starving settlers,” said the lady in lavender, nodding her head. “We’ve heard all about that and are thankful to her.”
“She learned to read and write English and was converted to Christianity,” added the lady in blue.
“Yes, indeed!” said the lady in lavender. “I’ve heard that she has a fine mind. Why she can even read complicated maps!”
At that moment John Rolfe nodded to Pocahontas that they were about to enter the throne room to bow to and greet the royal couple.
As Pocahontas took her husband’s arm, she said in a low-pitched voice, “I am happy tonight, John. People say kind things of me.”
John Rolfe smiled back at the beautiful Indian princess at his side as they walked together toward the throne of King James and Queen Anne of England.

Sophie loved to sing. She sang at school, at her friends’ houses, and at home. Her favorite place to sing was at church.
“Mom,” Sophie asked one day, “I want to learn to sing better. Do you think I could take lessons?”
“That sounds like a fun idea,” Mom said. “Let me see what I can find.”
Singing wasn’t always easy for Sophie. She was deaf and couldn’t hear most sounds on her own. She had a special little device behind her ears to help her hear. Things sounded a little different to her than they did to other people. But Sophie still loved to sing.
“Good news, Sophie!” Mom said a few days later. “I found a class you can join. It’s a choir with other children who are learning to sing together. The teacher said you could start tomorrow!”
Sophie did a little dance. She was so excited!
But that night, she started to get nervous.
“Are you excited for your class tomorrow?” her big sister Kayla asked.
Sophie nodded. “Yes. But I’m also a little scared. I wish I didn’t have to go by myself.”
“You can do it!” Kayla said. “But would it help if I came with you? We can learn to sing together.”
Sophie hugged Kayla. “That would be awesome.”
The next morning, Sophie and Kayla got up early to go to their singing class. Nervous thoughts ran through Sophie’s head as she climbed into the car. What if she couldn’t understand the teacher? What if she didn’t make friends? What if people stared at her?
Mom pulled the car into the parking lot and turned around to look at Sophie. Sophie slid down low in her seat.
“I’m not sure I want to go anymore,” she said.
“What happened?” Mom asked. “You were so excited before.”
Sophie didn’t say anything. She just looked down at the ground and kicked her feet back and forth.
Mom smiled. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. But if you get nervous, you can pray to Heavenly Father, and He will help you! Plus Kayla will be there too.”
Kayla held Sophie’s hand. “We’ve got this!” she said.
Sophie gulped. Her stomach felt like it was full of butterflies, but she climbed out of the car anyway. She held tight onto Kayla’s hand as they walked into the classroom.
For the first few days of class, Sophie always sat by Kayla. Then one day Sophie noticed a girl who always sat by herself. Maybe she was scared too. Sophie went and sat next to her.
“Hi!” Sophie said. “Can I sit here?” The girl nodded. Soon they were laughing and singing together. Sophie was glad she had been brave enough to make a new friend.
Singing with the group was so much fun! Sophie loved learning the notes and tapping her foot to the beat of the music. She was even able to teach some of the other kids how to say the words in sign language.
One day the teacher had an exciting announcement. Everyone in the class would get to sing three solo parts in a special program. At home, Kayla and Sophie worked hard to practice their solos. Soon Sophie could sing her first two solo parts. But the last one was really hard! She couldn’t hear all the notes. How would she be able to sing it by herself in front of so many people?
Sophie remembered what Mom said about praying to Heavenly Father for help. She got down on her knees. “Heavenly Father, this last song is very hard for me. Could you help me find a way to sing it and not be so nervous?”
At her next singing class, Sophie’s teacher came up to her. “I know you’re nervous about your third solo. Would you like to sing that one with Kayla? It could bea sister solo!”
Sophie smiled. She felt warm and happy. She knew Heavenly Father was answering her prayer.
At the performance, Sophie sang her first two solos with confidence. When it was time for her third solo, she jumped up and grabbed Kayla’s hand. They walked up to the stage and sang the sister solo loud and proud. Sophie didn’t feel nervous or scared at all! Heavenly Father had answered her prayer in a way she didn’t expect, but she was so thankful that He always heard her.

A little more than a month later, Wilford Woodruff, an apostle and the president of the Church’s British mission, found a letter from Brigham Young waiting for him in his office in Liverpool, England. “We have had a good deal of sorrow and trouble here this fall,” Brigham told his friend. “It is therefore advisable for us to remove as the only condition of peace.”7
Wilford was alarmed but not surprised. He had read newspaper reports of mob attacks around Nauvoo. But he had not known how bad the situation was until now. “This is a strange age we live in,” Wilford thought after reading the letter. The United States government claimed to protect oppressed peoples and to shelter exiles, but Wilford could not remember a time when it had helped the Saints.
“The state of Illinois and the whole United States have filled up their cup of iniquity,” he wrote in his journal, “and well may the Saints go out of her midst.”8
Fortunately, most of Wilford’s family was out of harm’s way. His wife, Phebe, and their youngest children, Susan and Joseph, were with him in England. Their other daughter, Phebe Amelia, was staying with relatives in the eastern United States, more than a thousand miles away from the danger.
Their oldest son, Willy, however, was still in Nauvoo in the care of close friends. In his letter, Brigham mentioned that the boy was safe, yet Wilford still felt anxious to reunite his family.9
As quorum president, Brigham offered Wilford instructions for what to do next. “Send no more emigrants here,” he advised, “but let them wait in England till they can ship for the Pacific Ocean.” As for the American missionaries in England, he wanted those who had not received their temple ordinances to return immediately to Nauvoo to receive them.10
In the days that followed, Wilford sent letters to the American elders preaching in England, informing them of the persecution in Nauvoo. Though he and Phebe had already received their ordinances, they decided to return home as well.
“I have a portion of my family scattered some two thousand miles apart in the States,” Wilford explained in a farewell message to the British Saints. “It appears at the present time to be a duty resting upon me to return there and gather together my children that they may go out with the camp of the Saints.”
Wilford appointed Reuben Hedlock, the previous mission president, to preside again in Britain. Though Wilford did not have full confidence in Reuben, who had mismanaged Church funds in the past, no one else in England had more experience in mission leadership. And Wilford had little time to find a better replacement. After reuniting with the Quorum of the Twelve, he would recommend calling another man to take Reuben’s place.11

Jacob latched the gate on the new fence. “Stay, Annie,” he said. “You get this whole big yard. Have fun!”
Jacob had only been in the house long enough to take three bites out of his sandwich when he heard Annie scratching at the door and barking to get into the house. “How did she get out?” he wondered.
He grabbed Annie by her collar and led her back through the open gate. Maybe he hadn’t latched it right before. He pulled the gate shut and carefully pulled the latch into place. “Stay, Annie,” he said again.
“Woof,” Annie said, watching him. Jacob turned to go back into the house, but he looked over his shoulder just in time to see Annie pushing the latch up with her nose and marching through the gate.
“Annie!” Jacob was partly impressed and partly annoyed. “You have to stay in the back.” He took Annie back through the gate. Maybe the dog didn’t remember all the things Jacob’s family had done to make her happy out here. “See, here is your doghouse,” he said. “And here are some of your favorite toys.” Annie picked up her bone and lay down to chew it. “Your water dish and everything you need are right here. I’ll come play with you after I finish my lunch.” But he hadn’t even gotten to the kitchen before he heard Annie barking at the door again.
That night at dinner, Jacob told the story to his family. “So after I put a big bolt through the hole to keep the latch from lifting, I thought for sure that Annie would stay. But she figured out how to pull the bolt out with her teeth. Then she opened the latch and out she came.”
“That dog is too smart for her own good,” Dad remarked.
“So what did you do?” Jacob’s brother Tim asked.
“I put a nut on the bolt,” Jacob said smugly. “Now she can’t pull it out. She’s smart but not as smart as I am.”
The doorbell rang. Jacob jumped up to answer it. He was expecting his friend Ryan to come over, but it wasn’t Ryan at the door. It was a man in uniform with Annie.
“Is this your dog?” the animal-control officer asked. Annie wriggled past Jacob into the house.
Jacob nodded.
Jacob’s mom came up behind him. “Uh-oh,” she said. “We thought Annie was locked in the backyard.”
“She was at large,” the officer said.
“At large?” Jacob asked, puzzled.
“That means loose and uncontrolled,” the officer explained. “We’ve talked to your parents about this before. Your dog has to be secured. That’s the law.”
Jacob remembered that his parents had built the fence because Annie had been in trouble before. She had dashed out of the house when the door had opened and run off down the street.
“She doesn’t mean to be bad,” Jacob said.
“No, but she depends on us who know the rules,” the officer said. “She’s not safe when she’s loose, and neither are the children in the neighborhood. You’ll have to pay the fine.” He handed a ticket to Mom. She wasn’t smiling.
“We’ll figure out how she got out and fix it,” Mom said.
As the officer was leaving, Ryan rode up on his bike. “What’s up?” he asked. “Who got arrested?”
“Ha, ha,” Jacob said. “Actually, Annie did.”
The boys went around to the backyard. Mom and Dad were already there. Dad pointed to an Annie-sized hole under the fence. A pile of dirt on the other side told the story.
Everybody pitched in. Dad and Tim buried big rocks in the most obvious digging spots. Then Jacob and Ryan took logs from the woodpile and laid them along the bottom of the fence where Annie might try to dig. By the time they were finished, it was getting dark.
For two days Annie stayed in the backyard. Jacob was sure the problem was solved. But on Friday, their neighbor Mr. Kopiak called to say that Annie had climbed the woodpile and leaped into his yard over the fence. “She’s OK,” he said, “but I’m surprised she didn’t break a leg.”
“You need to trust me on this,” Jacob said to Annie as he walked her home. “You just don’t realize what’s out there. You could get hurt! You have to stay, Annie.”
That afternoon, Ryan called to invite Jacob to go swimming. “We can bike over to Pizza Village on the way back,” Ryan said.
It was a fun idea, but Jacob knew it would be hard to get permission. The pool was out of his biking territory. Still, Ryan had never invited him to go for pizza before. Jacob felt it was important to their friendship that he say yes. Surely Mom would understand.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Son,” Mom said when he asked her.
“It’s not that far!” Jacob said. He felt angry and frustrated. “Ryan rides his bike all over the place and he’s OK. What could happen?” Jacob was trying not to lose his cool, but he heard his voice getting louder with every syllable. “These rules are stupid!”
Mom looked him right in the eye. “Jacob, you’ll have to trust me. You don’t know what’s out there.”
Jacob felt tingles across the back of his neck. That was the same thing he had said to Annie that very day!
Jacob went to his room to think. He thought about what the animal-control officer had said. He remembered what his dad had said about Annie being so smart. He thought about how much he loved Annie and all the work the family had done to make her safe. He thought about rules, and how much his parents loved him and wanted him to be safe. He thought about the Holy Ghost helping Mom know what to say—the same words he’d told Annie.
After a while, Jacob called Ryan. “I can’t go,” he said. “But if you come over, we can make brownies. Mom says she’ll order pizza to be delivered.”
Ryan happily agreed.

One of those moments came as Michelle and I began our service as mission leaders in Redlands, California. After about a one-hour orientation, the former mission leaders gave us the keys and the cell phone, wished us well, and went on their way. As they went out the door, I wanted to run after them and tell them to come back and tell us how we were supposed to do this job!

On the next day, my family all left to explore our new city, and I was left alone. I felt anxious and overwhelmed. I laid down on my bed, paralyzed—wondering how I could do what the Lord had called me to do. As I lay there, wallowing in my own self-doubt, I received a prompting to go to my computer and read the emails that were pouring in from our missionaries.

As I read their words of welcome and love and got a sense of their commitment to Jesus Christ and to their missionary purpose, the Holy Ghost filled my soul with deep love for them. A clear thought came to my mind: “This is not your work; this is mine.”

This reminder that the battle is the Lord’s and that we are His instruments changed everything. I couldn’t wait to start! I was ready to commend myself and our family to God.

Rain poured as a cold wind blew. I saw trees that had been uprooted and lost all their leaves. The power was off in some areas due to damaged electrical lines. The scene before me was now like a haunted place. Everything had been blown away. People were starving for food and longing for shelter.
My heart was filled with the desire to serve. My family and other members of the Church had traveled to a poor community where a typhoon had devastated thousands of homes and taken thousands of lives. We were there to give relief goods to the victims.
When we first arrived, I had seen the mourning in people’s faces. I realized then how blessed we were that our homes hadn’t been destroyed.
It was still raining when we started handing out relief packs at a muddy, roofless gym, but that didn’t matter to us. The relief packs—sets of plastic trays, kettles, plates, spoons, forks, glasses, and flasks—we nicknamed “home-return kits.” As my family and I handed relief packs to the people, they gave us warm smiles and thank-yous.
The priceless gratitude of the people uplifted me, and I felt the influence of the Spirit. Their smiles manifested that there is hope and that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ will never leave us and will always bring light to our dark days.
I know that if we serve and love one another, we will gain eternal blessings and inherit Christlike attributes. The blessings of serving do not always come right away, but they will come if we continue to serve others with a sincere heart. I know that “when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17).

In the marvelous experience of Brigham Young in February of 1847, when the Prophet Joseph appeared to him in a dream or vision, Brigham pleaded to be reunited with the Prophet. Brigham Young asked the Prophet if he had a message for the Brethren. The Prophet said:
“Tell the people to be humble and faithful, and be sure to keep the spirit of the Lord and it will lead them right. Be careful and not turn away the small still voice; it will teach you what to do and where to go; it will yield the fruits of the kingdom. Tell the brethren to keep their hearts open to conviction, so that when the Holy Ghost comes to them, their hearts will be ready to receive it.”
The Prophet further directed Brigham Young as follows: “They can tell the Spirit of the Lord from all other spirits; it will whisper peace and joy to their souls; it will take malice, hatred, strife and all evil from their hearts; and their whole desire will be to do good, bring forth righteousness and build up the kingdom of God” (Manuscript History of Brigham Young, 1846–1847, compiled by Elden J. Watson, Salt Lake City, 1971, page 529).

Dear Buddy,
Your letter arrived just as Elder Watts and I were leaving for a baptismal service. Elder Watts is the district leader, which means that he’s in charge of all eight elders and two sisters in our district.
Anyway, the person being baptized was a seventy-year-old man named Richard Rockwell. He’s a very special person who was taught by Sister Adams and Sister South. Elder Watts conducted the baptismal service, Sister South gave a talk on baptism, Sister Adams gave one on the gift of the Holy Ghost, and I got to perform the baptism!
After I said the baptismal prayer, I glanced at Brother Rockwell. His eyes were closed, but his whole face was smiling, and tears trickled down his cheeks. I lowered him into the water completely and brought him back up, and for a few seconds we just stood there smiling at each other. Then he hugged me hard and whispered, “Thank you, Elder!” I felt like I was about to burst with joy.
After we changed into dry clothes, Elder Watts asked me to bear my testimony. Before I met Brother Rockwell, the sisters had told us that he had been studying the Bible most of his life but had never joined a church because he couldn’t find any that matched the one that Christ had organized. When the sisters taught him that ours does and that it has apostles and prophets and all the other offices, he became excited. And the more that they taught him, the more excited he became.
Well, in my testimony, I told about your letter and my model airplane. I said that if it’s going to fly, it needs all the right pieces in all the right places, just the way it’s shown in the blueprint that Grandpa and I used when we put it together. Then I explained that it’s the same with the Church. It has to have all the right pieces in all the right places, just the way it is shown in the scriptures.
Brother Rockwell beamed a big smile at me as I was talking. So thanks for your letter, Buddy. And don’t worry about my model airplane. I’m not angry. A little sad, maybe, but I know that accidents happen—especially when things get wild.
Give Rusty a big hug for me and tell him that I expect him to try harder to keep his human friends calm.
Love,Reed

A few weeks later, Mom sent me a newspaper clipping about Todd. “Local Man Saves Child on Woolly Caterpillar Fun Ride” was the headline. Now what had he done?

According to the article, a child had fallen from the last seat of the ride and gotten his hand stuck in the rail. Todd heard him screaming and ran to the ride. He stopped it and stood under the dangling boy, hoisting him up. He held him until the paramedics could free the boy’s injured hand. Todd had stood with his head poking through the rails, a dangerous spot if the ride should somehow start again. There was a picture of the boy’s mother kissing Todd’s cheek and a smiling Todd with his hands on the shoulders of a beaming boy who held up a bandaged hand. The article said the mayor had plans to honor Todd as “The Hardworking Hero of Fun King.” Hardworking hero? This certainly wasn’t the Todd I knew.

After school one day Yuriya Kitahara’s friends wanted to show her a new comic book. It took only a moment for Yuriya, a Laurel, to realize that there was nothing funny about these comics—the book was pornographic.
Around the same time, Junko Saijo, a Mia Maid, was with her friends when one of them lit a cigarette and offered it to Junko.
Not long after, a group of students at Sho Watanabe’s school was arrested for selling drugs to other students.
Fortunately, Yuriya dropped the comic book. Junko refused the cigarette. And Sho, a priest, has tried to be careful in choosing his friends.
Though the Church is growing in Japan, these teens still have to face the temptations of the world every day. That’s part of the test we came to earth to take. The question is: are we up to the challenge? And if we aren’t, how can we be?
Breaking the Word of Wisdom is a common temptation in Tokyo, according to a group of young members from different stakes who have gotten together to talk about the challenges they face.
Several of the youth were faced with the temptation of tobacco as soon as they were teenagers. Others are lucky enough to have avoided it altogether so far. Not everyone faces the same temptations. But tobacco is a common trap for Tokyo teens.
“It’s so easy to buy tobacco here; it’s difficult for some not to buy it,” says Hikaru Watanabe, a deacon and Sho’s younger brother.
Alcohol is another problem presented early on to many youth.
“After a school activity ends, all the students usually go somewhere to have a party,” says Yuriya. “Sometimes my friends ask me to go. They don’t say they’re going to drink, but to many teens, going to a party means going to drink. They don’t think that’s bad.” The other youth all nod in agreement—they’ve been in similar situations.
The teens also agree that pornography and immorality are running rampant among their peers.
“Music is getting bad too,” says Keiko Saijo, a Laurel and Junko’s older sister. “The lyrics are just awful.”
These are temptations and challenges Latter-day Saint teens are facing all around the world. What are they doing about it? They are learning that through the gospel, they can find the strength they need to overcome all their challenges.
The youth agree that to overcome the temptations thrown at them every day, they need the guidance of the Holy Ghost.
“It’s not just my own strength, but relying on the Lord that gets me through,” says priest Yuuya Kitahara, Yuriya’s younger brother. “Coming closer to the Lord helps us avoid the temptations and overcome them.”
That is a valuable lesson. “If we don’t do things to be closer to the Spirit, we would probably end up just like many youth outside of the Church, smoking, watching pornography, and worse,” says Yuriya.
It’s a lesson taught several times in the Book of Mormon. Without the Spirit of the Lord, the Nephites became “weak, like unto their brethren, the Lamanites” (Helaman 4:24; see also Mosiah 1:13; Mormon 2:26).
“When I feel the Spirit, I feel like the temptations just go away,” says Hikaru. “That strength comes from the Spirit.”
Yuuya says praying morning and night helps bring the Spirit. Yuriya feels closer to the Holy Ghost by studying the scriptures every day. Yuuya’s twin brother, Yuuki, mentions youth activities and seminary. And Junko says going to church and family home evening have not only helped her feel the Spirit but have taught her ways to overcome temptations. And each says attending the temple has made a big difference. “I feel a special power when I come to the temple of the Lord,” says Sho. He says he can resist temptations better when he goes to the temple regularly.
For the past few years, Sho and Hikaru have tried to go to the temple every Thursday to perform baptisms for the dead. Keiko and Junko, and Yuriya and her brothers try to attend every Friday.
“Coming to the temple strengthens me,” Keiko says.

While serving my mission in Ha’apai in 1972, my companion and I were requested by the Zone leaders to meet them on the island of Tungua. To fulfill this task, we were asked, to assist a sea captain Siola’a, in navigating his boat from Nomuka to Tungua, a distant of 50 miles.
The water that day was rough and the wind was strong. To make things worse, we were sailing against the wind. My companion and I took pride in preaching the Gospel as missionaries, but not in sailing a boat as sailors. We were often seasick while sailing especially when the water was choppy. What added to our dilemma as inexperienced sailors, was the natural language used by an impatient sea captain. Foul words from this man were sandwiched between every sentence. We were shocked at first, and confused not knowing what directions to follow as his orders were not always clear. We either reacted and did the right thing late, or promptly did the wrong thing. We could never win. We didn’t do anything right; and we could tell that from the amount of foul words that spewed out of the captain’s mouth and splattered in our direction.
As we approached the island of Tungua, we noticed that this small island was surrounded by reefs. It was low tide, and we had to look for the channel, - the only entrance into the lagoon. The water in the channel was shallow and the flow of the current was coming out strong. The danger of this feat, was the submerged rocks which were slightly below the water surface. The sea captain had to be at the bow of the sailboat to look out for these deadly rocks, and someone had to be at the back to handle the rudder. Unfortunately, there was no one else to help him but the two inexperienced Elders.
I was given the assignment, and some strict instructions to be followed precisely and instantly. The captain looked sternly at my face and said. “I will only say only two words from the front, ‘tauala’ and ‘lave’.
Tauala – to steer towards the wind, and ‘lave’ – to steer away from the wind. In ‘tauala’, you have to pull in the sail, and simultaneously steer the boat towards the wind. And if I call for ‘lave, you must slowly release the rope of the sail, and then steer the boat slowly away from the wind.”
I took pride in my mathematic skills, and thought to myself that this was a simple formula to follow. At one point the captain yelled out ‘tauala’. I obediently pulled in the sail and steered the boat towards the wind, as instructed. However, a few seconds later, he yelled out again, ‘tauala malohi’ a little bit more. This time my left arm was far stretched, and yet the captain yelled out, ‘tauala’ some more.
At that point, I wished I had three hands; for one hand was busy with the rudder, the other was far stretched holding the rope of the sail. I was desperate not knowing what to do. The only thought that came to my mind was to use my teeth to hold the rope temporarily while I freed my hand to pull in the sail a little bit more, as requested.
Luckily, we made it safely into the lagoon. The captain shook his head with a big sarcastic grin on his face. I was perplexed and thought for sure that I had done something wrong. However, to my surprise, I didn’t hear any foul words. It was a miracle! I made a mistake, and it was met with a smile. That’s when he said,
“I have never had any captain who maneuvered the sailboat the way you did. Holding the rope with your teeth was not wise. If there had been a sudden jolt of the sail you might have been knocked out, or at least you could have lost all your teeth.”
The captain later shared with me the greatest lesson I ever learned on my mission. He said, “Remember, if the boat is not moving, there is no use to reach for the rudder. Therefore, you must let go of it and use both hands to pull in the sail. And when the boat starts to move, then you slowly reach for the rudder.”

I have a dear friend with whom I went fishing. He seemed uneasy during the trip and shortly confided to me that he had just returned from a visit with his son-in-law in another state. During this visit he had a strong feeling that he should give his son-in-law a father’s blessing but felt somewhat constrained because he was not his father.
As we discussed his uneasy feelings, it was decided that he should phone his son-in-law immediately upon our return from the fishing trip. During the phone call my friend’s son-in-law, with considerable emotion and tears, confided the great need and desire he had felt for a father’s blessing. He had earnestly prayed that his father-in-law, to whom he felt very close, would know of his desires and give him such a blessing.
When we pray to our Father in Heaven for help, he often answers us by inspiring one of his other children here on earth to provide that help. Generally speaking, the Lord does not speak with a clap of thunder but through the whisperings of a still, small voice as he inspires one of his children to help another in need.

Three years ago, Edward Pentreath was attending a large youth activity in England, where he lives, when he remembers feeling the Spirit in an overwhelming way.
“After the evening fireside, I went back to my room. I was praying, and suddenly I realized that this gospel is all true. I was so happy. All I could say was, ‘It’s true. I know it’s true.’ I remember calling a good friend of mine. When he picked up the phone, all he could hear was me saying, ‘It’s true! It’s so fantastic!’”
Now when Edward, a member of Ipswich England Stake, describes the feeling he had that night when the Holy Ghost testified of the truthfulness of the gospel, he describes it as a “warm shiver and a tingle which went through my body.” He has learned to recognize that feeling. He says he feels the Spirit often now that his friends are going on missions and as they have opportunities to bear their testimonies at camp, at youth conferences, or in church.

“Now then, girls, as we visit the Art Institute, always carry your folding stool over your left arm, walk in pairs, and absolutely no gum chewing!” There were guilty looks as the gum quickly disappeared, and the Chicago Heights Illinois Stake Mia Maids grinned as they reminded each other that the stools were to be carried over left arms, not right. (Carrying them on the left arm avoids bumping valuable paintings as tour groups move down the right-hand side of narrow halls.)
Then the entire group hurried to keep up with the 81-year-old, but incredibly energetic, tour guide, Miss Marianne English. It was quickly becoming evident that this morning’s cultural activity at the Art Institute of Chicago was going to be as entertaining as it would be enlightening.
First stop: a valuable glazed pottery horse, a statue from the T’ang Dynasty, which ruled China in the seventh through ninth centuries. Eyebrows raised with new interest as the girls learned of the ancient Chinese custom that insisted a man be buried with not just his live horse, but with his wife as well! Then Miss English whisked the group on down the marble hallways lined with Roman vases and Greek statues. They paused at an Italian sculpture of Heracles wrestling Anteus.
“Does anyone remember the story of this myth?” the guide asked. One girl surprised even herself as she related most of the details. Anteus, a giant who received his strength by always touching the earth, was finally bested by Heracles in a battle of wits and strength.
The group moved on toward a collection of Buddha statues, but the guide slowed her pace to a stroll and chatted with a couple of the girls, who were on the tour as part of the first-ever Mia Maid conference in the stake.
“They tell me you girls are a religious group on some kind of a retreat. You’re the ones who don’t believe in Christ, right?” A girl with long, blond hair smiled as she reassured the guide that Latter-day Saints most assuredly do believe in Christ. She, like most of the other girls, seemed accustomed to such questions. After all, Chicago and its suburbs include 7 million people plus, and the missionaries haven’t reached all of them yet.
Other girls thought back to their morning’s activity. The first stop had been a 50-foot, metal Picasso sculpture that dominates the Civic Center Plaza in the heart of downtown Chicago. Elevators tunnel to the top of towering buildings around the courtyard, and of course, each girl clambered aboard one to rush with it up story after story for the reward of a look down. The Saturday-morning city was just beginning to allow slices of sunshine to sift through the skyscrapers.
The skyline was familiar to only a few of the Mia Maids, though some of them do occasionally shop downtown in enormous department stores with famous names like Marshall Fields, riding efficient commuter trains from their suburban homes many miles away. Members of the Chicago Heights Illinois Stake live anywhere from 50 blocks to 75 miles from the city’s “Loop,” the center downtown area encircled by elevated railways. In the cool early morning air on top of the building, Arlene and Carla had reminded each other about pigeons they had seen on Michigan Avenue and anticipated returning after the tour (when it would be warmer) to chase them. Then they had jumped back on the elevator, dropped back to the plaza, and gathered with the rest of the group.
“Put your stools down here, and we’ll look at Rembrandt’s painting Young Girl at the Open Half-door,” Miss English interrupted the young ladies’ reverie. “This painting is actually a design of circles. Look closely and you might see more than 20 circles.” Suddenly, for Pam and Brenda the painting became more than just a scene with a nice-looking girl. It became an intriguing puzzle.
Others were fascinated by the large brush strokes of El Greco or the loving smiles on portraits by Correggio, who reportedly learned his technique by studying the Mona Lisa.
The Art Institute’s collection is arranged chronologically, so a walk through the corridors is a walk through the centuries. The oldest painting dates about 1270 A.D., and the statues and other relics date centuries earlier still.
One of the highlights of the medieval collection was a series of paintings entitled The Ayala Altarpiece. The works were commissioned by a family of nobles in 14th-century Spain for the family tomb. Heavy with gold, the altarpiece depicts various scenes from the life of Christ, typical of the period when the major function of art was religious instruction (necessitated by the fact that only the priests could read).
“Medieval painters hadn’t yet learned to show distance,” Miss English explained. “The pictures look flat, with no sense of perspective, and the people have rigid, awkward bodies. Notice that it is essentially the position of the stiff hands that expresses the character’s surprise or sadness.”
Not far away, another Mia Maid was startled to meet the likeness of a young woman, cut in stone, atop a chiseled sarcophagus. “Actually,” Miss English confided, “the woman buried in this coffin was probably much older and not so beautiful as the lady you see lying here. It’s likely she had her likeness carved the way she wanted to be remembered.”
A short detour and the group jumped ahead to the 19th century, plopping down their stools in front of an impressionistic work by Claude Monet, The Beach at Sainte Adresse, one of his early paintings.
“Do you see here the careful shadings and detail we saw in Rembrandt?” the guide inquired. “Have the brush strokes melted into one realistic scene like the landscape of Venice we passed?”
A timid hand rose. “No. You see dabs of green and white in the ocean that aren’t blended in at all.”
“Right! The theory in impressionism is that the colors will mix in the mind. French artists like Monet, Renoir, and Degas broke the established rules and used less careful detail but lots of light, atmosphere, feeling, and color.” She described how the impressionists were at first rejected, but persisted in their scenes of rainbow colors without smooth shading. Details were lost, flowers became simply dots of paint, and reflections in water were favorite settings. American artist Mary Cassatt convinced many wealthy Americans to buy French paintings and bring them to the U.S. “I’m sure France wishes it had some of them back!” the guide said. “The people wouldn’t call them messy now, which is how they described them then.”
The girls didn’t realize how fast time was passing. They were amazed that art history could be so much fun. And the guide made it even more personal by pointing out things they could observe any time they went looking at art: “Learn to look for the color, shape, line, form, texture, and movement that always comprise a painting.”
—Colors may be bold, such as those in Delacroix’s The Lion Hunt, which underscore the deep emotions of the scene. Reds are fierce, dark clouds threatening. Or colors may be delicately shaded, as in the porcelainlike faces of Renoir’s women. Or they may be just flecks and spots, as in the “pointillism” of Seurat, who used tiny brush strokes of different colors to fill an entire picture. (For example, separate dots of blue and orange can be distinguished in the grass in Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte, although when one takes a step back, the color appears as dark green.)
—Look for geometric shapes in the overall design. Are lines and forms sweeping or restful? The circles in Young Girl at the Open Half-door have already been described. In The Lion Hunt the oval arrangement of the characters ties together the animals and the hunters, intensifying the drama. In the Seurat painting just mentioned, the triangle shape of the island draws the audience back into the picture.
—The texture of the paint can be so smooth it is almost an unobservable part of the work or so heavy that it can’t be ignored. For example, in Picasso’s Place du Havre, Paris, there is such a heavy impasto (paint laid thickly on the canvas) that it’s almost like painting with candy. Especially in modern art, texture may be anything from smooth like a window pane to woolly like a sweater. The paint may not even cover all of the canvas.
—Some artists successfully create a sensation of movement. How? In On the Stage by Degas, skirts swirl, hair flies, and details in the foreground are blurred to give the illusion of captured motion.
“See what the artist is trying to tell you,” Miss English summarized. “Are the people realistic or only caricatures? Is he showing their character or only their costume? For example, look at the pitchfork-holding farmer and his wife portrayed in Grant Wood’s famous American Gothic, painted in 1930. What message about those two people do you find?
“Finally, if modern art baffles you, remember it encompasses all the elements of traditional art, except that the subject has been removed. Nature or the realistic scene serves merely as a jumping-off point. Some modern art, such as Picasso’s, is inspired by the medieval period. He has gone full circle back to the flat perspective.” Teenage heads nodded with new understanding, remembering the huge Picasso sculpture they had seen first thing that morning.
The tour was over. Later that night, traditional youth conference activities continued. There were workshops on dance, beauty, and grooming, and a spiritual discussion about testimonies, taught by Sister Jan Ryan, who joined the Church just 18 months ago. A court reporter, she compared witnessing the truth before a judge to testifying of the truth before one’s fellowman. There was also a testimony meeting.
The young ladies still recall the Friday evening group prayer, the games, the apple juice and doughnut refreshments, and the chatter before snoozing in sleeping bags. And, of course, the spiritual memories still linger, because they helped the girls see life through new eyes. In a different way, so did the art tour. By studying great artworks, the Mia Maids had, perhaps, gained some appreciation for the talent and love the Master Artist exhibited in creating the world, and they had learned to search for beauty where they hadn’t expected to find it before. That type of awareness may just be the true purpose of art.

Yes, I look good. I look really great as a matter of fact. I needn’t worry about anything. I look sensational in this red dress. Red looks best on me, and I look sensational. Except for the buttons. I don’t like the buttons mother picked. They’re really crummy buttons. But if I hold my arm up in front like this, no one will see them there. Now I really do look sensational, and no one can see the buttons at all. I feel the music. I’m with it. It’s going to work for me tonight. Positive thinking will work. It will. It will.
There’s Herb Blakely. He’s looking at me. He likes my dress. I can tell. He took a step toward me. I’ll bet he wants to dance with me, but he’s afraid to ask. I’ll smile at him. Come across the room, Herbie, and ask me to dance. Tell me I look sensational. Ask me to dance, Herbie. The power of positive thinking is at work. Ask me, Herbie. Ask me. You jerk! He’ll be back, maybe. I’m sure he looked at me. Herbie likes me. He said “Hi” in Sunday School last week. That’s all he said, but I could tell by the way he said it that he likes me. He said “Hi” and then walked past me. But I could tell it meant something.
If I don’t stand by any other girls, someone will ask me to dance. Oh my gosh, here comes Martha Bluke. Go away Martha. Go away. Don’t stand here by me. Go away Martha. The power of positive thinking. It worked. I can’t believe it. She went over to the corner with Mary Anne Little and Beth Kelly. They’re dancing with each other! Oh, I can’t stand it. Three girls dancing in a corner. Its disgusting. I can’t stand it. I think I’m going to die right on the spot.
Oh, there’s Ralph. I’ll smile a little more. He is so darling. Really. He is really so very cool. He looked at me. My mouth hurts from smiling and my arm hurts too. Crummy buttons. Tell me I’m witty and cute, Ralph. Oh Ralph, you could make my entire adolescence if you’d just ask me to dance. Ask me, Ralph. Ask me. He asked Lila Kirk. Jerk. Look how close they’re dancing. Isn’t anyone going to break them up? I would never dance that close with anyone. Not with anyone.
Except maybe Chuck Stewart. I just adore him. He is so neat. He always stands with his hands in his pockets. I really like that. And his hair touches his ears in a really groovy way, and I think he shaves. I’ll bet he’s the only boy in this entire ward who shaves. There he is. Oh I can’t breathe. Isn’t that neat? Oh, if I could dance with Chuck Stewart I’d never ask for another thing in my entire life. I’m smiling at him, and I’ve got all my buttons covered, and he’s looking at me. I winked at him! How could I wink at him? It was an accident. I winked at Chuck Stewart. I must have a tic. I must. I’ve never in my life done that. He’ll think I’m a flirt. Oh Chuck, I didn’t mean to wink at you like a creep. He asked Martha. Martha! How could he ask her? She was dancing with all those girls and he asked her. It was because I winked, I’ll bet. He’d rather ask a girl who dances with girls than a girl who winks. I must have a tic. Martha thinks she dances so well. She doesn’t.
Roger Humphries! I thought he’d moved out of the ward. Oh wow! Oh neato! Look at the way he chews his gum. I’m going to die. Right now. I’m going to die. He’s walking across the dance floor. Oh, I can’t breathe. My arm is going to sleep. Positive thinking. Positive thinking. Ask me—ask me—ask me. Oh, Roger, you are so numero uno neato!
He’s looking at me. My lips are quivering. They’re quivering. My palms are beginning to perspire. It’s not ladylike. He’s coming right toward me. Oh my mouth hurts. My arm. My crummy buttons. Why didn’t I wear something else? Ask me, Roger. Ask me to dance, Roger. Tell me I’m the best looking thing you’ve seen all night. Tell me I’m beautiful and charming and witty and exciting and that you’ve had your eye on me for years. Tell me you love me, Roger. Or just ask me to dance!
Don’t walk past me. He’s drinking red punch. Red punch! Why not red dress? Me? Oh pooh, who cares? I don’t. I really don’t. To think I came to this duddy dance when I could be home reading the Scarlet Letter.
My father! My father the bishop is walking toward me. No, Daddy; no. No. Please don’t. Please go to the punch bowl. No, Daddy, don’t smile so lovingly at me. Oh please let me be struck dead instantly. He says I’m the most beautiful thing he’s seen all evening. Would I dance just one with him? He says I’m exciting and charming and witty and that I dance like Ginger Rogers, whoever she is. He says he loves me.
Oh, Daddy, I love you too.

My brother Darrell, who was five years older than I, was a special friend to me. Darrell let me ride on his bike with him from our home on the ranch to the barn where he often worked. I rode the bike back to the house, then returned to the barn at the end of the day to accompany him on his ride home. I loved Darrell very much.
One day Darrell was coming home in our family car from driving my sister to her piano lesson. He stopped at the railroad tracks to wait while a long freight train passed. He did not see another train coming from the other direction. When Darrell started over the tracks, the train struck the car and my brother was killed. I was sweeping our driveway when my father pulled up in his pickup truck shortly after it happened, and I still remember the sadness we felt when he told my mother and our family of the accident.
President David O. McKay and Elder Spencer W. Kimball came to speak at my brother’s funeral. President McKay, then President of the Church, was related to my father. Elder Kimball, who later became President of the Church, had recently visited our stake conference and had stayed in our home because my father was the stake president. President McKay and Elder Kimball taught us about our Heavenly Father’s plan and said that we would be together again as a family. They said that we should not be afraid of death, and they taught us about the resurrection. They promised that my brother would live again and that our family could live together for the one thousand years of peace called the Millennium.

The room is charged with competitive energy. Dancers in sparkling dresses and sharp tuxedoes swirl and spin on an open dance floor under brightly colored lights. The Brigham Young University DanceSport Ballroom Competition is in full swing, and the music and tension mount as more and more competitors fill the floor.
Then suddenly the din of the crowd quiets, and the competitive edge of the atmosphere dissipates as a new group of couples takes the floor.
Who are they? Special Olympics athletes and their volunteer partners are competing in their first-ever ballroom dance event. The music begins, and the crowd, with supportive enthusiasm, erupts into cheers as the couples begin to gracefully waltz across the floor.
From the sidelines, college sophomore Allie Edgington watches as her goal to create a Special Olympics dance event unfolds. It was a dream that was sparked, in part, by her love for her sisters. And now it is a reality blessing many lives and helping Allie and others understand how Heavenly Father loves His children.
Support and encouragement are second nature among Allie and her siblings. Their trials bring them closer, and their triumphs take them all higher. Allie’s brother and twin sisters were all diagnosed with Fragile X Syndrome, a genetic condition resulting in mental impairment and autistic behaviors.
Allie, an avid dancer, is a dance education major and a member of BYU’s touring ballroom team. In 2008 she was named Miss Provo, going on to become the first runner-up to Miss Utah 2009. As the title holder, Allie needed a platform or specific cause to promote. She showed her support for her siblings by promoting Special Olympics. For the past seven years Allie’s brother, Tanner, has competed in Special Olympics, a program providing Olympic-style athletic events for disabled children and adults.
However, Allie noticed that her younger sisters, 17-year-old twins Courtney and Cassidy, were reluctant to participate. “Our brother has done well in Special Olympics, and he likes it a lot, but we’re just not so into it,” Courtney explains.
Wanting her sisters to succeed, Allie started looking for ideas. “I got to thinking that maybe there was some way to get them involved, some way to help them be comfortable enough to participate,” Allie says.
When a friend mentioned that the state of Indiana had held the first Special Olympics dance event, Allie knew she had found her solution. Combining her dance education major with her Special Olympics platform and her desire to help her sisters, Allie hatched a plan to create a Special Olympics ballroom dance event in Provo.
The waltz music finishes, and the Special Olympics couples spin out and take deep bows for the enthusiastic crowd. Then they exit the floor and file into a row of chairs on the sidelines or go backstage to wait for their next event, the cha-cha.
Backstage, Courtney sits with her sister Cassidy and cradles a pair of high-heeled ballroom shoes in her lap. They are scuffed and very flexible. “They’re comfortable because Allie wore them out,” Courtney explains, “and now I get to use them.”
While lively music blares from the speakers, Courtney quietly talks about her sister. “I want to be like Allie. She dances a lot, and I want to do a lot of dance at my school.” Cassidy chimes in, “I’ve learned a lot from just watching her.”
More than just learning steps and routines, these sisters know that they’ve learned a lot about life by dancing with their sister. “I can have fun, even though some things are still a little scary. I can be comfortable,” Courtney says. When asked about what advice she would give to other teens, she adds, “Just get involved and do things that you don’t usually do. Get out and have fun!”
Allie’s idea helped her sisters to get out and have fun and, in the end, it was also a great way for the other athletes and volunteers to try something new.
Out by the dance floor, Emily Chai, one of the volunteers, sits with Connor Morris, her cha-cha partner. Like other athletes and volunteers, they’ve become good friends while learning to dance together. “After practices we all would stay and get involved in an impromptu dance party. I think we all just loved the interaction,” Emily says.
Interaction was one of Allie’s biggest goals for the athletes. Over the course of a few months, she taught six weekly workshops where the athletes were matched with a volunteer partner and learned to dance. “I hoped that the experience would give the athletes a chance to interact with people they really look up to and admire,” Allie explains.
For Emily, these workshops were one of the best parts of the experience. “It has been fun to watch the participants get really excited. I think that excitement became the whole reason I wanted to do this.”
The other competitors soon take their final bow, and it’s time for the Special Olympics athletes to perform the cha-cha. While everyone lines up and gets ready to go back onto the floor, Keilani Stolk, another volunteer, excitedly describes the feeling of dancing with the Special Olympics athletes. “It’s not about how good you are; it’s about having fun and being friends.” In Special Olympics, there are no winners and losers, only athletes trying their best and having fun.
Richard, a past member of the BYU ballroom touring team, adds, “It is so rare to have an event where you just care how everyone else is doing. I just want everyone to have fun and to do well.”
Under the bright lights these special dancers spin, twirl, and cha-cha to a chorus of cheers and claps from the crowd. It is clear from the smiles on their faces and the enthusiasm they show in their dance that, for these dancers, having fun and supporting each other is the goal.
“The athletes just have the most wonderful spirit about them,” Allie says, watching from the sidelines as her students perform. “Instead of focusing on those things they can’t do, they come and have so much happiness in the things they can do.”
Looking back on her experience, Allie knows that she has been blessed. Beginning a Special Olympics ballroom event allowed her to help her sisters, helped her move forward on her own goals, and strengthened her understanding of God’s love. Watching her students take their final bow, Allie says, “The athletes’ love for life is such a testimony to me of the purity and goodness that can exist in the world. They give so freely of their own love to everyone. I know that Heavenly Father loves them.”

It was December 31, 1974. I know the exact date because it was the day I was baptized and received the gift of the Holy Ghost. I had been baptized early in the morning and was in my front yard, playing in a tree by the road, when a neighbor girl walked by. Now, this neighbor girl and I did not need to have a DTR, because we understood exactly where we stood with each other. We hated each other. She called me names, and I threw rocks at her. On this particular day, as I sat in the tree, she walked by, and I didn’t have any rocks with me, but I did have some nasty things to yell. And I yelled them. But something funny happened as soon as I did. The Holy Ghost whispered to me that I had just committed a sin. At the time, I didn’t recognize it as the Holy Ghost. I just felt a sick feeling in my stomach and guilt swept over me. The distinct thought came to my 8-year-old mind that I had just been baptized and cleansed from my sins, and I was supposed to go the rest of my life without sinning, and I didn’t even make it one day.
I’ve spent a lot of time, as I suppose some of you may have, wishing I could just be baptized again and start over fresh and clean. However, I have come to realize that even if I had another shot at baptism, I wouldn’t make it very long before I was wishing I could do it again.

At the time I initially read this First Presidency message, I naively thought my impression of that principle was because I had given a blessing to the daughter of a family I home taught, hoping that a dramatic recovery would spark the family back into activity. When the little girl ended up in the hospital that same day, I thought the absence of the miracle would somehow bless their lives more than if she had been miraculously healed. However, little did I suspect the extraordinary experience among the challenges that the Lord was already engineering.
About a month later my expectant wife, April, and I went to an ultrasound appointment to see whether we were having a boy or a girl. We learned that we were having our third son. We also learned that there were severe physical complications afflicting his body. He was missing large portions of his brain, his skull wasn’t properly shaped, and the doctors weren’t even sure if he would survive till delivery. During the ensuing weeks it seemed that every time we received additional information it was bad news. I still remember sitting in a room in the Brewster Building, across the street from the Wilkinson Center, when my wife called to tell me the latest update: Our son didn’t have a right eye. Thinking back to what my mission companion had said, I certainly felt like things were much worse than one degree colder.
With faith, and in order to pray more specifically and effectively for our unborn son, we decided on his name early. Previously we had waited until we actually saw our children to make sure they matched their names. We chose the name Caleb, after the Old Testament Israelite who was a companion to Moses and Joshua and who was noted for his “fearlessness in the face of overwhelming odds.”4
Caleb survived his birth, though it became quickly apparent that he would be very much like a newborn throughout his entire life. He would never walk. He would never talk. He would never feed himself or be able to so much as hold his head up on his own. When we asked how long we might expect him to live, the doctor replied, “Take him home and never bring him back to the hospital. We can’t do anything for him. He has a few weeks to a few months—outside chance of a year, possibly two.”
I remember being terrified as we walked out of the hospital with our little boy to take him home. The number of machines and medical equipment we needed to sustain his life was overwhelming. The possibility of losing him was a constant fear. Simply feeding him required extraordinary effort because he needed to eat every three hours. The process to eat took one hour to complete. This involved waking up throughout the night: start the pump, sleep for an hour, stop the pump, sleep for two hours, start the pump, sleep for an hour, and so on. We wondered how we would keep ourselves alive, let alone our fragile son.
Thankfully, the Lord blessed us with many miracles in what seemed like a hopeless situation. Angels in the form of ward members, family members, friends, and medical personnel came to our aid. We literally had meals brought in for three months. We had a competent and caring nurse, a doctor who made house calls, and family and neighbors who prayed mightily on our behalf. We could feel heaven’s hand upon us. I felt angels walked our hallways and sat in Caleb’s room. Our three-year-old son told us that sometimes he saw Jesus peeking in our windows.
In Caleb’s baby blessing I promised him that he had completed his task on earth by being born and that he could now rest for a time. But this was not the plan for Caleb and his mother. In some kind of pact with heaven that I have yet to fully understand, Caleb and April bargained with heaven to do a greater work. God had matched them up perfectly—Caleb with his fearlessness in the face of overwhelming odds and April with her mother’s love and daring optimism.
April purposefully chose hope and trust in the Lord. To her core she is happy and optimistic. With God’s help she took what could have been a terrifying trial and reshaped it. She took a corner of heaven and pulled it right down into our home, opening it up for all to enjoy. Every day became a celebration with Caleb. She made him a birthday cake after his first week, cupcakes for his second week, cookies for his third week, and so on. She celebrated everything about Caleb, for every day was truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience for the boy who was sent home without hope.
In what might have looked like a burdensome task to others, caring for Caleb became a privilege. Though his body was misshapen and broken, his spirit was whole, noble, and great.5 Being in his presence was healing and heavenly. I love my wife and thank her, Caleb, and Heavenly Father for making the time with Caleb not only possible but powerful. It was indeed heaven on earth.
Even his missing eye was a blessing. It became his distinctive feature. People were drawn to him, especially children. They would often ask, “Where is his eye? What happened to him?”
I would usually say that Caleb was a pirate or that a bear had eaten his eye. But my wife would explain that in our family, a wink meant “I love you.”
Before Caleb was born, we told our boys that he would only have one of his eyes. They were concerned for their brother.
“Don’t worry,” April would say. “He will just wink at us every day!”
Caleb was never able to tell us he loved us with words, but he told us every day with his wink. His little wink was a daily message of love from heaven. He brought the love of God and the Light of Christ into the lives of all who knew him. His winking eye was a sweet reminder of his deep love for all of us.
There were times when I thought Caleb would live a long time. He had so often successfully battled sicknesses and surgeries, illnesses and infections. He had been to the hospital many times but always came back to us. We loved having him in our home. “Caleb could have quickly returned to heaven but, instead, he brought heaven to us for seven years.”23
Twenty-five days ago, in the timing of the Lord, Caleb slipped peacefully away while being held in the arms of his mother and surrounded by his family. He had spent a courageous day fighting with his might against a vicious infection brought on by pneumonia. The wonderful doctors, nurses, and other medical personnel at Primary Children’s Medical Center had done all they professionally could to keep Caleb alive. His body was simply too worn out.
I have heroes in my life: Joseph Smith, Captain Moroni, Ammon, and others. On that day, my wife was my hero. As she bravely and tenderly leaned down to hug Caleb, she whispered in his ear, “I love you, Caleb. I am so proud of you. If your body is too tired, it’s okay. You can go back. You can return to Heavenly Father.”
For over seven years her love and God’s will allowed Caleb to be a significant part of our earthly experience. But in the very moment when it was needed, her heart changed. She could let him go. She trusted God because she knew God. She knew that God understood her personally, in a way that few others could, for God had also lost a son. And through the Atonement of that Son, God can do miracles. He can forgive a sinner. He can save a lost soul. He can heal a broken heart.
At a stake conference not too long ago, I had an interview with a visiting General Authority. He learned about Caleb as part of our discussion. After he acknowledged the hard work it took to care for Caleb, I thought he would then encourage me to keep it up and to faithfully persevere in the service and sacrifice I was providing. Instead, his next four words entirely transformed my relationship with Caleb. He simply said, “You are being exalted.”
All this time I had thought that we were taking care of Caleb. But in reality, God, through Caleb, had been taking care of us. God was making a miracle where I hadn’t expected one. He was performing a miracle on me, on my wife, on our kids, and on all those who came in contact with Caleb. Having Caleb in our home was an honor and a privilege. It was also a sacred experience.