Gospel Story Finder

Working summers as a youth with a beloved uncle and aunt on the family farm was hard work! There was always work to do—machinery to fix, fields to plow, seed to plant, cows to herd, and grain to harvest. We took breaks for meals, but other than that, most days we were working.
Except on Sundays.
For our family, the Sabbath day really was a day of rest and worship, even with the constant needs on the farm. When I was younger, that didn’t always make sense to me.
You see, Sunday always seemed to me to have perfect weather for farm work like planting, fertilizing, and harvesting. I realized that the adversary wants us to think that Sunday is the very best day of the week for things other than worship and rest.
As we drove the miles to church, we’d often see our neighbors putting seed in the ground or harvesting the grain. And we were taking the whole day off! Sometimes it was really a trial of faith to look up at the sky and know that we were missing a day of perfect weather—especially when it might hail or rain the next day and destroy the crops.
But year after year, season after season, no matter how many perfect farming days we missed to keep the Sabbath day holy, we were abundantly blessed. Some might say our choice didn’t make sense, but I believe we were blessed for our choices. And a bounteous harvest wasn’t the only blessing. The blessings I have seen, and the blessings you will see, will be more than you can count.

I have some sad news. Will has dropped us. That means that he doesn’t want us to teach him anymore, and he doesn’t want to join the Church. Maybe someday he’ll change his mind. I learned an important lesson from him. Elder Watts and I were trying to convince Will that what we were teaching him was true. We forgot that a person has to listen to the Spirit to know that the Church is true and that you can’t convince someone with mere words. I hope that I never forget that again.

Inside the Liberty Jail Historic Site in present-day Liberty, Missouri, is a rotunda containing a replica of the jail. In the replica are mannequins representing the Prophet and his associates who were held there. Visitors can now come, sit in a semicircle around the jail, and listen to a history of what happened there.

Jacob Tracy, a priest in the Harrisonville Ward, looks down into the dungeon of the jail. At 5?11? he wouldn’t be able to stand up straight if he were down there. He’s looking at a replica of Hyrum Smith, his fifth-great-grandfather.

He likes to come here with his brother, Joseph, 12, and his sister, Becky, 18, (opposite page) and think about the sacrifices early Church members made. Plus, Jacob says, “Knowing the history of what happened to them can help us. We have so much to look forward to here in Zion.”

By now the weather was hot, hot, sizzling hot! I understood what Papa meant about the Torrid Zone. “I call it the Horrid Zone,” I said, wiping the sweat from my face.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Papa told me. “We could get stranded in the Doldrums.”
“Doldrums?” I wondered how many more words Papa had in his head that I didn’t know.
“The trade winds blow from the north and the south toward the equator,” he explained, “but sometimes neither wind reaches the equator and the air is very still. It is known as the Doldrums. Sailors fear this area as much as any part of the ocean because there can be long periods of time with no wind at all. We could sit motionless for days in this unbearable heat on water as flat as a sheet of paper.
“On the other hand,” he went on, “a tropical storm could come up suddenly, and the winds and waves could dash the ship to bits.”
Papa sure had a way of making the hair stand up on the back of my neck! And his warning about the Doldrums turned out to be right.
The Brooklyn did get becalmed in the windless region! Not a breath of a breeze could be felt. The sea was as shiny as melted glass. The air seemed as if it was coming from a stove fired up to do canning. It was so hot that the pitch in the ship’s seams melted and oozed out. Seamen constructed an awning to protect us from the blazing sun.
Now we were praying for the wind to start instead of for a raging storm to die down. Finally, after several motionless days in blistering weather, a breeze came up to fill the sails and blew the Brooklyn south toward Cape Horn. Papa called that area “the most treacherous test of a sailing ship’s crew.”
I hated to think what might happen there.

In May 2010, over 1,200 youth from eight stakes in British Columbia and the Bellingham Washington Stake gathered in Vancouver for a temple celebration marking the completion of the Vancouver British Columbia Temple.
The celebration, titled “A Beacon to the World,” highlighted the land, history, and people of British Columbia. Part of the celebration included the youth’s guiding 172 of the area’s oldest Church members down to the floor for recognition. After dancing and performing music for the program, the youth closed the program by joining hands and circling around a replica of the temple.
Sabrina Blackmore, 17, of the Blackmore Ward in the Prince George British Columbia Stake, rode 15 hours on a bus to participate in the event. “This is the best experience ever,” she said.

As a new convert to the Church, I experienced a spiritual rescue through the saving hands of a faithful member of the Church. I grew up in Matsumoto, Japan, close to where the Nagano Winter Olympics were held. My hometown looks very much like Salt Lake City, a valley surrounded by beautiful mountains. When I was 17 years old, I met two American missionaries, Elder Carter and Elder Hayashi. Though our ages were only two or three years apart, the elders had something wonderful that I had never felt before. They were diligent, cheerful, and filled with love and light. I was deeply impressed by their qualities, and I wanted to become like them. I listened to their message and decided to be baptized. My parents, who were Buddhist, strongly opposed my baptism. Through the help of the missionaries and the Lord, I received permission and miraculously was baptized.
The next year I entered the university in Yokohama. Living alone, far from my hometown and the people I knew, I became lonely and strayed from the Church. One day I received a postcard from a Church member back home. She wrote that she had heard I was not attending Church meetings. She quoted a scripture and invited me to return to church. I was overwhelmed by the words of the scripture. This helped me realize that maybe I had lost something important, and I pondered and struggled for many days. This also caused me to remember a promise the missionaries had made to me: “If you read the Book of Mormon and ask in fervent prayer if the promise found in Moroni is true, you will know the truth through the power of the Holy Ghost.”2
I realized that I was not praying with all of my heart and decided to do so. One morning I woke up early, knelt in my small apartment, and prayed sincerely. To my surprise, the confirmation of the Holy Ghost came upon me as promised. My heart burned, my body shook, and I was filled with joy. Through the power of the Holy Ghost, I learned that God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, live and that They truly appeared to Joseph Smith. I made a commitment in my heart to repent and faithfully follow Jesus Christ for the rest of my life.
This spiritual experience changed my life completely! I decided to serve a mission out of gratitude to the Lord and to the Church member who rescued me. Following my mission, I was sealed in the temple to a wonderful girl, and we have been blessed with four children. Not coincidentally, this is the same girl who saved me by sending a postcard to that lonely apartment in Yokohama many years ago. I remain ever grateful for the mercy of the Lord and the help of this Church member, who invited me to once again come unto Christ.3

About 20 years ago I was assigned to go to Montevideo, Uruguay, to tour the mission and dedicate the first chapel built in that city. During the previous year President David O. McKay had broken ground for that chapel, hoping that he could return and dedicate it. Other duties prevented his doing so, and hence I was sent.
After our dedicatory service an Italian sister came up to shake hands. Before doing so she held out her right hand and asked me to look at it. I did but saw nothing unusual about it. Then she called my attention to a scar in the palm of her hand and explained:
“When President McKay was here to break ground for our chapel,” she said, “I had a cancer in the palm of my hand. The doctors could not help me, and the cancer was spreading. I felt impressed by the holy Spirit that if I could just touch President McKay’s hand, my cancer would be healed.
“Many people went forward to greet the President, and because there were so many, I became discouraged. But my prompting continued. I felt it was the Holy Spirit urging me on. I did meet the president. My right hand was heavily bandaged, so I had to shake hands with my left hand.
“When I returned home I took the bandage off and to my great delight saw that the cancer was already drying up. I now show you this right hand, all healed, and I want you to tell President McKay about it.”

“I will NEVER forget when I first saw this. I am autistic and have struggled with chronic depression and suicide ideation. The last few weeks before that concert were pure torture for me, and I was completely lost in what to do anymore. A few days before this song was performed, I asked a few friends of mine in the Choir for some support which they gave and when I first heard this song, I was drowning in tears. Truly the light will always come at the end of the tunnel. Thank you, Tabernacle Choir, my dear friends, for being such heroes in my life and such wonderful friends! I love you all forever!”

Forty-six years ago I was called as an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve, and for the first time, I came to this pulpit. I was 37 years old. I found myself standing among the venerable and wise prophets and apostles, “whose names,” as the song proclaims, “we all revere” (“Oh, Holy Words of Truth and Love,” Hymns, no. 271). I felt how keenly inadequate I was.
About that time here in the Tabernacle I had a defining experience. It gave me assurance and courage.
In those days Primary conference was held here before the April conference. I came through a south door as the opening song was being sung by a large choir of Primary children. Sister Lue S. Groesbeck, a member of the Primary general board, was leading them. They sang:
Rev’rently, quietly, lovingly we think of thee;
Rev’rently, quietly, softly sing our melody.
Rev’rently, quietly, humbly now we pray,
Let thy Holy Spirit dwell in our hearts today.
(“Reverently, Quietly,” Children’s Songbook, 26)
As the children sang quietly, the organist, who understood that excellence does not call attention to itself, did not play a solo while they sang. He skillfully, almost invisibly blended the young voices into a melody of inspiration, of revelation. That was the defining moment. It fixed deeply and permanently in my soul that which I most needed to sustain me in the years to follow.
I felt perhaps that which Elijah the prophet had felt. He sealed the heavens against the wicked king Ahab and fled to a cave to seek the Lord:
“A great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks … ; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake:
“And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire [came] a still small voice.
“And it was so,” the record says, “when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave” to speak to the Lord (1 Kings 19:11–13).
I felt something of what the Nephites must have felt when the Lord appeared to them: “They heard a voice as if it came out of heaven; and they cast their eyes round about, for they understood not the voice which they heard; and it was not a harsh voice, neither was it a loud voice; nevertheless, and notwithstanding it being a small voice it did pierce them that did hear to the center, insomuch that there was no part of their frame that it did not cause to quake; yea, it did pierce them to the very soul, and did cause their hearts to burn” (3 Nephi 11:3).
It is this still, small voice which Elijah and the Nephites heard that the Prophet Joseph Smith understood when he wrote, “Thus saith the still small voice, which whispereth through and pierceth all things” (D&C 85:6).
In that defining moment, I understood that the still, small voice is felt more than heard. If I hearkened to it, I would be all right in my ministry.
After that I had the assurance that the Comforter, the Holy Ghost, is there for everyone who will respond to the invitation to ask, to seek, and to knock (see Matthew 7:7–8; Luke 11:9–10; 3 Nephi 14:7–8; D&C 88:63). I knew I would be all right. As the years have unfolded, so it has been.
I learned too what power there can be in music. When music is reverently presented, it can be akin to revelation. At times, I think, it cannot be separated from the voice of the Lord, the quiet, still voice of the Spirit.

The gospel changed everything in my life, and I felt a strong desire to share it with others—just as the missionaries had shared it with me.
I felt prompted to serve a full-time mission and discussed this with Bishop Wrotto. The decision wasn’t easy. I had doubts about leaving behind the life I knew, especially the part-time job that I struggled to get. But my bishop said two things that remained in my heart:
God knows you personally. “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you” (Matthew 6:33).
You should create time for God. God should not create time for you.
These words kept playing in my mind. I knew it was what I was supposed to do.
I began preparing for my mission, and soon I was called to serve in the Ghana Accra Mission under President and Sister Young. I left my job to fully prepare, but then the unexpected happened: COVID-19.
The pandemic spread rapidly, buildings were shut down, churches were closed, and public gatherings were prohibited. The missionary training center (MTC) was closed, and I was stuck at home—no job, no mission, just frustration.
During this period, I began questioning my decision. But my bishop encouraged me to use the time as an opportunity to study the scriptures and follow the Come, Follow Me program.
Later, we were notified that we would begin online MTC training. Finally, I was blessed to serve in the Ghana Accra Mission.
My mission took me to places where I met incredible people and worked with companions who taught me to be bold in sharing the gospel and patience in helping others find the same joy I had found.
When I returned home, I felt the desire to share the gospel with my family—especially my brother. He had been skeptical when I first joined the Church. He didn’t understand why I was so passionate about it. But instead of forcing him, I decided to live by example.
One evening, I sat down with him and shared my testimony. I told him how the gospel had changed my life. To my surprise, he listened. We discussed the Book of Mormon, the teachings of Jesus Christ, and the Restoration of the gospel. It wasn’t a quick process, but over time he started reading and praying on his own.
Months later my brother made the decision to be baptized. I couldn’t have been happier. I saw him changing, growing, and the same light I once felt began to shine in him.
Eventually, he felt inspired to serve a full-time mission as well. He is currently serving in the DRC Kinshasa West Mission.
It brings me so much joy to see how far he has come. I know he will touch lives and help others find the same peace that comes from knowing Jesus Christ.
The gospel is meant to be shared, and I will continue to share it with those around me—just as I once shared it with my brother.
As I reflect on my journey—from meeting the missionaries, becoming a missionary myself, and helping my brother find his own path—I know that the Lord’s plan is much bigger than we can understand.
I call this story “a journey of faith.”

When I was a boy, childhood diseases appeared regularly in every community. When someone had chicken pox or measles or mumps, the health officer would visit the home and place a quarantine sign on the porch or in the window to warn everyone to stay away. In a large family like ours, those diseases would visit by relay, one child getting it from another, so the sign might stay up for weeks.
We could not blockade ourselves inside our homes or stay hidden away to avoid those terrible contagions. We had to go to school, to employment, to church—to life!
Two of my sisters were stricken with very severe cases of measles. At first they seemed to recover. A few weeks later, Mother glanced out of the window and saw Adele, the younger of the two, leaning against a swing. She was faint and weak with a fever. It was rheumatic fever! It came as a complication from measles. The other sister also had the fever.
There was little that could be done. In spite of all of the prayers of my parents, Adele died. She was eight years old.
While Nona, two years older, recovered, she had fragile health for most of her life.
Nona recovered from measles and rheumatic fever. She lived long enough to benefit from open-heart surgery and enjoyed years of much improved health. Others spoke of her newly acquired energy. She said, “I have a Cadillac engine in a Model T frame.”
As an innocent child, my sister Adele’s life was cruelly interrupted by disease and suffering. She and all the others so taken continue the work of the Lord beyond the veil. She will not be denied anything essential for her eternal progression.

We six Brazilian missionaries had just landed in Argentina and were awaiting flights to our missions. As soon as we entered the waiting area for our departing flights, we wanted to take photographs of the airport runway with the city in the distance. While the other five went to take pictures, I stayed nearby watching our luggage.
After they returned, I looked around and saw a place from which I wished to take a picture. “I’ll be right back,” I told the others.
After I had taken the picture, I heard someone call, “Elder.” I quickly looked around but did not see anyone. Then the call came a second time: “Elder.”
When I looked around again, I saw an old man seated on a nearby bench. When I approached him, he said, “Elder, I would like to receive a priesthood blessing for the sick.”
His request startled me. A man I had never met had asked me for a blessing on my first day in a country where I could hardly speak the language.
In fumbling Spanish, I asked him several questions: “Do you have faith? Do you believe in the power of the priesthood? Do you know The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?”
Somewhat confused by my questions, he responded, “I am a member of the Church, Elder. I am from Salta, in the north. I am alone, I am ill, and I need a blessing.”
I went to get the other missionaries. We introduced ourselves and visited with the man for a minute. Then my companion and I took him to the restroom, where we gave him a blessing.
On that occasion, I had no time to think much about what the man had said to me other than that he needed a blessing. But later, his words “I am alone” deeply touched my heart. He felt alone, but he had a Heavenly Father who knew where he was and that he was ill. Rather than forsake him, Heavenly Father sent missionaries to comfort him, give him a blessing, and remind him that he was not alone.
That experience strengthened my testimony that we have a Heavenly Father who knows us and will never forsake us.

The first of these callings came when I was a deacon. I attended with my family the branch of the Church in Frankfurt, Germany. We were blessed with many wonderful people in our little branch. One was our branch president, Brother Landschulz. I admired him a great deal, even though he always seemed to be rather serious, very official, and most of the time dressed in a dark suit. I remember as a young man joking with my friends how old-fashioned our branch president appeared.
It makes me laugh to think about this now because it is very possible that the youth of the Church today view me in a very similar way.
One Sunday, President Landschulz asked if he could speak with me. My first thought was, “What did I do wrong?” My mind raced over the many things I might have done that could have inspired this branch-president-to-deacon talk.
President Landschulz invited me into a small classroom—our chapel did not have an office for the branch president—and there he extended a call to me to serve as deacons quorum president.
“This is an important position,” he said, and then he took his time and described why. He explained what he and the Lord expected of me and how I could receive help.
I don’t remember much of what he said, but I do remember well how I felt. A sacred, divine Spirit filled my heart as he spoke. I could feel that this was the Savior’s Church. And I felt that the calling he had extended was inspired by the Holy Ghost. I remember walking out of that tiny classroom feeling quite a bit taller than before.
It has been nearly 60 years since that day, and I still treasure these feelings of trust and love.
As I was thinking back on this experience, I tried to remember just how many deacons there were in our branch at the time. To my best recollection, I believe there were two. However, this may be a huge exaggeration.
But it really didn’t matter whether there was one deacon or a dozen. I felt honored, and I wanted to serve to the best of my ability and not disappoint either my branch president or the Lord.
I realize now that the branch president could have merely gone through the motions when he called me to this position. He could have simply told me in the hallway or during our priesthood meeting that I was the new deacons quorum president.
Instead, he spent time with me and helped me understand not only the what of my assignment and new responsibility but, much more important, the why.
That is something I will never forget.
The point of this story is not merely to describe how to extend callings in the Church (although this was a wonderful lesson on the proper way to do it). It is an example to me of the motivating power of priesthood leadership that awakens the spirit and inspires action.

At the outset I mentioned Dr. Willard Richards, whose loyalty to Joseph is so typical. Before Joseph went to the Carthage Jail, he said to Dr. Richards: “‘If we go into the cell, will you go in with us?’ The doctor answered, ‘Brother Joseph you did not ask me to cross the river with you—you did not ask me to come to Carthage—you did not ask me to come to jail with you—and do you think I would forsake you now? But I will tell you what I will do; if you are condemned to be hung for treason, I will be hung in your stead, and you shall go free.’ Joseph said, ‘You cannot.’ The doctor replied, ‘I will.’” (History of the Church, 6:616.)

A few years ago, President Oldroyd, a member of the stake presidency, visited my ward and said something I will never forget: “I promise you that if you attend the temple, every part of your life will be blessed.”
As I thought about it, I couldn’t imagine how attending the temple could touch every part of my life. But after church, I decided I would take his challenge anyway and attend the temple on a more regular basis. I wanted to test his promise. My husband had wanted to go to the temple more often, but I was reluctant because we had young children. We would have to drive an hour and a half to the temple in San Antonio, Texas, USA, complete an endowment session, and then drive home. It didn’t work to ask someone to watch our kids for seven or eight hours.
At first we tried trading babysitting with another family, but someone inevitably got sick or had something come up. We decided that we just needed to set the dates for the entire year and go! We then came up with the “pizza and play” method. We would drive to the temple together. One parent would go to a temple session while the other would take the kids to get pizza. Then we would switch: the second parent would do temple work while the other parent walked the temple grounds with the kids. This worked well. Our kids knew the temple was important to us—they knew all the other things we could have been doing on a Saturday—and we got to spend time as a family.

Recently at a fast and testimony meeting, a young woman stood and expressed gratitude for her Primary class and commented how well, with the encouragement of their mothers, each girl had responded to both class work and activities. Then, during that same meeting, a sister stood and thanked her Heavenly Father for the new call to be president of the Young Women. She committed herself to that service, then pleaded with the mothers to see that the girls would be there.

Since the time he entered the Manila Philippines Temple in July 2001, just before leaving for his mission to Singapore, Riaz Gill of Pakistan knew that he wanted to return to the temple so he could have an eternal family.
In 2007, his wife, Farah, was baptized, but funds were tight and they didn’t know when they would be able to make the trip to the temple, more than 3,500 miles (5,700 km) away. With the birth of their son, Ammon Phinehas, in 2009, their desire to be sealed in the temple grew even stronger, and late in 2010, with help from the Church’s General Temple Patron Assistance Fund, their prayers were answered.
“Going to the temple with my family has helped to make my testimony stronger,” Brother Gill said. “After our temple visit, it seems like I have more to give to the Lord. … The temple visit was so good and faith-promoting, it is hard to express in words.”
While there, Brother Gill was also able to perform ordinances for his father, grandfather, and father-in-law, who have all passed away. He had the work done for his mother, and he was sealed to his parents.
“It has been a great privilege for me and my family to visit the temple,” he said. “I want to give my special thanks with a lot of prayers to the leaders who made this temple trip possible.”

Adam couldn’t wait for the school bus to come. His family was driving him crazy. His little brother, Aaron, constantly bugged him to play. Mom said, “You’re lucky to have a little brother who loves you, Adam. Some children don’t have anybody at all.”
Phooey!
His baby sister always wanted him to pick her up and hold her. Mom said he had the magic touch and that no one could make her smile like he could.
Phooey!
His Mom fussed over him as he left for school and even kissed him good-bye every morning on the front porch, where all the kids waiting for the school bus could see!
Phooey!
He couldn’t wait to get to school and have fun with his friends.
He climbed on the bus and looked for his best friend, Daryl. Daryl got on at the stop before and always saved him a seat. But today Daryl was sitting by Priscilla! Adam had to sit by a big kid he didn’t know.
When he was getting off the bus, he caught his new, red jacket on the door handle and tore the sleeve. “Oh, no!” he groaned—he’d had the jacket for only two days. Mom was going to be upset!
He’d brought two cookies for his teacher, Mrs. Magelby, but when he walked into the room, a substitute teacher was there. Discouraged, he shoved the cookies back into his backpack.
At lunchtime, he waved to his friend Carrie across the cafeteria. But she didn’t wave back. He hoped she just hadn’t seen him. Then he dropped his cake and stepped on it. Yuck!
Things continued to go badly. He was picked next to last for the soccer team during gym. Then his socks wouldn’t stay up.
On the way home it rained.
What an awful day! Adam thought to himself as he trudged up the walk to his house. Nothing has gone right. Nobody likes me. He wanted to cry.
He sighed a big sigh and opened the door.
It smelled steamy and delicious when he walked into the house. All right! he thought. It’s a chili day! Mom liked to make chili when it was rainy and cold outside.
“Hi, Adam!” Aaron came bounding down the hall and threw his arms around his brother. “Want to see the neat tent I made on the bunk beds?”
“Hi, honey, I’m glad you’re home,” Mom called. She kissed him and ruffled his hair as he walked into the kitchen. This time it felt nice, not embarrassing.
His baby sister smiled happily and wriggled with joy when he picked her up.
“Come play with me, Adam,” said Aaron, dancing circles around his brother.
Adam started to feel warm inside.
“All right, just for a little while. Hey, Aaron, I have something for you.” Adam pulled the cookies out of his backpack.
“Wow, are those for me? Thanks, Adam—you’re the greatest!”
“You’re lucky to have a big brother who loves you, Aaron,” Mom said. “Some children don’t have anybody at all.”
The two brothers looked at each other and tried not to laugh. Mom said that at least a hundred times a day. But suddenly Adam did feel lucky—blessed, really. All the things that had happened at school didn’t seem so awful anymore. It was good to be home.

On another occasion, when Governor Carlin of Illinois sent Sheriff Thomas King of Adams County and several others as a posse to apprehend the Prophet and deliver him to the emissaries of Governor Boggs of Missouri, Sheriff King became deathly ill. At Nauvoo the Prophet took the sheriff to his home and nursed him like a brother for four days (Cannon, p. 372). Small, kind, and yet significant acts of service were not occasional for the Prophet.

In the general Relief Society meeting of September 2006, President Gordon B. Hinckley related an experience shared by a divorced single mother of seven children then ranging in ages from 7 to 16. She had gone across the street to deliver something to a neighbor. She said:

“As I turned around to walk back home, I could see my house lighted up. I could hear echoes of my children as I had walked out of the door a few minutes earlier. They were saying: ‘Mom, what are we going to have for dinner?’ ‘Can you take me to the library?’ ‘I have to get some poster paper tonight.’ Tired and weary, I looked at that house and saw the light on in each of the rooms. I thought of all of those children who were home waiting for me to come and meet their needs. My burdens felt heavier than I could bear.

“I remember looking through tears toward the sky, and I said, ‘Dear Father, I just can’t do it tonight. I’m too tired. I can’t face it. I can’t go home and take care of all those children alone. Could I just come to You and stay with You for just one night? …’

“I didn’t really hear the words of reply, but I heard them in my mind. The answer was: ‘No, little one, you can’t come to me now. … But I can come to you.’”2