Gospel Story Finder

Roberto and Giovanna Marino
Giovanna Marino struggled with some of the things the missionaries taught; could there be men so good in our times, she wondered, as to be true prophets? But she liked the spirit the missionaries brought to her home. And for her, the first time she read the Book of Mormon, enlightenment came almost as healing had come to the blinded Paul, who taught in her part of Italy nearly two thousand years ago; it was as though scales fell from her spiritual eyes, she recalls.
Her husband, Roberto, accepted everything the missionaries taught; the doctrine of eternal marriage seemed especially important to him. Prayer helped him overcome his difficult smoking and coffee consumption habits, and the Marinos were baptized in January of 1975.
It was a year later, as they prepared to go the Swiss Temple, that Sister Marino remembered the prayer she had offered not long before they met the missionaries. She had prayed specifically to know who God was, why Jesus Christ was his son, why Jesus had to die, and why we exist. And she gave thanks for the direct answer to that prayer.
The Marinos live in Siracusa, Sicily. He is currently a counselor to the president of the Italy Catania Mission, and she handles Church public communications efforts in Italy.

Alison knew it was going to be a bad day. The world outside was gray and drizzly. Mommy told her she had to clean her room. And—worst of all—there was a big bowl of cold oatmeal on the table that she still had to eat.
“I wish it was tomorrow already,” she mumbled.
Mommy looked up from her work. “Oh, things aren’t that bad, are they?”
Alison nodded without saying anything more. “Well, then,” Mommy said, “why don’t we play the thank-you game? Find a reason to be grateful for everything you can. No complaining is allowed. If you can do it the whole day, I’ll give you a surprise.”
“That’s a funny game,” said Alison.
“I’ll help you begin. Why are you grateful for oatmeal?”
Alison thought a moment. “I guess it’s better than a bowl of bugs to eat.”
“Well, that’s a start,” Mommy chuckled.
Alison gobbled down her oatmeal, to get it over with. “I’m grateful I have orange juice to help wash the oatmeal down,” she said.
Then she went to her room. It was a mess! How can I be grateful for a messy room? she wondered. “I know—I’m grateful I have these toys to play with.” She hummed as she put them all away.
The drizzle outside turned into a freezing rain that tap-tap-tapped against the window. Alison pressed her nose against the frosty glass.
I’m grateful the rain comes so that the flowers don’t get thirsty, she thought.
When her room was tidy, she got out her modeling clay. She made funny shapes with it and squished it through her fingers. “I’m grateful for things that feel good in my hands,” she giggled.
Alison was having a busy day. Soon her eyelids began to grow heavy.
“I think it’s nap time,” Mommy said.
Alison was going to complain, but she remembered that it wasn’t allowed. She climbed onto her bed and reached for her stuffed rabbit. “I’m grateful I have Charlie to snuggle with,” she told Mommy.
The thank-you game got easier and easier. It wasn’t turning out to be such a bad day, after all!
That night Mommy looked pleased. “You played the game really well, Alison,” she said. “Here’s your surprise.” She gave Alison a pink ribbon for her hair, along with her usual hug and kiss.
Alison smiled. “It turned out to be a really nice day,” she said. “I’m grateful for surprises and hugs and kisses and you!”

“When I was five, my father was called on a mission. My mother and we three children missed him very much during the two years he was gone, but I also know that the Lord blessed our family. One day my younger brother fell under a piece of moving farm equipment, a disc harrow. His head was seriously cut, and the doctor came to our home. While my brother lay on the kitchen table, the doctor sewed him up and told us that he wouldn’t live much longer. That was on Wednesday. When the doctor came to check my brother again on Saturday, we were playing at my uncle’s place. My brother was climbing around in the top of an apricot tree. The doctor took the bandages off my brother’s head and was amazed that the wound had healed. It was truly a miracle.”

Only two weeks later, on June 27, the Prophet was killed. Brigham did not learn of Joseph’s death for three weeks, but he then remembered his experience on the day of the martyrdom while sitting in the depot in Boston, waiting for the train to Salem: “I felt a heavy depression of spirit, and so melancholy I could not converse with any degree of pleasure.”21 He had seen newspaper accounts of the assassination on July 9 but had discounted them because of the current sensationalism in the press about Mormonism. Then, on July 16, while in Petersboro, New Hampshire, with other apostles, he read a letter from Nauvoo that gave details of the murder of Joseph Smith and his brother Hyrum. He roused himself from despair, decided on a course of action, and returned to Boston the next day to take the Twelve back to Nauvoo. But first, as Wilford Woodruff recounts:
“Elder Brigham Young arrived in Boston this morning. I walked with him to 57 Temple Street and called upon Sister Vose. Brother Young took the bed and gave vent to his feelings in tears. I took the big chair, and veiled my face, and for the first time gave vent to my grief and mourning for the Prophet. …”22
Nearly a month later, shortly after the great meeting where he and the rest of the Quorum of the Twelve were sustained to lead the Church, President Young wrote to his daughter back in Massachusetts:
“It has been a time of mourning. The day that Joseph and Hyrum were brought in from Carthage to Nauvoo, it was judged by many, both in and out of the Church, that there were more than five barrels of tears shed. I cannot bear to think anything about it.”23
But besides the ability to grieve deeply at this tragic personal loss, President Young had learned from the Prophet how to cope with new responsibilities and to move ahead with courage. He recovered quickly from the fear, felt by many of the Saints who were totally surprised by the death of the Prophet, that the Church’s religious authority had died with him:
“The first thing which I thought of [when the letter was read] was, whether Joseph had taken the keys of the kingdom with him from the earth; brother Orson Pratt sat on my left; we were both leaning back on our chairs. Bringing my hand down on my knee, I said, the keys of the kingdom are right here with the Church.”24

In 1992 Nathan Siriga was a provincial planner for the government. He had heard unflattering rumors about the Church that were circulating in his town of Popondetta, located on the north coast. “I had the responsibility to investigate and make a report,” he recalls. “If those rumors were true, I, as a government agent, wanted to stop the Church.”

Nathan Siriga took his questions to a fellow government worker, Benson Ariembo, who was second counselor in the Papua New Guinea Mission presidency. Brother Siriga admits that his interest in the Church wasn’t strictly official. “For fifteen years, I had been looking for the truth,” he says. “One question led to another. After a few minutes, I found out that Latter-day Saints knew more than I did about life after death and about the second coming of Jesus Christ.”

After studying the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants for several months, Brother Siriga decided to be baptized. The evening before his baptism, he prayed about the truthfulness of the doctrines. That night, he dreamed that he was surrounded by people in white who were praying for him. “I was in the middle of them,” he recalls, “filled with joy, praying and crying at the same time. I felt like I was in the middle of the company of heaven.”

Brother Siriga, now second counselor in the Popondetta Branch, works hard to share his testimony of the gospel and to dispel rumors about the Church. “I had never experienced the feelings of the Spirit that I do with Church members or in sacrament meetings,” he says. “We have the duty and responsibility to tell our people about the Church.”

You see, when the Latter-day Saint missionaries first came to England in 1837, they began their labors in Preston. At that time the city was in the midst of a grand celebration of Queen Victoria’s reign. As the missionaries alighted from their coach, they saw a banner overhead proclaiming in bold gilt letters “Truth Will Prevail.”
It became a widely-used phrase in the Church and appeared in various publications. One elder, reporting on his mission to Indiana, wrote in a letter published in Nauvoo’s Times and Seasonsin 1841: “Although the Lord has chosen the weak things of this world to preach his gospel, truth will prevail, and will prosper.”1
Trusting the Lord, I turned in my mission papers. On my 21st birthday, along with my birthday post, came my call to serve in the England London South Mission. Due to my years of inactivity, I still felt weak and inadequate. Only later would I understand what that early missionary understood: the Lord may choose the weak things of this world to preach His gospel, but truth will prevail and will prosper.
I went in faith to the temple to be endowed. When I came out of the temple, I met two missionaries who had served in my home ward. As we talked, I described my experience out on the moors. One of the elders smiled broadly and explained that on a particular preparation day, he and his companion had hiked up on the moors and at a certain point felt impressed to place some rocks across the hillside spelling out the familiar phrase “Truth Will Prevail.”
Tears streamed down our faces as we realized what had happened. Those familiar with the area know there are miles and miles of trails amongst the moors. Yet I happened to choose the very spot where the missionaries had placed those rocks. I knew there and then that the Lord had answered my prayer in the hills that day.

A second quality was courage. The sisters had an opportunity to demonstrate their fearlessness in the face of physical danger almost as soon as they reached the Arizona border, where the principal obstacles were the crossing of the Colorado and ascending and descending the precipitous range of mountains called Lee’s Backbone. Many a wagon narrowly missed rolling down the mountain into the river below. Here is a typical story told by Harriet Betsy Cook Teeples:
“… when we were ready to go over the mountain called Lee’s Back Bone, we found the road up the side of it to be a series of stone stairs and so steep and high we had to use all the teams in the company to take one wagon up.
“It was one mile to the top, and on the top there was a dugway, one mile long and so narrow that the wagon wheels would be within six inches of the deep edge in places where we could look down and see the river five hundred feet or more below. We dare not have more than one span of animals on a wagon for fear they would go off into the river. I drove a gentle team around the dugway with my baby in my lap. When we got around this, there was a flat place where we stopped and locked all the wheels with chains in order to go down the other side. As I was the last to get around the top, my husband came and locked my wheels with chains to go down the other side, and said, ‘Now you wait here until I help the others down and I will come back and get you.’ I waited until the rest were out of sight and then I started down, and as the road made a sharp turn around a big rock the wheel stuck and stopped, but I did not want to stop there as it was nearly dark so I sat my baby down in the bottom of the buggy, got out, untied the wheels on that side, got in and backed the team far enough so that I could pass the rock by turning them against the hill on the other side, and I got out and tied the wheels on that side, got in and backed the team far enough so that I could pass the rock by turning them against the hill on the other side, and I got out and tied the wheels again, and went on all right. Just after that my husband met me and said, ‘How in the world did you get around that rock?’ I told him how I had done it, and he made me feel it was all worthwhile when he said, ‘Honey, you’ll do.’”9

On one occasion I was reading a general conference talk by Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. Though I had heard and read this talk before, one phrase caught my attention and stayed in my thoughts.
A few hours later my son, who was living in an apartment with his friends, came by for a visit. He had served a full-time mission and had attended a few semesters of college. He was unsure what educational direction he should go and which career path he should pursue. Because he had been frustrated and felt that school, for now, was a waste of time and money, he put his studies on hold and began working full time.
He told me that one of his friends had suggested they go to an island in the Bahamas or the Caribbean, get jobs, and have fun for a few months. My son was excited about the prospect. I could easily see how enticing such a carefree experience could be to a young man.
Just then, Elder Scott’s impressive message came to my mind. I picked up the Ensign and read the following to my son: “You are here on earth for a divine purpose. It is not to be endlessly entertained or to be constantly in full pursuit of pleasure. You are here to be tried, to prove yourself so that you can receive the additional blessings God has for you. The tempering effect of patience is required” (“Finding Joy in Life,” Ensign, May 1996, 25).
Without a word, my son took the magazine, walked away, and read the whole talk. Later all he said was that he would not be embarking on his island adventure.
In time he entered the police academy, a path that led him to meet his future wife. They married in the Mesa Arizona Temple and today are raising three wonderful children. In 2010 my son finished his bachelor’s degree and is truly “finding joy in life.”
My son’s proposed adventure might have been a fine experience; on the other hand, it might have been spiritually dangerous. Each time I reflect on this experience, the Spirit touches my heart.
I am thankful for the words of the prophets and that I was prompted to recall a talk that helped me provide guidance. I am also thankful that my son listened to a messenger of the Lord and allowed the Spirit to influence him. I know that many blessings and tender mercies come when we listen to and follow the teachings of the Savior and His servants.

As I nervously waited to board my flight from Boston to Salt Lake City—my first airplane ride alone—my parents repeated for the zillionth time their last request.
“Don’t forget to visit Grandpa,” they said. “He’d really love it.”
“Okay,” I promised, though silently I finished it with “if I feel like it.”
I was flying out to begin my freshman year at Brigham Young University. Dad thought the trip would be an excellent opportunity for me to drop in on his dad in Salt Lake City, but I was worried enough about my own survival far from home.
I remembered Grandpa as a kind old man who always had time for his grandchildren. After chatting a little he would take us outside to swing on his swings, eat his raspberries, and gaze over the fence at his one big cow.
But seeing Grandpa now would mean doing adult things, like socializing and asking questions. Dad wouldn’t be there to do most of the talking, like he usually did. The whole idea of visiting him was making me uncomfortable.
At the airport in Salt Lake City I was met by two teenage cousins from Mom’s side of the family. They weren’t related to Grandpa Lythgoe and didn’t know about the promise I had made to my parents. How easy it would be to keep quiet and let them drive me straight to BYU.
But as we drove I thought, not only of the promise, but also how lonely Grandpa must be since Grandma died two years before. He could probably use a visit right now, especially from a grandson he didn’t see very often. So despite my fears, I asked my cousins to stop.
With Dad we would always walk in Grandpa’s back door without knocking, but this time we approached the seldom-used front door. Back doors seem reserved for people you know, and I was beginning to realize I scarcely knew him.
Grandpa came to the door, and we knew he was happy to see us. He was closing fast on his 90th birthday and looked feeble, but he was still Grandpa. The house felt empty without Grandma, but what seemed the most different was me. With Dad 2,500 miles away, I was suddenly the adult in charge of conversation, and everything I said must have sounded a bit forced.
Of course Grandpa asked me what I planned to study at BYU, and I also told him what the rest of the family was up to, but we soon ran out of things to say. I decided we should hit the road again.
A month later the rest of my family flew out for a week to help Grandpa celebrate his birthday, but a few days before the party I got a phone call. Grandpa had died the night before.
As I hung up the phone, it suddenly became clear to me how important that short visit had been a month before. I hadn’t said anything earth-shattering, and maybe part of the reason I had gone was to please my parents, but I was happy and relieved I hadn’t passed up my last chance to see Grandpa alive. I often think of Grandpa and something I later heard my mission president say: “Be glad that you did; don’t wish that you had.”

Mom laughed. “Well, we don’t have any of those. But we do have other awesome ancestors who did pioneering things. Like your Great-Grandma Luisa.”
Gabby smiled. “I love hearing stories about your grandma! She grew up on a farm in Spain, right?”
Mom nodded. “Then she moved to Argentina and started her own business. Even though she never had a chance to finish school, she made sure her children got a good education.”
As the sauce simmered, they sat at the kitchen table, and Mom told Gabby more stories about Grandma Luisa. She was a gardener and talked to her flowers. Whenever she went on a trip, the flowers would wilt a little, just because they missed her.
“And the most important thing to remember about Grandma Luisa is her faith,” Mom said. “She would pray out loud as she did dishes, as she cooked, as she gardened … she loved talking to God!”

It all started when Jess decided he didn’t have time to change clothes. He was in a hurry to get out to the playground where his friends were waiting. So he put on his playclothes right over his school clothes and went outside to play.
Now that wasn’t too bad, but the next morning …
“Remember to put on a clean undershirt,” Mother said when she woke Jess up.
“Yes, Mother,” Jess answered. And that is what he did. He put it on, but he didn’t take the old one off.
Jess smiled in the mirror. “That’s very smart of you,” he said to his reflection.
“Just think of the time you’re saving. Soon they’ll be calling you Jiffy Jess!”
And then he got another idea. “I can save even more time if I just put my clothes on over my pajamas.” He smiled proudly at his reflection. “Then at night I’ll only have to take off my clothes and hop into bed.”
And that’s what he did. His school clothes went on right over his two undershirts and his pajamas. It was quite warm, but if it would save time, it was worth it, Jess decided.
That afternoon he ran home and hurried to get ready to go outside to play. He pulled on his old shirt and pants over his school clothes, his play socks over his school socks, and then his shoes. It was a tight fit, but he made it.
As he went out the door, Mother stopped him. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” Jess answered.
Mother took a step backwards and looked very carefully at Jess. She looked up to his head and down to his feet and then she shook her head.
“You seem to be putting on weight,” she said. “Gaining that much weight so fast isn’t good. Are you sure you’re all right?”
Jess was laughing inside, but he didn’t let Mother know. Somehow he knew she wouldn’t approve of what he was doing.
“I’m fine, Mother,” he said, trying not to smile. “May I go out now?”
“I guess so, but I’m worried about you.” Mother seemed bewildered.
“Don’t worry,” Jess shouted over his shoulder as he went out the door. “I’m just fine.”
He tried to run out to the baseball field where his friends were waiting, but with all those clothes on he could barely trot.
“It’s about time you got here,” Jonathan said, hitting his fist in his baseball mitt. “You’ve been holding up the game.”
“Throw me the catcher’s mitt and let’s play ball!” Jess shouted.
Jess got behind the batter and tried to squat, but his knees wouldn’t bend.
“Come on! Come on!” Jonathan shouted from the pitcher’s mound. “Let’s get going!”
Once more Jess tried to bend over, but it hurt! His knees felt as if they were wrapped in giant bandages, and he could barely breathe. He stood up straight, took a deep breath, and again tried to squat down. But with pajamas, two pairs of pants, two undershirts, two shirts, and two pairs of socks, he could barely even bend. He looked around to see if anyone had noticed. They had. Eight pairs of glaring eyes were moving in on him from the field.
“What’s wrong with you?” David asked in amazement.
“Well … well … ah …” Jess stammered, trying to figure out how to explain. He knew everyone would laugh at him. He could feel his face growing red with embarrassment.
“Here, Joel,” Jess finally said as he threw the mitt. “You catch. I’ll be right back.”
Jess trotted as fast as possible to the house. He took off all his clothes. Then he put his playclothes on again and started out the door.
“I thought you had gone,” Mother said without looking up.
“I forgot something,” Jess said.
“Oh,” Mother smiled at Jess. Then her eyebrows knitted in wonder and she shook her head.
“My, oh my,” she said. “You seem to have lost at least ten pounds! Are you sure you feel all right?”
“I feel better than I’ve felt all day!” Jess said as he ran back out to the playground to play ball.

This year I had to make a hard choice between watching general conference on Saturday morning or playing in my last soccer game. My mom told me that I could decide for myself. I chose to stay home and watch general conference and listen to the prophet because it is what Heavenly Father wants me to do. Even though I really wanted to play soccer, Heavenly Father helped me feel happy inside about my choosing the right.

The more I read on a regular basis, the more I found myself turning to the scriptures in times of need or distress. On one occasion, I became extremely angry with someone who had broken an important promise to me. For days I was resentful and considered retaliation. I was miserable. I knew that it was wrong not to forgive, but I did not know how to overcome my feelings. Finally, in anguish, I picked up the Book of Mormon. Without any real intention of reading, I let the pages fall open. The words of the Lord from Mormon 3:15 seemed to jump out at me: “Vengeance is mine.”
In an instant, everything was brought into eternal perspective. I was chastened and humbled, realizing that my attitude was wrong. At the same time, this scripture brought great relief. The Lord was aware of my feelings! He cared. How much easier it was, then, to pray and to forget my bad feelings.

Temples are where many of these sacred ordinances occur and are also a source of peaceful refuge from the world. Those who visit temple grounds or participate in temple open houses also feel this peace. One experience preeminent in my mind is the Suva Fiji Temple open house and dedication. There had been political upheaval resulting in rebels burning and looting downtown Suva, occupying the houses of Parliament and holding legislators hostage. The country was under martial law. The Fiji military gave the Church limited permission to assemble people for the open house and a very small group for the dedication. The members as a whole were uninvited due to concerns for their safety. It was the only temple dedication since the original Nauvoo Temple that was held under very difficult circumstances.
One person invited to the open house was a lovely Hindu woman of Indian descent, a member of Parliament who was initially held hostage but was released because she was female.
In the celestial room, free from the turmoil of the world, she dissolved in tears as she expressed feelings of peace that overwhelmed her. She felt the Holy Ghost comforting and bearing witness of the sacred nature of the temple.

One spring day I discovered that death can be closer than I ever expected. Until then, death seemed to be for people, old and ready, or for reckless people who knew death could come suddenly. That was what I thought before my day on Mount Timpanogos, near Provo, Utah.
There it was! Timpanogos peak in all its splendor towering above us. The streaked brown and gray of its steep cliffs drew dizzying contrast to the rolling snowfield of the basin below it. My friend and I had hiked a good portion of the day to conquer the peak, but we could see there was far too much snow to proceed to the summit. Nevertheless, the view was wonderful enough to make us feel the hike was worthwhile.
After savoring the moment, we started our descent, and it was a mutual decision that we should take a different, somewhat harder, route down. Then we saw a perfect place to do some sliding on the snow. We traversed the steep downhill slopes easily as we angled toward a large snowfield in the deep saddle between two rocky outcroppings.
As we came closer to the snowfield, we discovered we were not as close as we expected. We were 25 feet above it. We stood at the top of a sheer drop. At the base of the small cliff stretched acres of snow. The perfect ski run!
I looked at my friend. He smiled, sensing what I was thinking, and at that moment I knew what I was going to do. I sprinted from where I stood and jumped into space, straightening my body and spreading my arms. After endless seconds, I plunged into the snow, shoulder deep much to my surprise.
But my depth was only part of the problem. I discovered water was flowing underneath the snow, melting from above. Much to my dismay, I was being sucked underneath the crust of snow.
My friend, standing on top of the cliff, saw what was happening. He scurried down the hill to a much lower spot and hurled himself off the cliff. I watched him fall, praying he could avoid breaking through the snow’s crust.
He hit with a thud and immediately ran in my direction. My friend grasped my hand and began to haul me out. After he pulled me free, I lay on the snow breathing heavily.
He said to me, “Jon, that was stupid.” I knew he was right.
As I hiked the rest of the way down the mountain, wet from my knees down and a bit stunned by my close call, I was grateful my friend had saved me from the results of my stupidity. Because he was there, I did not have to pay the ultimate price for my unwise choice.
I know that in my life, I have another friend who has hiked alongside for as long as I can remember and is there to pull me out and rescue me from many pitfalls. Jesus Christ, my friend and Savior, is always willing to help when I reach out to him. Because his atonement made repentance possible, there is, through him, always a way out.

Now I hadn’t had time to think of what to do to earn a living in a strange land with a strange language. On Friday morning, July 26, 1872, there came a man to the house of Mon Andersen who wanted a boy to help him in the fields. His name was Peter Petersen. My wages were $8.00 a month. I worked with him 20 months. I must now tell a little that happened in that time. It was customary at that time that newcomers should be rebaptized. So Peter Petersen’s wife, Karen Larsen Petersen, told me, “There will be baptisms today. So you must hitch up the horses and take these people down to the mill pond to be baptized. And you must be baptized too.” I told her I would be glad to take them down, but I was not ready for baptism yet.
That coming winter I started to go to school so I could learn a little English. I had also gone with Mons Andersen’s boys to Sunday School. Eischa Pack was the teacher at that time. They were reading in turns out of the Bible; but when it came my turn to read, Brother Pack would read my verse, and there was not even a gap. I was glad although I could not understand what they said. Yet I got to enjoying Sunday School. Sister Karen Larsen Petersen took sick and died on February 7, 1873, and that ended my schooling at that time. But I learned enough so I got into the Third Reader.
Now I had been studying the gospel and made it a matter of prayer. I knew Jesus’s answer to Nicodemus as we find recorded in the third chapter of John: “Except a man is born of water and of the Spirit he cannot enter into the kingdom of Heaven.” So on August 30, 1873, I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints by Mons Andersen and confirmed by Abraham Lossee in Lehi.

Stake and district presidents, along with bishops, went out to help their members only minutes after the earthquake. The terrible situation in which these priesthood leaders went out is worth highlighting: it was nighttime; the lights were out; destruction abounded; and the earth would not stop shaking. These magnificent priesthood leaders left their families secured and walked out into the darkness, among people who wept, surrounded by destroyed houses. Thus our leaders went out during the night and the following days, facing frequent, strong aftershocks and a tsunami warning. They searched among the rubble, in the midst of commotion, risking their own lives to get to all the members. A bishop declared, “Without as much as a second thought, I ran in search of my Church brothers and sisters and leaders.” He found them. That’s how he spent most of the night.

When President David O. McKay (1873–1970) and his wife, Emma Ray, visited Tonga in 1955, the Saints treated them like royalty. This was the first visit of a Church President to the islands. During their short visits to Tongatapu and Vava‘u, they held meetings with the members and felt of their love and devotion as Tongans performed music and dances and gave speeches and feasts. During President McKay’s visit to the Saints in Vava‘u, he was inspired to reveal that he had seen a vision of “a temple on one of these islands, where the members of the Church may go and receive the blessings of the temple of God.” One member recorded the Tongans’ response: “The entire congregation burst into tears.”1

Our son, Spencer, has tried to learn to fast since his baptism nearly two years ago. We have not made him feel he must fast at this young age. He may not fast as long as we do on some Sundays. In fast and testimony meeting some time ago, he whispered to me, “I think I’ll go up and bear my testimony.” I smiled and nodded my approval. His sincere testimony touched me. He was feeling something. So did I.

I just knew that we were going to have a baby brother. After all, there were already five boys in our family—James, Joseph, Ammon, Adam, and me, Alex—so we were ready for another baby brother.
Every night for weeks we talked about Benjamin David—that’s what we were going to call the new baby. At night the five of us would lie in bed and talk about little Benjy.
“Alex, do you suppose he’ll be able to go fishing with us this summer?” James asked.
“Well,” I answered, “I don’t know about this summer. He won’t even be able to walk by then.”
“Then I’ll bring him back a big crawdad,” Ammon insisted, sitting up in bed. “He’ll want to play with something.”
I laughed. “Maybe we’d better wait awhile before we bring him any crawdads.”
“Yeah, they might bite his toe or something,” Adam said and giggled as he hugged his green blanket.
“We’ll have to teach him to ride a bike,” Joseph suggested, “so he’ll be able to ride down to the park with us.”
“I’ll let him ride with me for a while,” I volunteered.
“And we’ll teach him to wrestle,” James added.
“Why, Benjy will be the best wrestler around,” I bragged. “And he’ll play football and baseball just like a pro.”
Sometimes Dad stayed in our room after tucking us into bed and telling us good night. He listened while we talked and bragged about little Benjamin David. Dad didn’t say much at first. Then one night, just a little while before Mom went to the hospital, he asked, “What are you going to do if you get a little sister?”
Our talking stopped. “Oh, we’re not going to have a sister,” Ammon said. “We’ve already decided that. There are going to be ten boys in our family. If you and Mom want some sisters after that, it’s OK with us, but we need to get the ten boys first.”
Dad thought for a moment. “Sometimes Heavenly Father sends a girl,” he said quietly.
“A girl!” Joseph said. “We can’t have a girl. A girl can’t wrestle and play football and fish and race and ride to the park with us on our bikes. Besides,” he grumbled, punching his pillow, “girls are sissies.”
“Yeah,” James agreed. “And we’ve already told everybody that we’re going to have a brother. We’ve already picked out his name.”
“But if you do get a little sister—”
“Dad,” James cut in, trying to be patient, “we’ve already decided on a brother. Besides, what would we tell our friends?”
“Your friends have sisters,” Dad said.
“Yeah,” I said, “but we don’t want to be like them. We’re the only family around that has five boys in a row.”
“And we don’t want to mess things up with a sister,” James added. “Our family’s just for boys.”
“Your mom’s a girl,” Dad pointed out.
“Oh, it’s all right for moms to be girls,” Joseph said. “We’re not saying that Mom can’t stick around.”
“Yeah,” I chimed in, “Mom’s super, even if she is a girl; but a family only needs one mom, so we only need one girl, and Mom’s it.”
The next week Grandma Cluff came to stay with us, so we knew it was almost time for Benjamin David to show up. We were getting so excited that we could hardly go to sleep at night. Adam had already started sleeping in my bed. He was getting too big for the crib anyway, and we wanted the crib ready for Benjy.
Then one morning when we got up, Mom and Dad were gone. Grandma was in the kitchen fixing breakfast. She smiled at us and announced, “Your dad took your mom to the hospital last night.”
“Benjy’s here!” Adam squealed.
Grandma smiled again and dropped another slice of bacon into the frying pan. “I hope so,” she said. “We’ll know as soon as your dad comes home.”
It wasn’t five minutes later that we heard Dad’s car pull into the driveway and the car door close. All of us rushed to the door as Dad came in. He looked really sleepy, and he hadn’t shaved his whiskers, but he had a big smile on his face.
“Where’s Benjy?” Adam shouted, climbing into Dad’s arms. “I want to see Benjy.”
Dad laughed and gave him a squeeze.
“Where’s Mom?” Ammon pulled on Dad’s trousers until Dad lifted him up with Adam.
“How big is he?” Joseph asked.
“Does he look strong?” I wanted to know.
“Does he look like he’ll be a good wrestler?” James demanded.
Dad laughed again and walked into the kitchen, still carrying Adam and Ammon. He sat down at the table, and we all crowded around him so that we could hear all about Benjamin David.
“When can we see Benjy?” Joseph asked.
Dad looked around at us and held up a hand. “Hold on a minute,” he said, grinning. “Benjy didn’t come this time. Marni Nadine came instead,” Dad said proudly.
“Marni Nadine?” James asked, pushing away. “Why, we’ve never talked about any Marni Nadine.”
“And who wants to name a perfectly good baby brother Marni Nadine?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Joseph spoke up. “That’s a sissy name. Everybody would think he was a girl. Let’s just call him Benjamin anyway.”
“But you don’t have a baby brother,” Dad said. “You have a little sister.”
“A sister!” We stared at each other and then at Dad.
Dad gave a huge sigh. “Heavenly Father doesn’t always send what we expect, but whoever He sends is always very special. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a boy or a girl.”
“But why did He have to send a girl?” Ammon muttered, getting down from Dad’s lap. “Who’s going to play football with us?”
“And who’s going to go fishing with us?”
“And why have a girl right in the middle of ten boys?”
“Because,” Dad explained patiently, “a girl is what Heavenly Father wanted to send.” He thought for a minute. “This must be a very special baby girl. Not just everyone gets to have five big brothers.”
We didn’t say much after that. We ate our breakfast quietly while Dad and Grandma talked about Mom and Marni Nadine. I had never been more disappointed. All I could think of the rest of the day was that we had been cheated out of getting out baby brother.
The next morning, when Dad went to get Mom and Marni Nadine, we stayed home with Grandma. I tried to get the others to play football with me, but they just sat on the front steps and stared glumly down the street.
Adam was the first to see the car. He jumped up and rushed out to greet Mom and Dad. I guess he’d forgotten that Benjy wasn’t going to be in the car. Dad picked him up and carried him around to Mom’s side and opened the door. The rest of us crept around the car while Dad helped Mom out.
Mom smiled at each of us and hugged the bundle as she carried it into the house. Even though I was still disappointed that Benjamin David hadn’t come, I was curious to see what a baby sister would look like up close.
Mom sat down on the sofa, and we all pushed up close as she began peeling the covers back. Mom held up a little mouse of a girl with a round head and just a tiny bit of brown hair. Her eyes were shut tightly, her cheeks were soft and fat, and she was kind of red all over.
All of us just stared. Then Ammon went close and touched Marni on the cheek with his fingertips. He turned around and grinned. “She’s soft.” He touched her again. “Real soft.”
Mom looked at me. “Would you like to hold her, Alex?”
“I’ve never held a sister before,” I mumbled, backing away.
“Then I’ll hold her,” James volunteered.
“No, I’ll hold her,” I declared, pushing forward. “Just because I’ve never held a sister doesn’t mean that I don’t know how.”
I sat on the sofa next to Mom, and she laid Marni Nadine in my arms. My baby sister was so tiny and light that I hardly knew I was holding her. I was afraid to squeeze hard, because I didn’t want to break her.
“What do you think Alex?” Dad asked as Marni stretched and rubbed her fist against her cheeks. Her eyes cracked open a little, and then she closed them.
“She’s all right, I guess,” I mumbled. “She’s kind of cute—for a girl.”
“Girls are supposed to be cute,” Dad said.
“Then she’s not ‘kind of cute,’” James argued. “She’s the cutest sister in the whole world.”
“You’re right,” Joseph agreed. “If we’re going to have a sister, she’s not going to be just an ordinary sister. She’s going to be the cutest sister around.”
“Yeah, and besides,” I added, “there’s no reason why we can’t teach her to fish, ride a bike, and play football. Just because she’s a girl doesn’t mean that she has to sit around and do nothing. Our little sister will be able to do anything she wants, because we’ll help her. And remember what Dad said. Not just every sister gets to have five big brothers!”