Gospel Story Finder

As Bridger Pons began looking forward to helping bless the sacrament, there was something he was dreading too: reading and memorizing the sacrament prayers. Bridger has dyslexia, a learning disability where reading and spelling are hard to do.
“I’ve worked really hard to become a good reader, but I still get nervous when I have to read out loud in front of a group,” Bridger said. “When I’m nervous, I make mistakes, which makes me even more nervous.”
Bridger Pons
So Bridger and his mother printed a version of the sacrament prayers that was easier to read. It used a larger font and was separated into short phrases. After lots of practice, he was able to recite the prayers without any mistakes.
“Being able to overcome the challenge of reading in front of a large group may not be a big deal for a lot of people, but for me it was important,” Bridger said.
His extra effort ended up blessing others in unexpected ways. After the meeting, several ward members came to him and said that his slow, intentional speaking helped them focus on the Spirit during those sacred prayers. Additionally, while helping leaders understand his challenges, Bridger learned that other young men in the stake need similar help. A fear of reading was affecting their Church participation and their confidence in preparing for missionary service. Now the Pons family shares reading resources with others whenever possible.
Bridger said he hopes more people will realize that how well a person reads does not reflect their level of intelligence. He also shared these words of encouragement for those who have reading challenges like he does: “You’re not alone. And you are smart.”

President Thomas S. Monson was 22 years old when he was called to be a bishop. As a young bishop, he watched carefully over the members of his ward, especially those who didn’t often come to church.
One Sunday morning he noticed that a young man named Richard was missing. This was not unusual because Richard often missed church. But Bishop Monson decided to try to find him. First he went to Richard’s home. When Richard’s mother answered the door, she said he was working at a gas station.
Bishop Monson drove to the gas station. He looked everywhere but could not find Richard. Then he felt inspired to look down in the grease pit at the side of the building. As he looked down into the dark pit, he saw a pair of shining eyes looking back at him and heard Richard say, “You found me, Bishop! I’ll come up.”
Bishop Monson told Richard how much the priests quorum missed him and needed him. Richard nodded and promised to come to church the next Sunday. He came to church the next week and the weeks after that. Then he and his family moved away.
One evening Bishop Monson got a phone call from the bishop in Richard’s new ward. He asked Bishop Monson to give a talk in the ward before Richard left to serve a mission. Richard served as a valiant missionary, and he also later served as a bishop. He said that the turning point in his life was when Bishop Monson found him in a grease pit that Sunday morning and encouraged him to come back to church.

I was worried about going into Young Women. I was scared for a long time. I thought I wouldn’t have any friends. About a month before my birthday, I started praying about it. I even fasted. I asked Heavenly Father to help me get to know people better and to find good things about Young Women. My last Sunday in Primary, a couple of my Primary leaders were called to be Young Women leaders! I would like to say to all the boys and girls turning 12 to not judge by appearances! Get to know people. I have found that the youth are nice. You might not find a friend right away, but you probably will soon. Pray. I know it works.
Alexandra W., age 12, Maryland

There is another temptation to be resisted. It is to yield to the despairing thought that it is too hard and too late to repent. I knew a man once who could have thought that and given up. When he was 12 he was ordained a deacon. Some of his friends tempted him to begin to smoke. He began to feel uncomfortable in church. He left his little town, not finishing high school, to begin a life following construction jobs across the United States. He was a heavy-equipment operator. He married. They had children. The marriage ended in a bitter divorce. He lost his children. He lost an eye in an accident. He lived alone in boardinghouses. He lost everything he owned except what he could carry in a trunk.

One night, as he prepared to move yet again, he decided to lighten the load of that trunk. Beneath the junk of years, he found a book. He never knew how it got there. It was the Book of Mormon. He read it through, and the Spirit told him it was true. He knew then that all those years ago he had walked away from the true Church of Jesus Christ and from the happiness which could have been his.

Later, he was my more-than-70-year-old district missionary companion. I asked the people we were teaching, as I testified of the power of the Savior’s Atonement, to look at him. He had been washed clean and given a new heart, and I knew they would see that in his face. I told the people that what they saw was evidence that the Atonement of Jesus Christ could wash away all the corrosive effects of sin.

That was the only time he ever rebuked me. He told me in the darkness outside the trailer where we had been teaching that I should have told the people that while God was able to give him a new heart, He had not been able to give him back his wife and his children and what he might have done for them. But he had not looked back in sorrow and regret for what might have been. He moved forward, lifted by faith, to what yet might be.

One day he told me that in a dream the night before, the sight in his blind eye was restored. He realized that the dream was a glimpse of a future day, walking among loving people in the light of a glorious resurrection. Tears of joy ran down the deeply lined face of that towering, raw-boned man. He spoke to me quietly, with a radiant smile. I don’t remember what he said he saw, but I remember that his face shone with happy anticipation as he described the view. With the Lord’s help and the miracle of that book in the bottom of a trunk, it had not for him been too late nor the way too hard.

Just over 10 years ago, as I left work on a snowy January day, I slipped on an icy sidewalk and broke my leg. Although I desperately wished that I could fix my problem myself, I came to the realization that I needed help that could only come from someone else. I was grateful that the doctors and nurses who cared for me were able to repair the break so that I could eventually walk normally again.

Imagine what would have happened if I had tried to fix my broken leg on my own. It is an understatement to say that the results would not have been nearly as good as the results that a skilled surgeon and assistants, who had trained for years, were able to produce.

Six months after my mission, I held my mother’s hand as she took her last breath. Decades later, my wife, Lisa, found a letter from my parents in an old box. Dad had written it to me during my mission but died before sending it.
“Our hearts were and are and always will be full of love for you. I realize that things have not always been perfect, but that is life. … Christ did not say, ‘Follow me and it will be easy.’ He said, ‘Take up [your] cross, and follow me’ [Matthew 16:24]. He carried the cross, but we all have our splinters. Perhaps our place in heaven will depend upon how we handle ours. Son, we love you very much.”
Growing up, I was rough on my parents, but I never doubted their love. Since finding the Church, I have worked hard to thank them and honor them.

“We ended up living in Yuba City,” says Rachel W., 17, “and so I had to get up an hour earlier just to make it to seminary in the morning. Maybe it’s because of that little sacrifice to get there, but I’ve noticed that since the fire I love seminary even more. My day is always better and I like being with all the Paradise kids again. It’s amazing to see how everyone’s testimony has been strengthened after the fire.”

Sister Yaeko Seki experienced part of this precious promise. She writes:
“My family and I were spending a day at the Japan Alps National Park. … I was pregnant with our fourth child and was feeling rather tired, so I lay down under the trees. … I began thinking about our financial problems. My heart became overwhelmed, and I burst into tears. ‘Lord, we are full-tithe payers. We have sacrificed so much. When will the windows of heaven open unto us and our burdens be lightened?’
“I prayed with all my heart. Then I turned to watch my husband and children playing and laughing together. … Suddenly, the Spirit testified to me that my blessings were abundant and that my family was the greatest blessing Heavenly Father could give me.”

I moved to a small town at the beginning of the school year. I was at lunch with a group of kids when they started talking about an inappropriate word. They were saying that if a teacher heard them say it, they would get in trouble.
Then one of them said, “Everyone says it … everyone but Sarah.” I looked up in surprise. I was glad they recognized that I do not say that type of word. And they respect that I am different.
This happened before those people really knew my standards or which church I belonged to. I know I have to watch what I say because others are listening to me, and I want to be a good example.

For David Wojnar, 22, from Springfield, Massachusetts, a good friendship played an important role in his conversion to the Church. Now a missionary serving in the Utah Salt Lake Mission, Elder Wojnar talked about the role of friendship in missionary work.
“When I graduated from high school, I decided it was time to move away from home. I got a job in Virginia and moved in with an old friend. One of my roommates was a Latter-day Saint. We soon became good friends. We did things together, and we could talk about anything. He had a sincere interest in me. We were friends first, and being friends probably helped more than anything else,” Elder Wojnar explained.
“Eventually he asked me to go to a young adult activity with him. They were putting on a play. The young people came up and made me feel welcome. They all were excited about meeting someone new,” Elder Wojnar said. “They were different from anybody I had run around with before. There was a different spirit.
“When I became involved in the activities and started attending church, the members made me feel special and important. They never put me down because I was a member of another church.”
At that time, Elder Wojnar still wasn’t ready to commit himself to baptism. “My other roommate, my friend from Massachusetts, was taking the discussions and was almost ready for baptism. When the missionaries came, I always found an excuse to leave. Most of the barriers I had were just fear and not knowing what would happen. I was determined to serve the Lord, and I just needed time. No one seemed excited or upset about the hesitancy that I was experiencing. My friend was patient and didn’t give up on me. He was still my friend, and eventually I did make the commitment,” Elder Wojnar said.

My great-aunt Ada never married. Perhaps she believed in the philosophy: “When fretted by this single life, which seems to be my lot, I think of all the many men whose wife I’m glad I’m not.” In any event, she was one of the first female medical doctors in the state of Utah. When I was a young boy, my brothers and I slept out in the enclosed back porch of our small home. One day I was jumping on the bed, trying to see how high I could go. I jumped too close to the wall and tore part of my face on a nail that was sticking out. I need some excuse for the way I look! Aunt Ada was called to come and sew up the wound. At other times, when we didn’t feel well, she fed us castor oil and milk of magnesia. She came with mustard plasters and burned our chests when we had colds. Today when I have aches and pains, which is becoming more frequent as I get older, I wish Aunt Ada were here to keep me healthy. Every time I look in the mirror and see the scar—a permanent record of my encounter with the nail—a great love for Aunt Ada swells in my consciousness. She filled a precious, loving role in my life.

As the months passed and the difficulties increased, apparently he came to feel by the Spirit that he would not live to see the Nauvoo Temple finished. In anticipation of that, he made several important decisions.
On May 4, 1842, he called to his side nine of the most faithful of his brethren—Hyrum Smith, Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, Willard Richards, Newell K. Whitney, and others—and later their wives came with them.
“If it should be the will of God that I might live,” he had said. Now, he continued and said in effect, “It is not the will of the Lord that I should live, and I must give you, here in this upper room, all those glorious plans and principles whereby men are entitled to the fulness of the priesthood.” He proceeded in an improvised and makeshift way to do so.
How did Joseph Smith know all these ordinances, and how were they transmitted to us today? The promise is recorded in section 124 of the Doctrine and Covenants, given in 1841, that the Lord would reveal to Joseph “all things pertaining to this house, and the priesthood thereof, and the place whereon it shall be built.” We have a further glimpse in the occasion already referred to—May 4, 1842—when a few faithful men received their endowments. We have from Brigham Young this testimony, that after they had received these glorious blessings the Prophet said: “Brother Brigham, this is not arranged right. But we have done the best we could under the circumstances in which we are placed, and I wish you to take this matter in hand and organize and systematize all these ceremonies.” Then, Brigham Young later said, “I did so. And each time I got something more [meaning that each time he worked on systematizing he had not only his memory and the records kept by Wilford Woodruff and others but also the light of revelation], so that when we went through the temple at Nauvoo [and without Joseph] I understood and knew how to place them there. We had our ceremonies pretty correct.”

Let me begin with a story about a young man we will call Michael.

One day not long ago, Michael said good-bye to his family and friends and entered the MTC. He was on his mission! This was something he had hoped for, and planned on, since he was a little boy. On his first day in the MTC, he met many other missionaries and felt a wonderful spirit. That spirit touched his heart and his soul in a very deep way. So deep, in fact, that some things that had been buried within him began to surface.

Beginning on that first day and continuing into the second, the Spirit worked on Michael. He realized those things that had been buried should have been confessed and repented of long before the MTC. As he walked the halls of the MTC, the burden of guilt began to weigh on him. He felt out of place. Finally, Michael decided he had to talk to his priesthood leader, and so he went to see the president of the MTC.

In the moment Michael took those steps toward the president’s office, he began a journey of repentance and humility and hope. He took those steps because the words of Alma in Alma 42:30 had become a reality in his life:
O my son … let the justice of God, and his mercy, and his long-suffering have full sway in your heart; and let it bring you down to the dust in humility.[1]

In conclusion, I would like to share with you a personal experience I believe captures what we have talked about today. It began in January of 2001 on a Friday night. I was at home with Sue and we got a phone call from our stake president, Lloyd Baird. The call was about a young missionary named Michael, the same Michael I told you about at the beginning of my talk. Michael is our son.

President Baird told us Michael had to come home from his mission. And so, Michael came home.

Now, I can tell you Sue and I did not get off the phone with President Baird and say to each other: “We are about to have one of the most wonderful experiences of our lives.” But that is what happened. And it happened because the Atonement of the Lord Jesus Christ became a living reality in the life of our son.

Over the next nine months Michael went through the very difficult—but very sweet—process of repentance. He knew the Lord had forgiven him, but he also knew he needed to experience what Alma had experienced. He needed to be born of God, changed to a state of righteousness—a new creature through the mighty change of heart of which the scriptures speak. He needed to deepen his faith and his understanding of the gospel. He needed to be fully worthy to return to the House of the Lord; and he needed to be fully prepared to return to the mission field, there to serve the Lord with all his heart.

And so Michael set up a new life for himself. He got a job working at a local hospital. He set up regular visits with his bishop. He read and studied the scriptures. He prayed often seeking the Lord’s blessing. He sought to be of service and to be active in his ward.

The path was not easy. For example, Michael went to church with us the Sunday after he came home. He had just given a talk in sacrament meeting before he left on his mission, and now he had to explain to people why he was back so soon. But he faced his situation head-on with courage and candor.

During those months Michael met often with the bishop of our ward, Mark Ott. Bishop Ott was a great blessing to Michael. He counseled with him, encouraged him, and loved him. One day he asked Michael to give Sister Naomi Cranney a ride to and from church. Sister Cranney was ninety-seven years old. Every week when she was able to come, Michael would arrive at her home, help her down the steps into the car, drive her to church, help her get to the chapel, and sit with her during sacrament meeting. He would then take her home at the end of church. Sister Cranney had a wonderful spirit about her, and she grew to love Michael dearly. Over many weeks Michael was blessed to come to know and serve a great Latter-day Saint.

During this time Michael lived at home. He would often come into our bedroom at night and talk to us about his efforts. These months were Michael’s Gethsemane. He suffered, and he got discouraged. When discouragement set in, he would come into our room and ask for a blessing. I gave Michael many blessings during those months; and I knew through the Spirit that Michael was changing, that the Atonement was working in his life. Though the path was hard, the Savior was by his side.

And so it went, day after day, night after night for a long time. The dark night was long, but the morning light soon came. Sue and I were eyewitnesses to the miracle of the Atonement of Jesus Christ in the life of our precious son. The Savior reached out and took hold of that young man and changed him from the inside out. I will never forget the day Michael came home from his General Authority interview. He had gone to Pittsburgh to meet with Elder Spencer Condie. I picked him up at the airport. As he came off that airplane, he was radiant! The Spirit of the Lord shone brightly in his eyes.

Michael returned to the temple and to the mission field. His mission was not easy, but he served faithfully and well. He became a mighty elder in Israel. His knowledge of the gospel deepened, and his understanding of the Atonement increased. What began that week in January of 2001 continued through his time in British Columbia. And it continues today. He has come to know the Savior in a deep and powerful way through his own experience. I know the Atonement of Jesus Christ has full sway in his heart. And because he has “followed the Son, with full purpose of heart,” he has helped many others to feel the power of the Atonement in their lives.

Here's why it is important: I'm going to predict that you, like me, can't really appreciate the law of chastity until you have your first child. When we began having children - fathers were not allowed to be in the delivery room. That changed over time and when my 4th child was born - I was there. My first impression was: 'I'm glad I'm not a woman.' But, I remember my wife looking at this little guy and she started laughing. I didn't see a lot of humor after all she went through to make me a daddy. She said: "His profile looks just like you!" Then it hit me as it will you as to what this Law of Chastity is all about. It is about life, about bringing life from the presence of our Heavenly Father - for a mortal probation. Yes, it is about protecting you from disease, from your children being born outside the covenant of Abraham; about missing out on missions or temple marriages and perhaps other important things. However, as you look upon your precious baby, you will realize what sexual relations are all about and why God wants His children to come to earth under the protection of a loving father and mother who have kept His law of chastity within the bound of marriage.

As I thought about all the gifts and cards we would be giving during another Christmas season, suddenly a question came to my mind. Of all the gifts I had received during Christmastime in the past, had any of them significantly affected my life? Then I remembered December 1963.
I was home alone because my parents had gone out. I was a young teacher at the time. Classes had ended, I was on vacation, and Christmas was fast approaching. I looked around for something to read, but I had already read everything in our home library. I decided to go see a neighbor who had a good book collection and had often loaned books to me. This time she offered a book that two young men—foreigners—had left with her.
“I’d like to know your opinion of it,” she said. “The content seems interesting.”
She then added that the young men were missionaries. Missionaries? My interest in the book immediately died. At the time I was not interested in anything having to do with religion, but I took the book anyway.
As I said good-bye, my neighbor added, “Inside the book you’ll find a little note they wrote, suggesting that before reading the book, a person needs to say a prayer to God.”
Not having any plans that rainy Saturday, I decided to read the “interesting” book. I opened it and found the note written by the missionaries. I put the book on my bed, knelt down, and for the first time in my life, offered up a prayer to God in my own words.
As I started to read, the story captivated me. How was young Nephi able to exercise such unshakable faith? I wondered if I would ever be capable of doing something like that. As I read the book of Mosiah, I drew strength from the words of King Benjamin. At the time I had no idea I was reading a book that would become my favorite for more than 40 years.
During those years the book’s pages have provided me with much support, comfort, and strength, and I have discovered many important insights that I shared in talks and lessons at the little Tucumán Branch in Argentina, where I was baptized and confirmed. Two years later, while serving a full-time mission, I also wrote little notes on pieces of paper, suggesting to investigators that they pray before reading the copy of the Book of Mormon my companion and I left in their hands.
So many years have passed since then. But how could I have forgotten the most precious Christmas gift I ever received and the neighbor who gave it to me? I can hardly remember her face, and I struggle to remember her name—Marina. Thank you, neighbor. You have my eternal gratitude.

Which was how I decided to start my story: I remember always being a Mormon. I told of growing up in the Church, of going to corn eating parties and Primary, of singing solos and telling my school friends about the Church. I told how no one needed to tell me when my grandmother died because I knew in my eight-year-old heart that it had happened. I told how all the relatives and seemingly half the town gathered for her funeral in the Rexburg, Idaho, Fourth Ward chapel.

You can decide—and you must—to change what you say even when you can’t control what others say. But I know from my own experience that even in such a terrible situation you can count on God’s help. Years ago I was an air force officer serving for two years in an office with a marine colonel, an army colonel, and a grizzled navy commander. They had learned to speak in war and in peace in a way which offended me, and I know it repelled the Holy Ghost. I was at the time serving as a district missionary, trying in the evenings to go out to find people and teach them under the influence of the Holy Ghost. It was very hard. I was only a lieutenant. They were very senior to me. I had no way of changing their language. But I prayed for help. I don’t know how God did it, but in time their language changed. Slowly the profanity disappeared and then the vulgarity. Only when they drank liquor did it come back, but that was in the evenings, so I could excuse myself for missionary work.

A few years ago I had an assignment that took me to Germany. I had been sick with the flu before I left, and I wasn’t sure if I ought to go: but I felt that I had better make the trip because of what had been planned and because of the many people who were depending on me. After the flight from New York to Frankfurt, Germany, I was tired and not feeling well. I was alone, and I didn’t speak German, so I checked into the hotel at the airport. Before going to my room, I went to the pharmacy and got a medicinal spray to disinfect my throat. It was in a push-button canister that dispenses the medication through a finger-length piece of plastic tubing that you stick down into your throat.

I went to my room and prepared to rest for a while; but when I began to spray my throat, the plastic tube came loose and drove itself down my throat and into my chest. I couldn’t feel it, but I knew there was a 7 1/2 cm piece of plastic somewhere, and I didn’t know what to do. I coughed. I did all that I could to get rid of it. Then I began to worry—not that I would die, for I knew that I wasn’t near death. But there were people waiting for me in various countries where I was to be traveling for the next three weeks, and I knew that if something didn’t happen right away I would end up in the hospital to have the plastic pipe removed surgically. So I needed immediate help. I knelt at my bed and told the Lord that I had no place to go; I didn’t speak German; I didn’t know a doctor; I didn’t know anyone; and there were people waiting for me. And I asked him to please remove this tubing. I got up from praying, and in two seconds it came out of my throat. You see, there are some answers to prayers that come immediately.

One summer when I was a teenager, I became very discouraged. It seemed that all my friends were taller and better at sports than I. I thought that growing taller would solve my problems, naively thinking being bigger would somehow make me better at whatever I wanted to do.
Worried about my lack of height, I went to my tallest brother and asked him what I could do to grow taller. I figured he would know the answer to my question. What he said surprised me: “Obey your mother. Whatever she asks you to do, do it without waiting.”
My confidence in my brother was so strong that I went to a storage room, stood against the wall, and made a pencil mark to record my height.
For the remainder of the summer days, my mother’s wish or slightest hint was my command. Almost immediately the feelings of growth began to fill me with satisfaction. I wondered why I hadn’t thought of this before. My mother may have spent the summer in shock, but it didn’t matter. I was growing. Anticipation of the results that awaited me at the conclusion of my vacation brought me happiness all summer long.
When fall came I returned to my measuring spot near the storage room. Quickly I located the mark on the wall. Standing next to it, pencil in hand, I made a second mark, turned and looked to see how much I had grown. You can imagine my disappointment when only one slightly darker mark could be found.
I went to my brother to get an explanation about what had happened. After hearing my concern, he asked me an important question: “How do you feel inside?” My inward feelings of growth were undeniable. This I explained to him. He then reminded me that Heavenly Father looks on the heart, not the outward appearance (see 1 Sam. 16:7).
It was really true; I had grown. The willing and obedient service rendered had increased my ability to understand that the true measure of our success or growth becomes apparent to us when we do our best to willingly serve others.

Fifteen-year-old Andy Tuitupou’s feet left the court long enough to grab the rebound during basketball practice. Gliding through the air, Andy was confident—he was good looking, popular, active in his teachers quorum, and a member of the junior high basketball team. But when his feet touched the ground again, his life changed. His strong body crashed to the floor, and he would never walk again.
Surgeons pinned and cast Andy’s broken leg. Pain became his constant companion. Long days, determination, and patience only seemed to bring more suffering. Although Andy gave it his all, physical therapists weren’t able to help him learn to walk.
In desperation Paul and Carolyn Tuitupou, Andy’s parents, took him to a Salt Lake City hospital where skilled surgeons operated and found the source of Andy’s intense pain: bone cancer. Although basketball was Andy’s life, he decided to have the doctors amputate his leg. Whatever the price, he wanted to beat the cancer.
Several days after the amputation, Andy asked to receive his patriarchal blessing. I wondered what a blessing would hold for a young man who was facing possible death. I rushed to my office to get my Patriarchal Blessing Recommend book. I jumped in my car and headed for Andy’s bedside, where I found Andy waiting patiently for his interview. I asked Andy where he was getting his obvious strength and peace. “From the things I learned in family home evening,” Andy answered without hesitation. Andy was worthy to receive a patriarchal blessing.
As I visited with him throughout the next few months, I saw him as a brother who loved his family, friends, the gospel, and life. Although his spiritual health was strong, his physical well-being only seemed to worsen. Weekly chemo-therapy treatments left him violently nauseated for four or five days each week.
All hopes of a cure were dashed when a tumor in Andy’s hip violently erupted. His lungs began failing as cancerous tumors started their deadly invasion. But Andy wasn’t content to watch life pass him by. With the help of a devoted Scout leader, Andy soon fulfilled the requirements for his Eagle Scout Award.
During one of my routine visits with this young member of my ward, I felt prompted to set up a formal appointment for his annual personal priesthood interview for the next Sunday.
On Sunday I headed for the hospital. I found Andy in agony with his eyes closed. Not wanting to disturb him, I quietly sat by his bedside. After several minutes of listening to Andy’s labored breathing, I heard him whisper, “Bishop, are you going to interview me?”
After beginning with a tender prayer, I began the interview.
“Andy, are you morally clean?”
“Yes.”
“Do you honor your priesthood?”
“Yes.”
Our interview was a spiritual feast. After I asked him all of my questions, he had one for me.
“Bishop, how many priesthood blessings can I have?”
“As many as you want,” I said.
A couple days later, I awoke to a ringing telephone.
“Andy is pretty bad. Can you come over?” Carolyn Tuitupou asked.
When I reached my friend, he asked for a blessing and then said, “I want to go home.”
As his humbled bishop, I placed my hands on my young friend’s head and knew Andy was nearing the end of his mission on earth. I asked the Lord to please bring Andy home if it was His will.
After the blessing, I held his hand and said to him, “It’s okay to go home, little brother; it’s okay to go home.”
Before he went home, though, he had a few things to finish. Andy’s pain subsided and breathing became easier, enabling him to talk to each of his brothers and sister privately. He expressed his love to each of them and challenged his brothers to serve missions.
When I talked to him again, I asked him what he wanted me to tell the youth in the ward.
“Tell them you don’t have to be ‘cool’ for your friends; real friends don’t care if you’re ‘cool.’”
Andy called several special people on the phone to say good-bye. He called an aunt he was extremely close to and wanted to challenge her to become active in the Church again. In fear of offending her, he didn’t quite have the courage to do it.
I looked at Andy and knew I had one last calling for him.
“Andy, will you serve as a ward missionary?”
Andy smiled. “Yes.”
I once again placed my hands on his head. After I set him apart, I gave him his first assignment.
“Andy, I want you to get on the phone and bear your testimony to your aunt.”
We left the room and he went to work—an honorable missionary.
Throughout the day, friends and neighbors dropped by to see Andy. A member of the ward organized a group to come later that evening and sing on the Tuitupous’ front lawn. In Andy’s Tongan culture, it was tradition to sing in front of the home of someone who was dying.
Midafternoon, Andy’s breathing became very labored. His father and I laid our hands on Andy’s head. Brother Tuitupou pleaded with Heavenly Father to now allow his son to return home. Andy died in his mother’s arms.
Their front yard was soon full of ward members singing Andy’s favorite hymn, “Because I Have Been Given Much.” The music surrounded the small home, and the family wept as love filled the air.
Although the Tuitupou family said an early good-bye to their son and brother, they knew that they’d been given much: the chance to love and learn from Andy.