Gospel Story Finder

I have learned that the best gifts remind us of the Saviour—they come from the heart and often involve sacrifice. When I returned from serving my mission in Hong Kong, I was so busy with school and work, that I did not notice the preparations my parents made for Christmas. When the time came to open presents, I received a great surprise—nearly all of them were for me.
My parents smiled as I opened the gifts; they seemed happy to have so little for themselves. I was humbled by their sacrifice. They had given up much so that I might have clothes for my schooling and work. Their kindness reminded me of the reason for the season.

Linda Buysse-Vergauwen, who teaches elementary school in Belgium, was on a study trip with a colleague and gave her a copy of the March issue along with a special note and an invitation to come to hear her speak in church on Easter Sunday. The friend went and had a positive experience. “The special issue of the Liahona gave me the opportunity to put a little seed in the heart of a friend,” Sister Buysse-Vergauwen said.

Let me share a few more lessons that we in the Davis family have learned about money. Sister Davis took a terrible chance, and married me--four weeks after I returned from my mission. Yes, we had met before my mission. At the time of our marriage, I had completed only two semesters of college, and it eventually turned out that I had another 12 years of education remaining before I could actually begin practicing as a physician. The only things we really possessed at the time of our marriage were a few wedding presents, a car we had borrowed from her father, some cast-off furniture, and a lot of ignorance. I must admit that we didn't have the first clue about how we were going to pay for all those years of school.

What we didn't learn at first was that we were poor, because we really didn't want much. Sonja worked as a seamstress, at $4.35 per hour, until our first child joined our family 16 months after we were married. After that, she stayed home to be a full-time Mom. That required me to step up to the plate and support our family, and we soon learned that it was a privilege for me to be able to do so.

Most of my medical school classmates had wives that worked, and many were also being helped financially by parents. My parents were willing to help, and did offer to do so. However, we wanted to be independent. I kept telling myself that this was a good idea, even when I saw that my classmates had things like cars that would actually start when the ignition key was turned.

There were months that we wondered how we were going to pay the rent, but we learned that when we were approaching serious financial trouble the Lord blessed us. These blessings took the form of an opportunity for me to work. The first check we always wrote was for our tithing, and everything else worked out. It almost got to the point where we didn't really worry about it. When the figures in our checkbook were hovering at or below zero, I was always able to find work that allowed us to survive.

We learned how to budget, and literally didn't spend a dime that we didn't absolutely have to. From time to time I must admit that I would look at my classmates doing things like buying chocolate bars from vending machines, and rather wistfully wondered what it would be like to be able to do things like that. However, we managed to stick to our budget. I would probably have just become fat if I had indulged a chocolate habit.

We also learned from our families. For instance, we were greatly blessed by the instruction we received from Sonja's father. Many times he taught us that there are only three reasons to borrow money:
It did get to the point that we really needed a car that could handle our growing family, so we did rather reluctantly finance the purchase of one minivan. We enjoyed the car a lot, but those payments were truly miserable.

We did borrow money to get through school, but we learned that when we had to borrow money we did so conservatively, and then paid those debts off as soon as possible. I did worry a lot about being able to repay those educational loans, but they were quickly dwarfed in comparison to the size of the loans I had to take out to get my practice started. Once my practice was up and running, we were greatly blessed. Eventually, all those years of educational debt ended up amounting to be the equivalent of just over three months of practice overhead. I will be eternally grateful that I didn't take our children's mother out of our home for all those years in order to save three months of practice overhead. What at times seemed like a sacrifice while we were in school has turned out to be one of the best decisions we have ever made.

A few years ago, I was extremely depressed. The only thing I could find a little motivation for was my best friend and her children. We went for walks on weekends, which I enjoyed. Over time, however, we began to go on walks less and less frequently. I began to miss my friend and her family. I later learned that our walks became less frequent because my friend and her family had resumed a practice they had stopped many years before—attending church.
One day they invited me to lunch. Seeing them again made me feel very happy. I told them how much I missed them. My friend’s six-year-old daughter suggested that we solve that problem by going to church together. So without thinking twice, she invited me to go.
Oh, no! How could I make this family understand that going to church was right for them but too boring for me? I hadn’t gone to church for years, but how could I say no to a child? I said I would go, but the truth was that I didn’t have the least intention of keeping that promise.
That Sunday, I went to breakfast with my dad. My cell phone constantly rang, reminding me that I had promised a little girl that I would go to church with her. I ignored my cell phone until my dad asked me why I wasn’t answering it. I admitted that I had been invited to go to a church meeting but didn’t want to go. He smiled and said, “Lluvia, never make a promise to a child if you are not willing to fulfill it.” I decided I would keep my promise.
When I arrived at church, I felt something different, something that I can’t describe. I still can’t explain how it happened, but the next Sunday, I found myself there again, and the next and the next, until I understood what I was feeling: the Holy Ghost.
The Church members began to make me feel at home. Without any doubt, I was curious about the Church. I began meeting with the missionaries, and I also began to gain a testimony. The missionaries’ visits became more constant, and my understanding of the gospel grew until I felt an immense desire to be baptized. I was baptized a short time later, and now I enjoy the blessings of the gospel. Because of this, I’m so grateful I kept my promise to a six-year-old girl.

These brethren are not alone in their commitment to serve. I am reminded of a sister in Peru who has been called by her bishop to be a “Special Proxy” at the Lima Temple. Her day begins at 3:00 A.M. and she begins her trek to the temple at 4:00 A.M. She has to take three different buses to arrive. The cost of bus transportation uses up over one-third of her monthly income, which is meager. During a bus strike in Lima, she still came, and once arrived in the back of a ton-and-a-half truck headed in the direction of the temple. What marvelous devotion to service!

Each July nearly a thousand volunteers gather at Hill Cumorah, New York, where the Prophet Joseph Smith received the gold plates. After only a week of rehearsals, they put on the Hill Cumorah Pageant, which tells the story of the Book of Mormon and of the Restoration of the gospel. Tens of thousands of people see the pageant each year. There is nothing else Brittany (11) and Tishna (10) Campbell would rather do for their family’s vacation than be in the pageant. The girls bake and sell chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies and brownies year round to raise money for the trip.
The Campbells didn’t have as far to travel as many volunteers. Their home is in Gowanda, New York, about a two-and-a-half-hour drive away. They arrived on a Friday. The next morning began with breakfast and a devotional. Then casting (choosing people for parts in the pageant) started.
There are ten major scenes in the pageant. Each scene has a director. Each director chose the people for their scene and what part each person would play. Brittany and Tishna’s little brother Montgomery (5) was given the part of Jesus Christ as a young child. Their mother and other brother, Christian (2), were assigned to the scene where Christ visits the Americas. Their father didn’t have an acting part. He’s served as a pageant choreographer (someone who plans out everyone’s movements on stage) for ten years.
The girls’ favorite scene to be in is the “Voyage to Ancient America.” When Tishna and Brittany went to the tryout, there were more children than parts. Three years earlier, Brittany had played a child on Nephi’s ship in the voyage scene. She’d had fun being tossed into the air on a blanket by other actors. She decided that it was someone else’s turn this year and tried out for another scene.
When the tryouts were over and the parts had all been assigned, the directors started blocking the scenes. Brittany and Tishna learned where to stand, what to do during the scene, and how to get on and off the stage. The speaking parts, music, and sound effects for the pageant were all prerecorded, but the actors had to learn to move and react in time with the tape. The first practices were held on the big lawn in front of the stage. Later, rehearsals were held on stage.
Tishna was cast as one of Lemuel’s daughters in the voyage scene. Wondering if and when she’ll get splashed by the water during the scene added excitement. Usually she did get wet. After the scene was over, she had to be especially careful to hang up her costume neatly so that it would dry before the next performance.
“The boat scene is the most fun,” Tishna said, “because you get to run and play during the scene.” The tricky part of her scene was opening the floor hatches so that Nephi’s ship could be raised onto the stage. “It can be hard to do it quickly enough,” she added.
Rehearsing wasn’t always easy. Brittany was cast in the “Burning of the Prophet Abinadi” scene. She played a page in King Noah’s court. It was an important part because she was responsible for handing fans to all of King Noah’s courtiers as they came onstage. But once she herself was onstage, she didn’t have much to do but stand beside King Noah’s throne. Rehearsals lasted up to three hours and sometimes were hot and boring, but she still wouldn’t trade being in the pageant for any other vacation.
Although they weren’t in it, Tishna and Brittany’s favorite part of the pageant was the harvest dance. “That’s when the Book of Mormon people were righteous and they prospered,” Tishna said. “It’s a happy scene—very colorful, and everyone is dancing.”
When Tishna and Brittany weren’t practicing their scenes, they met in small groups they were assigned to. They had leaders who prepared lessons, stories, and activities for them.
“I like working on our journals,” Brittany said. “We write things down, and the leaders give us stickers and stamps we can use to decorate the pages.”
One year each child drew a picture on a quilt block. The group leader sewed the blocks into a quilt. The child who picked up the most garbage from the grounds during the pageant would win the quilt. Brittany won it.
Tishna’s favorite group activity was stamping designs on fabric.
Montgomery liked making a little garden, and one day his group went out and looked at the trees and leaves through magnifying glasses.
Everyone involved with the pageant attended three 35-to-45-minute devotionals each day. Sitting quietly through the devotionals was the hardest part of the pageant for Montgomery and Christian, but Tishna and Brittany enjoyed them. On performance days, the actors didn’t have to arrive at the grounds until noon. The Campbells used this time to sleep a little longer, get pizza or ice cream together, or visit some of the Church historical sites in the area.
With all the work and practices, why do the Campbells keep coming? “I have been to the Hill Comorah Pageant every year since I was three years old,” Brother Campbell said. “It’s a family tradition.”
“At the pageant, people are so nice to you,” Brittany said. “You make a lot of friends here. When we get home, we run to the mailbox each day, looking for letters from our new friends.”
“Everyone plays with my little brothers, and there’s no fighting here,” Tishna added. “It’s exciting because it’s for the Church, and it helps you understand the Book of Mormon. It’s our favorite vacation in the whole world.”

When the new mission president arrived, he eventually found out where I was and transferred me to another area. This second area consisted of 16 small islands. That mission president told me that we were so short of missionaries I would not have a companion. He told me that I should preach the gospel and build up the Church on those 16 islands. Those were my only instructions. Again I kept moving and trying to do some good. There were members on some of those islands. I often took them with me on preaching trips. We mostly traveled by small sailboat.

I suppose the Lord has his way of testing all of us. It seems that I was born with a weak stomach, and most of my boat trips (which were many) found me seasick. We would go to one island and tract all day and invite everyone out to a meeting that evening. The whole island usually came, sometimes a few dozen, sometimes several hundred.

Because I knew I wouldn’t be back for several months, I would start with lesson one and spend three or four hours and go through all the lessons. When I concluded, I would ask the people to pray sincerely that evening about what they had heard. Then I would explain that those who felt it was true and had a testimony of it should be down to our boat by 8:00 A.M. the next morning to be baptized and confirmed before we left for the next island.

We often baptized people, and they were good members of the Church. We gave them instructions and called couples from some of the other branches to help them. Then we would leave for the next island and try to get back a few months later. Thus, by constantly going around, we gradually built up several good branches that have today evolved into some very good units with some very strong leaders. There was a lot of persecution in those days; so when they joined, they were usually committed. They had a spiritual conversion. It wasn’t a social thing to join the Church. They had to believe it.

For example, when I got a text from a sister telling me she couldn’t attend an event because of some family issues, I felt prompted to go visit her.
She told me the traumatic, heartbreaking challenges her family was going through. I had no idea what to say—I had never encountered similar issues in my own life. I prayed as we talked, and the Spirit inspired me with comforting words to share with her.
We can accomplish what’s required of us through God’s power. “If thou art sorrowful, call on the Lord thy God with supplication, that your souls may be joyful” (Doctrine and Covenants 136:29). When I gave my trust and faith to God, He returned it with support and joy.

Pornography pretends that it is no evil stranger—that it is not a problem and is not addictive. That is a lie. One 12-year-old boy recently wrote to the New Era, telling of his experience viewing pornography when he was alone at home. While initially it was exciting, he soon felt deep despair. He wrote: “I have been trying my best to forget those images. I would like to say to anyone reading the Friend or New Era that while porn might be pleasurable, it really wrecks your soul and is hard to recover from.”

Ray Wilson and his wife, Terry.
Photographs by Richard M. Romney
You could say Ray Wilson has ink in his blood. His mother ran a small-town newspaper in Paradise, California, called the Ridge Gazette. Starting at age 14, Ray became the printer. His sister, Kathy, sold ads and helped run the paper. The Gazette started as a weekly, became a daily for a time, and then returned to a weekly.
After their mother died, Ray and Kathy sold the paper and started a printshop. Three years later they were doing well enough to purchase the building where their business was located.
“We grew from there,” Ray says. He continued to run the printing equipment, and Kathy, always friendly and helpful, took good care of customers and accounts.
“We were doing reasonably well,” Kathy says, “not getting rich, but surviving.” They loved living in the town where they were born and raised and knew almost all of their clients personally.
Ruins of the Wilsons’ printing business.
That idyllic life ended abruptly on November 8, 2018, when a wildfire raced through Paradise, destroying almost everything.
“Our extended family lost six buildings in one day—Kathy’s house, our house, our business, and my wife, Terry, and her brothers lost three rental units,” Ray says. “We went from being OK to being homeless in less than 24 hours.”
“My brothers and I had rentals,” Terry says, smiling. “Now we just have property.”
And they also have one other thing, thanks to following a principle of self-reliance—insurance. That has helped, at least in part, to recover what they lost.
Ray, Terry, and Kathy had always operated their business and personal finances according to gospel principles. They knew about paying tithing and other offerings first, living within a budget, having an emergency fund, and getting out of debt. But insurance?
“I know that self-reliance teaches us to get out of debt and have savings and insurance,” Ray says. “I don’t know that having insurance is a spiritual principle as much as a temporal one, but it sure makes things a lot easier once you need it. It’s definitely been a blessing.”
So has the compassion of those around them.
“There’s another printshop in Chico [about 22 miles (35 km) away] that ordered a lot of banners and posters from us, so we were on a friendly basis with them,” Kathy says. “After the fire, they told us that if we needed anything, they’d be happy to help. They did jobs for us at cost so that we could meet our commitments and keep our customers. They also knew a lady who ran a printshop in Chico who wanted to retire, so they got us in contact with her, and it all just worked out.”
Ray’s sister Kathy joins him at their new shop in Chico, California, where hope is growing again.
Using insurance-settlement money, they were able to purchase the shop in Chico, and now their business is growing again. They have the previous owner’s client base, “and a lot of our customers from Paradise are finding us again,” Kathy says. Fortunately, they also have clients all over the United States. “I just finished boxing up some books,” Ray says. “They’re shipping out today to Portland, Oregon.”
When tragedy strikes, Kathy says, “you can’t just sit and cry about something you have no control over. You have to figure out a way to get around it. So that’s how we’ve done things. We find reassurance in knowing that the Lord is mindful of us, and we do our best to take care of ourselves.”
“I figured I wasn’t ready to just sit and do nothing,” Ray says. “So we prayed, asked God for help, and went to work.”
“That’s what’s impressed me about these two,” Terry says. “I’m at home, overwhelmed with all the paperwork and the loose ends that are still out there, even with insurance and other support. But Ray and Kathy get up every day and get going. They find a way to make it work. I think for me, just knowing that we’ve done what we can and that we’re doing our part—keeping covenants and commandments—brings us peace and confidence. You feel confident that there’s a way to move forward with faith.”

I was living up in Canada. I had purchased a farm. It was run-down. I went out one morning and saw a currant bush. It had grown up over six feet high. It was going all to wood. There were no blossoms and no currants. I was raised on a fruit farm in Salt Lake before we went to Canada, and I knew what ought to happen to that currant bush. So I got some pruning shears and clipped it back until there was nothing left but stumps. It was just coming daylight, and I thought I saw on top of each of these little stumps what appeared to be a tear, and I thought the currant bush was crying. I was kind of simpleminded (and I haven’t entirely gotten over it), and I looked at it and smiled and said, “What are you crying about?” You know, I thought I heard that currant bush say this:
“How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. I was almost as big as the shade tree and the fruit tree that are inside the fence, and now you have cut me down. Every plant in the garden will look down on me because I didn’t make what I should have made. How could you do this to me? I thought you were the gardener here.”
That’s what I thought I heard the currant bush say, and I thought it so much that I answered. I said, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. I didn’t intend you to be a fruit tree or a shade tree. I want you to be a currant bush, and someday, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down. Thank you, Mr. Gardener.’”

Stephen Smyth, a 16-year-old priest in the Londonderry Branch, Scotland Glasgow Mission, recently finished second in the “Superyouth” athletic competition open to all schools in Ireland. Stephen competed in six events—high jump, swimming, 100-meter race, 1,500-meter race, basketball, and overall fitness.
Preparing himself by an hour of intensive road work and general fitness training each morning before seminary (of which he’s president), Stephen was able to rank nationally over 100 other young men from across the country who competed in the section for 16- and 17-year-olds.
“My parents have been a great influence for good in my life,” said Stephen. “They’ve always set the standard and been the perfect example for me.”
Stephen is preparing to serve a mission and is looking forward to attending BYU eventually. He is currently assistant branch clerk, assistant to the president of the priests quorum, and branch music director.
To celebrate his success, the Young Men of his branch held a fireside at which he was the guest of honor. In addition, the members of the Londonderry Branch presented him with a copy of a one-volume history of the Church.

On the long journey by sea from India to England, Elizabeth’s infant daughter became seriously ill. She died and was buried in Liverpool. Elizabeth later said that losing her baby was so painful that she didn’t know if she could continue. Heartbroken and alone, but encouraged by Elder Franklin D. Richards of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, who was serving as president of the European Mission, Elizabeth sailed for Boston, Massachusetts, USA.

After crossing an ocean, Elizabeth found herself in a completely new culture. She traveled by train to Iowa, USA, the end of the westbound railway at the time. Arriving in July 1856, Elizabeth joined the Willie handcart company.

Ever Onward, by Joseph Brickey
The suffering of the Willie and Martin handcart companies is well chronicled. The companies left late in the season and got caught in an early winter in the Rocky Mountains. Freezing and low on food, more than 200 died.
Among the rescue party sent by President Brigham Young was Elizabeth’s husband, William. The couple was reunited in deep snow and freezing wind.
After recovering in Salt Lake City, the couple ended their journey in Cedar City, only a few miles from where Rosalene’s began.

About 18 years ago on Christmas Eve, I was a young mother very painfully aware of the wide gap between my household reality and what I thought the ideal Christmas looked like—the ideal Christmas as portrayed on television and in magazines, the Christmas of beautiful decor, exquisite meals, and happy, smiling children. I had tried hard to finish wrapping and cleaning, all the while attempting to achieve some order and peace in my home as I cared for my three little sons, one of whom was a very cranky baby. There was a heavy feeling weighing me down that night—I was overwhelmed.
It was starting to get dark. I had the baby in the highchair, trying to feed him and get him settled. Dinnertime was fast approaching, and there was no candlelit table, no warm feast, nothing ready on the stove. Just then my husband, who had been out doing some last-minute shopping, walked into the kitchen and placed on the counter a bag of pancake mix, some frozen orange juice, and a package of sausage. In his own way, he was telling me that he knew I was at the end of my rope and, if worse came to worst, he was prepared to make our Christmas Eve dinner.
And so that Christmas Eve, our family shared breakfast. I don’t remember how it tasted, but I remember how it felt to be loved and understood. From then on, breakfast has always been our Christmas Eve fare. Our children probably don’t understand its significance; nevertheless, breakfast is our tradition and it stands fast.
The small act of service my husband performed for me that Christmas Eve so long ago may seem insignificant, but it taught me that through small and thoughtful acts in the midst of the mundane, our lives can be changed. Through our own and others’ selfless service, the Spirit can work in our hearts and Christ can enter our lives, which is what this season is all about. Perhaps decor sets the stage, but love and service are at the very heart of Christmas.

Long years ago, when I served as a bishop, I learned that Mary Watson, a member of my ward, was a patient in the county hospital. When I went to visit her, I discovered her in a large room with so many beds that it was difficult to single her out. As I identified her bed and approached her, I said, “Hello, Mary.”
She replied, “Hello, Bishop.”
I noticed that a patient in the bed next to Mary Watson covered her face with the bedsheet.
I gave Mary a blessing, shook her hand, and said good-bye, but I could not leave her side. It was as though an unseen hand were resting on my shoulder, and I felt within my soul that I was hearing these words: “Go over to the next bed, where the little lady covered her face when you came in.” I did so. I have learned in my life never to postpone responding to a prompting.
I gently tapped the other patient on her shoulder and carefully pulled back the sheet that had covered her face. Lo and behold, she, too, was a member of my ward. I had not known she was a patient there. Her name was Kathleen McKee. When her eyes met mine, she exclaimed through her tears, “Oh, Bishop, when you entered that door, I felt you had come to see me and bless me in response to my prayers. I was rejoicing inside to think that you knew I was here. When you stopped at the other bed, my heart sank, and I knew that you had not come to see me.”
I said to Kathleen McKee: “It does not matter that I didn’t know that you were here. It is important, however, that our Heavenly Father knew and that you had prayed for a priesthood blessing. It was He who prompted me to come to you now.”
A blessing was given, a prayer was answered. I bestowed a kiss on her forehead and left the hospital with gratitude in my heart for the promptings of the Spirit. It was the last time I saw Kathleen McKee alive.

I had a hard time finding Sister Gong. I have a quirky sense of humor, and it wasn’t easy finding someone who would laugh with me at my jokes. For example: It is a romantic night at the beach. The moon is full and bright. You are holding hands, strolling through the warm water. Something slithers against her leg. Don’t worry, it’s a moray.

What is this? A tie. In Mandarin Chinese, “wife” is “taitai.” Can you say “tai-tai?” The adjective for someone who lives in Thailand is—Thai. So, his Thai taitai tied tying his tie-dye tie.

Anyway, you get the idea. It’s a miracle I found Sister Gong. Something that helped me may help you. When I prayed, “Should I marry Susan?” I felt peace. But later, I made my own best decision. My prayer changed to one of real intent and commitment. “Heavenly Father, I love Susan and want to ask her to marry me. I promise I’ll be the best husband and father I can be.” It was then my clearest, strongest confirmation came.

When Sister Gong and I were married, Elder David B. Haight wisely counseled, “Always hold a calling in the Church,” he said. “Be wise and don’t neglect your family, education, or profession. But especially when life is busy, hold a Church calling so you feel the Lord’s love for those you serve and for you, as you grow in His service.”

For example, one prospective elder refused to come to church because he smoked. “I didn’t feel the Church was that important,” he says. But he and his wife decided to let their home teachers come by every week to teach them. There was no mention of smoking until the husband himself brought up the subject several weeks later. After three months they attended the temple preparation seminar, and now they attend church every week. He still struggles with his smoking, but he’s accepted a call to be a home teacher. He now understands that “the Church is ‘for the perfecting of the Saints’ (Eph. 4:12)” and “not a well-provisioned rest home for the already perfected.” (Elder Neal A. Maxwell, General Conference, April, 1982.)

The day I arrived in Hawai’i as a new BYU–Hawaii student was January 1, 2004. It was supposed to be a fresh start—something exciting and hopeful. But the moment I landed at the Honolulu airport, I called my parents to say I had arrived and learned that my grandmother had just passed away. I remember walking through the Honolulu airport in tears, completely overwhelmed—grieving, far from home, and unsure of what I had just stepped into. Moving forward into my new life at BYU–Hawaii, far away from home, felt impossible.

A dear friend I met while we both attended BYU–Idaho, Jihye Jean, was actually from Laie and picked me up from the airport that day. She and her childhood friend I did not know at the time, but now also call a dear friend, Caryn Lesuma, received me, my giant suitcase, and tear-stained face with such immediate and sincere kindness. I stayed with the Jean family for over a week until I could get into my student housing up on Naupaka Street—also known as the Point. I ate homemade Korean food her mother lovingly made, I watched Korean dramas with them, we took beach walks at night as she patiently let me cry up and down the shore, and slowly—very slowly—something began to shift. It wasn’t that everything was suddenly okay. But through their kindness, and through the kindness of so many students and faculty I would come to know, I began to feel that maybe things were possible again.

Looking back, I can see that I was not alone in that moment, even though I felt like I was. There were angels all around me. In the Doctrine and Covenants, the Lord gives this promise:
“…I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.” [1] At the time, I didn’t have the language for it—but I was being borne up. I didn’t fully recognize it then, but that experience taught me something I have come back to again and again: We are not meant to do hard things alone.

Congratulations to the Figueroa sisters of Puerto Rico, 16-year-old identical triplets who were baptized not long ago. The missionaries had visited their home more than seven years ago but hadn’t returned. One day last year, Belen felt inspired to take a different route home from school, where she found other elders. She approached them and asked them to come teach her family.
They did, and soon Awilda, Belen, Cecilia, and Carmen (an older sister) were baptized.
They’re all active in the Trujillo Alto Ward and love seminary and Young Women.

Let me offer a clinical example. Over fifteen years ago we were designing a treatment program for a five-year-old boy with language impairment. Despite the fact that he was bright, that he came from a supportive home, and that he was anxious to communicate, his ability to understand and produce language was markedly impaired. He did not understand much of what was said to him, and he struggled to express his ideas and share his thoughts. Basically, at age five he could not communicate nearly as well as a typical three-year-old. At the time, the traditional wisdom in our field dictated that we should direct our intervention focus on helping this child learn to produce and understand language structure. That is, we should facilitate his ability to learn the grammatical morphemes to put sentences together. But we had more pressing concerns than his immature sentence structure. This child’s inability to communicate made it difficult for his parents to relate to him in the same way they did to their other children. The child did not like conversation. He could not share his feelings with his family, and he could not express his ideas. He could not explain what he had done that morning to his dad when he got home from work. He disliked print and avoided shared book reading with his mother.

Our academic anableps view of this child pushed us to concentrate not on the form of this child’s language but on his ability to use what language he had to connect with his family. From a spiritual perspective, what could be more important than enhancing this child’s ability to communicate with his parents? What would matter more than this from an eternal perspective? Wouldn’t the ability to communicate in order to form family relationships be paramount? We consciously let this spiritual perspective guide our scholarly perspective when we predicted that if we could enhance this child’s ability to use language to relate to his family, he would have access to interactions and contexts that would facilitate the growth of his sentence structure.

In terms of treatment methods and approaches, we took a very Latter-day Saint approach. We gave this child a journal. Yes, we gave him a journal despite the fact that he didn’t talk or understand well, he disliked books, and he couldn’t write. We then planned and carried out interesting events with him and chronicled those events in the journal afterward. To do this, we had the child tell us to the best of his ability about the events he had experienced, and we wrote down exactly what he said. Then we sent the journal home with him, and his dad read the day’s entry with him in the evening.

Within a short period of time, this child took ownership of the journal. He loved dictating entries, and he would ask us to read and reread the entries so that he could edit them—adding details and more complex forms. We have one lovely therapy segment on tape where a student clinician is writing the child’s comments in his journal, and he takes the journal out of her hands and tries to write in it himself—even though he can’t form letters. He looked forward to sharing his day’s events with his dad in the evening; it provided a framework for more complex and meaningful conversations than they usually had. And yes, we observed the growth in sentence form that we had hoped for.

I think the journaling did something else for this child, something one could only appreciate with anableps eyes. Writing down the things that this child did emphasized the idea that his life, his actions, and his choices mattered—they were important enough to capture in print and reflect on later. Although he may not have been interested in books initially, he was fascinated by his own written story. And that led him to an increasing interest in the stories of others. This was a significant breakthrough for a child with his type and level of disability.

Our approach with this child was unconventional at the time. Working within an institution where we could recognize and own the values that framed our decisions made it possible for us to try something innovative. Now, fifteen years later, the approach we took is common—it is considered sound practice. But we had to recognize that our spiritual perspective underlay and supported our empirical perspective in order for our approach to make sense at the time.