Gospel Story Finder

When I was not yet 30 years of age, I was called to be the bishop of my ward. One of the members of my ward was a wonderful, elderly widow who was living with her daughter’s family. I had a special relationship with this dear widow.

On one evening in the wintertime I had left the bishop’s office and was on my way home. It was about 10 o’clock at night. I had a strong impression to go visit my special friend. I looked at my watch and said to myself, “It is too late. It is snowing. I will go see her first thing in the morning.” I went to bed and, as you would suspect, had a hard time getting to sleep.

Early the next morning I went to see this dear sister. Her daughter came to the door, and I could see that she had been crying. She greeted me with these words: “Oh, Bishop, thank you for coming. Mother passed away two hours ago.”

Now, can you see this picture? Here I am on the doorstep, and of all the people in my ward who deserved to have her bishop hold her hand and give her a blessing of peace and comfort, it was this dear sister. I missed that opportunity because I didn’t listen. I reasoned away this strong prompting from the Spirit.

I share these two examples with you graduates of not responding to the promptings of the Spirit because these experiences have taught me to pay attention to the Spirit and to respond without argument. Learn to know when you are being prompted to do something. It may be a simple, small thing, like sending a note to someone or making a phone call to someone in need. Learning this will serve you well all the days of your life.

When Peggy told me her husband, John, after 31 years of marriage, was going to be baptized, I asked what had changed.
Peggy said, “John and I were studying the New Testament Come, Follow Me, and John asked about Church doctrine.”
Peggy said, “Let’s invite the missionaries.”
John said, “No missionaries—unless my friend can come.” Over 10 years, John’s ministering brother had become his trusted friend. (I thought, What if John’s ministering brother had stopped coming after one, two, or nine years?)
John listened. He read the Book of Mormon with real intent. When the missionaries invited John to be baptized, he said yes. Peggy said, “I fell off my chair and started to cry.”
John said, “I changed as I drew closer to the Lord.” Later, John and Peggy were sealed in the holy temple. Last December, John passed away at age 92. Peggy says, “John was always a good person, but he became different in a beautiful way after he was baptized.”

On Saturday night, a friend of mine took me to the supermarket. While I sat, waiting for him to get a bulb, the sun was setting in the west behind the mountains but still illuminating the mountain tops of the Wasatch Front, and the moon was shining with the vibrancy of a circle of lace.

The stark horizontal light showed patterns of relationship and connection in those beautiful west-facing mountains. It was a beautiful golden evening, and I thought of the writings of a great ancient Christian, Saint Gregory of Nyssa. One of his insights was that he saw Christian discipleship not just as something to be achieved—becoming a one-off possession. That is neither scholarship nor discipleship; it is, rather, the process of learning to walk step-by-step. As the road gets steeper, we are more equipped to take those more difficult steps, recognizing that it is an infinite ascent into the very being of the Father in the Son by the power of the Holy Spirit.

This made me think of the Latter-day Saint emphasis on continuing and of Joseph Smith’s words that echo Saint Gregory so closely:

The nearer man approaches perfection, the clearer are his views, and the greater his enjoyments, till he has overcome the evils of his life and lost every desire for sin; and like the ancients, arrives at that point of faith where he is wrapped in the power and glory of his Maker, and is caught up to dwell with Him. But we consider that this is a station to which no man ever arrived in a moment.13

Not long ago President Eyring’s home teacher, Brother Moore, challenged him to get out and meet the people around the campus. President Eyring knew it was a good idea but, due to his concern over new changes and programs that were being explored and researched, he was a little slow to accept the challenge. Not long after receiving the first challenge, President Eyring received a call from Brother Moore. In his voice there was an apparent sense of urgency. “Have you made your visit?” he asked. President Eyring replied that he had not but that he had set aside some time for it in the next week. Brother Moore’s voice lowered and he said, “President, you had better not wait. I’ve been told twice now that you should be out there.” Nothing further needed to be said. President Eyring was out on campus that day. The priorities of the president of Ricks College were literally changed by the spirit and caring of a humble but dutiful home teacher. And the results? The president has had incredible experiences that have brought him closer to the pulse of Ricks College. Now he spends one morning every week just walking and moving about the campus to find out more about his stewardship.

My sophomore year was incredible. I was so excited to go to seminary and learn! The first few weeks were pretty crazy. I felt like a little child—I had a lot to learn. People would use words like repentance and the Atonement, and I felt ashamed because I had no idea what those terms meant. Mercifully, my class helped me learn and never made me feel like an outsider.
As the year progressed, I found myself craving more knowledge. I was amazed by the things that my peers would discuss. I learned that I wasn’t the only one who suffered trials. I was saddened that I had made it so far in life without focusing on the Savior and the gospel. As I began to understand what being a Latter-day Saint is all about, I knew I never wanted to give it up.

I would like to focus on the promise to always remember Him. Many years ago, Nuria and I were taught the restored gospel by two young full-time missionaries who brought the presence of the Holy Ghost into our home. Those are indeed days never to be forgotten. As we entered the waters of baptism, received the gift of the Holy Ghost, and were confirmed as members of His true Church, we started on the Lord’s covenant path. Walking along this path has become the most important thing in our lives, as we focus on becoming an eternal family.

One winter Sunday morning, it was cold and icy, and it had snowed the night before. We were debating whether or not to go to church. We decided to go. While listening to the talks, I felt the Spirit stronger than ever before. I was very happy that we went to church that day, and I know why I felt the Spirit. It was because this was the first time I actually listened to the talks. I felt very happy, calm, and humble.
Annabell K., age 10, Maryland, USA

Long, long ago in the far northern wilderness before white men arrived and built cities and roads, there lived Little Squirrel, a Chippewa Indian boy.
One night as Little Squirrel was sleeping in his deerskin wigwam, the roar of a mountain lion awakened him. He sat up on his blanket bed and peered through the wigwam opening into the moonlit forest.
In the darkness all around him, in the caves and in the thickets, lived the wild forest creatures. Little Squirrel’s eyes penetrated the darkness for their shapes. His ears listened for their sounds. The Chippewas thought of wild ones as people—four-footed forest people. Some of them were enemies, but most were friends. Often one would live in a wigwam, sharing the family’s food and shelter.
Little Squirrel knew the forest people well. He knew their names and secrets. He had learned to speak their language. One of them had even lived with his family for awhile.
Six summers past, his father had found a black mother bear dead in her den, a tiny cub crawling over her. Because a Chippewa would never leave an animal to starve, his father had brought the bear cub home and put it by his little son, who was nestled in a linden cradle. “For you, Little Squirrel,” he had said.
As Little Squirrel grew, he romped and wrestled with the cub. His first steps were taken by her side as his fat fingers clutched her thick black fur. He loved the bear. He called her Bear Sister.
Together they gobbled up berries that grew in tangled thickets. Side by side they searched for honey hidden deep in bee tree holes.
But one day without warning, the bear vanished. She ambled off into the pine trees and did not return. Little Squirrel cried when she first went away. He missed their fun together. He missed his furry sister snuggled on his blanket bed during the cold northern nights.
His mother had told him Bear Sister had gone into the forest to find her own bear people.
But Little Squirrel had never ceased looking for her. As he looked into the forest, he listened for any sound from her.
Suddenly he saw something—a shadow moving through the pines. His black eyes sparked with excitement. It might be Bear Sister, he thought, and his heart was filled with hope.
Trembling like an aspen in the first warm rush of summer, he stepped out of the wigwam. The shadow moved before him, but he only heard its sound. Almost without thinking, he slipped through the trees, following the footfalls that crunched down the leaves. His thoughts were with Bear Sister.
Indian boys were encouraged to go for midnight walks in the wilderness. Watching the ways of the forest people was their school. They learned how the beaver people trim trees and build dams. They listened to the owls chirring to their owlets—they listened to the owls’ secrets so they too could be wise. Little Squirrel moved ahead swiftly, silently, following the sounds of the shadow.
Suddenly in a shaft of moonlight the shadow turned into an elk. His heart cried out. It wasn’t Bear Sister after all. Little Squirrel sighed and sat down on a log as the elk sauntered off.
An owl hooted from the pine boughs above. Little Squirrel’s eyes searched until he found the owl. Then he scanned the trail of stars scattered over the deep dark of the sky above. He was once again absorbed in the wonders of the wilderness.
The pines began to whisper and the owls began to scold him. “Go back to your wigwam,” they seemed to be saying.
I must go, he decided as he stood up and began his walk back to the village. His thoughts were of the wigwam, warm and safe.
Halfway around a rocky ledge overgrown with thickets, he suddenly stopped. What was that sound off there in the depths of the thicket? he wondered. He stood as still as a tree trunk. Again he heard it. His heart began to beat like the wings of a giant bird. It sounded like the grunt of a bear. In the black shadows of the night, he watched and waited. Then in the distance he saw a dark form emerge from behind the rocks. It was a bear!
The moonlight dusted the bear’s fur, but Little Squirrel was too far away to be sure of the color. If it were Bear Sister, would she remember him?
Instinctively he began to sing a song—softly, sweetly, so this bear and all others might know of his love for them. Because of his Bear Sister, he could never harm nor kill one of their people. This was the way of the Chippewas, and this was the message of his song.
Little Squirrel sang of how his father had found a bear cub in the forest many moons ago. He sang of hunting berries and of searching out bee trees; he sang of a bear and a boy together on a blanket bed.
As Little Squirrel sang, the bear moved its head back and forth, growling softly. The boy knew the bear understood the song. He knew the bear understood how he felt in his heart, for the Indians and forest people knew each other well. But Little Squirrel could not be sure if this were really his own Bear Sister.
Then a young bear cub appeared from the rocky den, and the heart of Little Squirrel almost burst within him as it beat a steady rhythm to his soft bear song. And suddenly it didn’t matter even if this were not Bear Sister, for all bears were his friends!
The she-bear grunted to her cub, an owl chirred to its owlet, and the wind began to whisper to the treetops.
By the time Little Squirrel reached his deerskin home, all the forest people had heard of the little Chippewa Indian and his love for the forest people.

When I was serving as an ordinance worker in the Houston Texas Temple, a group of motorcycle riders turned into our parking lot and asked if they could come into the temple. The temple president, Richard Sutton, explained to the group the purpose of the temple and the need for a temple recommend to enter the building. The lead rider and his companion were particularly attentive.
“I felt something when we passed by your building,” he said. “I can’t explain it, but it was such a distinctive impression that I wanted to find out what might have caused it.”
The couple wanted to know more, so President Sutton arranged for the missionaries to visit him.
More than a year and a half later, President Sutton had a knock on his office door in the temple. “You won’t recognize me, but a while back I came through here with some buddies on our motorcycles. Back then, I could only look from the outside.” Holding up a temple recommend, he continued, “Today I’m going to be looking from the inside.”

Josh B. didn’t let a lacrosse injury keep him down. When a concussion temporarily prevented him from being able to read, watch TV, or use a computer, he decided to pass the time knitting hats. This led to unexpected opportunities to share the gospel.
How did your friends find out about your knitting? During lacrosse, I got hit in the back of the head with a stick. I got a concussion and had to avoid anything that would stimulate my brain while I was healing—anything with flashing lights or anything that would make me think too hard, like heavy reading or math.
I had to take it easy for about a week. I was really bored, so my mom suggested I could pass the time by knitting a hat. I was going to watch my lacrosse team play that night, so I decided to make a hat using our team colors and wear it to the game. My friends couldn’t believe I had made it myself. Someone asked if they could buy one from me, and that’s when I got the idea to sell hats to help pay for my mission. Since then, I’ve sold about 300 hats.
Has this project had other positive effects? People always want to know where I learned to knit. So I tell them the story, starting with my sister in Beehives, and it opens up questions about the Church. Now, because of these hats, even students from other schools know that I’m a Latter-day Saint and want to ask me questions about my beliefs.
What has this experience taught you? I’ve learned that even bad things can have good outcomes. Getting the concussion wasn’t fun at all, but from that I’ve been able to earn money for my mission and even do some missionary work right now.
Also, you shouldn’t be afraid to share your talents. We are all representatives of the Church, and other people see that. Being in high school is a great missionary opportunity. People have questions, so let them know about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

I had faithfully read the Book of Mormon daily since I was a teenager. Even on nights when I’d fall into bed exhausted and realize I hadn’t read for the day, I would pick it up and read at least a few verses.
Two years ago I was asked to teach the Old Testament in early-morning seminary. I was more unfamiliar with the Old Testament than any other book of scripture, so some days I would spend three to four hours studying and preparing my lessons. Because I spent so much time studying the Bible and latter-day revelation, I stopped reading the Book of Mormon every day. We were reading it as a family at night, and I would use it for an occasional cross-reference, so I felt that I was getting sufficient daily gospel study.
In the middle of the school year in January, my stake president challenged the entire stake to read a chapter in the Book of Mormon each day. Though I wondered how I would find time given my heavy seminary studies, I decided I should accept the challenge. I needed to do it not only to strengthen myself but also to set an example for my children and students.
From that moment on I read a chapter from the Book of Mormon each day as I started preparing my seminary lesson or as I got ready for bed. A spirit and a power I didn’t know was missing returned to my life. My seminary lessons, which had been going well, became even better. Parts of the Old Testament that were difficult to understand became clearer. I also realized that I better understood the Book of Mormon as a result of the intense study I had been doing of the prophets and the law of Moses.

Ever courteous and gentlemanly, President McKay was the epitome of kindness. I observed this trait when, long before I was a General Authority, I entered his office to review some printing proofs. On that particular occasion, I noticed a picture on the wall, and I said to him, “President McKay, that’s a lovely painting. Is it a rendition of your childhood home in Huntsville, Utah?”

He sat back in his chair, gave a familiar David O. McKay chuckle, and said, “Let me tell you about that picture. A sweet woman came in to see me one autumn day and presented to me that beautiful painting, framed and ready to be placed on the wall. She said, ‘President McKay, I have spent the entire summer painting this picture of your ancestral home.’” He said he accepted the gift and thanked her profusely.

“Do you know, Brother Monson,” he continued, “that dear woman painted the wrong house. She painted the house next door! I didn’t have the heart to tell her she painted the wrong house. She may come back, so that's it’s hanging on the wall.” But then he made this comment, and here is a vital lesson for us: "In reality, Brother Monson, she painted the right house because when as a young boy, I would lie on the bed, which was on the front porch of my ancestral home, the view I had through the screened porch was of the very house she painted. She did paint the right house for me!"

When I was 18, my older brother, John, returned from his mission in England. He was determined to make sure I was also ready to serve. We had adjacent bedrooms, and at night we would sometimes speak to each other after we turned out the lights. One night, John’s voice pierced through the darkness.
“Dave, do you know that Joseph Smith was a prophet?”
“Of course, John,” I replied. John soon went to sleep, but I stayed awake, wondering if I really did know.
A few months later, I visited my sister and her family in Tokyo, Japan. At that time, the Tabernacle Choir was touring Asia. President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008), then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, traveled with them.
I was invited to be an usher at several performances. One night I had the opportunity to sit with Elder and Sister Hinckley. Afterward, Elder Hinckley reached out to me.
“Now, young man,” he said, “you’re going to serve a mission, right?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Good,” he replied.
That was it. But this 30-second interview built upon other experiences I was having. I realized that for me to become a missionary, I needed to have a testimony. So, I started studying the Book of Mormon and the life of the Prophet Joseph Smith.
One evening, I finished reading a book about Joseph Smith. I remember lying on the floor in my parents’ living room. I closed the book and had a peaceful feeling. The Spirit witnessed to me that Joseph was a prophet. I then realized that I needed to tell others about it. This solidified for me the decision to serve a mission.
I’m grateful I not only had the Spirit but that I also had the voices of my brother and Elder Hinckley encouraging me to head in the right direction. My life has been blessed because I listened to their voices.

I saw his face again about 10 years later. This time he was an old man, excommunicated from the Church for nearly 20 years. In his youth, Paul had been a stalwart Saint and a civic leader. He helped build the local LDS chapel with his own hands and served in it as bishop for 10 years. Then later he deliberately stepped off the path, let go of the rod, and closed his eyes. He was blind, by his own account, as Isaiah chided, “We grope for the wall like the blind, and we grope as if we had no eyes: we stumble at noonday as in the night” (Isaiah 59:10).

I first heard of Paul from one of his close friends, a man who had also left the Church, but who had been loved and taught and had reached decisions that were bringing him back home. He told me that Paul had promised to come when he was rebaptized. When the day arrived, it was easy to pick out Paul as he slipped surreptitiously into the back of the room. He was neat and well groomed, acted with great reverence, and tried to be as inconspicuous and anonymous as possible. He sat right at the side, just inside the door, with his eyes fixed on the floor, his hands twisted together in his lap.

As the service progressed and the baptism was performed, with everyone’s attention fixed on that sacred ordinance, I stole a quick glance at Paul and was astonished to recognize him now so clearly. It was the same face I remembered, the same yearning and helplessness I had seen before, imprinted on my mind by a young boy in a crowded crush of uncaring humanity in Naples. Paul didn’t speak as he watched his friend go down into the water, but I’ve never heard a plea for mercy more clearly. I remember thinking as I looked at Paul, “What can I do?”

Well, the service ended, and Paul was out the door, sprinting for the exit. Could I once again watch him move off into the distance? I found myself bolting down the hallway behind him, calling his name. And he stopped to talk. Over the next year we became friends, and later, surrounded by friends new and old, and armed with a remembered testimony, he himself was rebaptized in a small, quiet ceremony in that same room. Today he travels three hours each way to the temple once a week, wondering how he could have been blind for so long, struggling to find the words to thank his Heavenly Father for allowing him to see once again.

The second example also comes from my first mission. One December, which is one of the warmest months in Tonga, I was serving with a local companion. As Christmas time approached, we visited many member and nonmember families reminding them of the important role of Jesus in our lives and leaving our testimony of Him with them. One of these visits was to a grandmother who was tending to her young granddaughter while her husband and the girl’s parents were away. The grandmother was fairly old, but seemed to be doing fine, and really appreciated our visit.

A few days later, on Christmas Eve, we visited several more families and left blessings, testimonies, and messages about Jesus with them. As we left the last house and headed for home I said, “I feel we should visit one more family, any ideas?” My companion responded, “I’ve heard that the granddaughter we recently visited is quite ill and her grandmother is very tired from the constant worry and care. Why don’t we see if we can help them in some way?”

When we arrived, we found that the granddaughter, of about seven, was indeed very ill with a high fever. Her grandmother had been keeping a wet cloth on her forehead and fanning the air to keep her cool. She was exhausted and asked if we would give her granddaughter a blessing, which we did. As we finished, my companion said, “I can tell you are very tired and need some rest. Why don’t you go lie down and my companion and I will fan your granddaughter and keep a damp towel on her forehead.”

I have seldom seen more grateful eyes or felt deeper appreciation. She hesitated but my companion said, “You need the rest, so you don’t get sick also. Go and rest. Trust us and trust the Lord, for we are His servants.” After a brief pause, she went and laid down behind the curtain. I’m sure she was asleep as soon as she hit her mat.

We started fanning her granddaughter and cooling her forehead with a wet cloth. Her breathing was fitful, her eyes were closed, and her moans were distressing. One of us dipped the cloth in water, wrung it out, and held it on her forehead while the other fanned to help keep her cool. That doesn’t sound like much work, but the anxiety, the humid evening, the late hour, and the constant fanning and dipping of the cloth caused us to tire quickly. I wondered how the grandmother had done this for so long by herself.

At about 11 pm my companion said, “We’re both tired. To get through the night, why don’t we take turns? You sleep for one hour while I fan and rinse. Then I’ll wake you and you care for her for an hour, then you wake me, and so on.” “Fine,” I said. We used an old wind-up clock to tell time. I laid down while my companion fanned. In an hour he woke me, and I fanned with one hand and kept the cloth on her forehead with the other until 1 am. I then woke my companion who took his turn, then he woke me at 2 am. I woke him at 3 am and laid down knowing that 4 am would come very soon.

The next thing I remember was sunlight streaming into my eyes. I jumped up and asked, “What time is it?” “It’s 7 am.” “7! You were supposed to wake me at 4. Why didn’t you?” “Oh, you looked so tired, I decided to let you sleep. Merry Christmas.” As I looked at him and felt his joy, I sensed an aura of light around him and said to myself, “He is a great man. God loves him and so do I. I wish I were stronger and would spontaneously do more good things like he does.”

I thought of the Savior in the Garden of Gethsemane, asking His disciples to watch and pray for Him as he commenced the greatest and most painful act of love and heartfelt helping ever known on earth. He returned and found them sleeping and asked them to please stay awake and watch and pray for Him. A little later He returned and found them sleeping again. Instead of getting upset He just looked at them with deep love and compassion and simply said, “...Sleep on.” [3] I felt great love for Him and for my companion.

The grandmother soon awoke and asked how we and her granddaughter were doing. We told her everything was about the same. We continued fanning her granddaughter while she fixed us a little breakfast. As we were eating, her granddaughter’s moaning ceased and before long her fever broke. She soon opened her eyes and started searching for her grandmother and said she wanted to get up and have some breakfast also. We had a heartfelt prayer together where we thanked God for all His blessings, including the recovery of this young granddaughter, and for our Savior Jesus Christ and all He has done and continues to do to help us in heartfelt ways. We departed feeling it was one of the best Christmases we had ever had. A few months later I was released from my mission, returned home, married, had a family, and became involved in a variety of activities, but never forgot this experience (and many others) of heartfelt helping.

When I was twenty, I went into the army. In basic training, I was exposed to many things I had been warned against. I was very grateful for the teachings I had received at home and in Primary. They were a lifesaver for me. I saw some of the young men who changed their way of life in the army and chose to not follow God’s teachings. After basic training, one of these young men talked to me privately. He was sobbing because he had picked up a lot of bad habits, and now he had to go home and he didn’t want to face his parents. I was grateful that I had been prepared to face those challenges and had remained faithful to the truths that I had been taught.

Matt, 16, and Camille Baughman, 18, of the Summerville Ward were told by their parents to get together a change of clothes, their scriptures and journal, and a flashlight, in case they had to leave home quickly. Camille said, “It was hard because Mom said we should get two things we wanted to save. At first I wanted to take all my clothes, but then I decided on my violin.”
After the hurricane Matt pitched in to help his father, who as stake president was coordinating relief efforts. Camille saw a side of her brother she had never seen before. “I was impressed,” she said. “He got up early, worked all day, and went to bed exhausted. I thought, ‘Wow, that’s not the brother I knew.’”

I love that the new Children and Youth program lets me set goals for myself and work on them with my family. One of my goals is to put on a scripture play every Sunday with my younger brother Sam.
One time we chose Daniel in the lions’ den. It was fun planning it. But then our little brother Michael, who is four, said, “Can I do the play with you?”
At first we said no.
But Michael started to cry.
So I said, “Sam! Come to the basement.”
Sam and I went down to the basement. Sam said, “Michael can’t be in the play. He can’t memorize his lines!”
But I had an idea. I said, “Let him join the play. Listen, he could be a lion! You can’t have Daniel and the lions’ den without a lion. Let’s go get him!”
On Sunday, the day of the show, we took our spots and started the show. We did a very good job. Michael did great roaring.
I know the Spirit was with me when I said Michael could be in the play. This experience taught me that if someone seems sad or lonely, we should include them. I hope you try the new Children and Youth program. I know it will help you be more like Jesus too!

My sisters and I were talking about how well we did feeding our neighbor’s dogs. My mom said she would pay us for doing such a great job. Then my mom reminded us about tithing. I made a big fuss about that. Then my mom said I could either keep all my money or give tithing to the bishop. I knew that paying tithing was the right thing to do. I was happy I made the right choice, and I hope Heavenly Father was too.

But piano wasn’t Sheena’s only interest. She developed a love for sports, particularly basketball. Just before ninth-grade tryouts, however, Sheena experienced what she would term the greatest challenge of her life so far. She developed immune thrombocytopenic purpura, or ITP, a blood disorder which causes bleeding under the skin. Her disease prevented her from playing basketball since even an accidental bump on her head could cause a major brain hemorrhage.
After a year of transfusions, cortisone, and other medications, Sheena faced the decision of whether or not to have her spleen removed. As she had done since she was a small girl, Sheena turned to the Lord in prayer for a confirmation of her decision. After her surgery, she continued to worry. What if the ITP returned and kept her from her normal activities?
“I kept asking Heavenly Father if I was done with it,” she says, “but I never felt like I was getting an answer. Then my friend Liesel Bennion and I went to EFY [Especially for Youth] at BYU—Idaho. I had a wonderful counselor there who gave a devotional about the woman who had suffered with an issue of blood for 12 years and touched the hem of the Savior’s garment. When she read the words, ‘Daughter, be of good comfort: thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace’ (Luke 8:48) and sang a song called ‘Close Enough to Touch,’ my heart started pounding and tears sprang to my eyes. I knew at that moment I was done with the ITP. In a way I felt I also had touched the Savior’s hem by exercising faith in having the surgery.”