Gospel Story Finder

I grew up in a family in which my parents have been a glowing example to my two brothers, my sister, and me, and our family has received many blessings because of their efforts. For instance, we have grown together to become a close family, turning to each other in times of need or trials. And although some of my family members are less active, they still join in family home evening.
I spent some time living in Sydney, Australia, and was very homesick living so far from Ireland. Luckily, I lived near a Church meetinghouse where I attended family home evening with other young adults. This was a great blessing to me, and when I attended, I no longer felt homesick. It was great to mingle with fellow members in a relaxed setting and where the Spirit was present.
Linda Ryan, Ireland

I learned this for myself when my oldest son received his first cell phone. With great excitement, he began entering the names of his family and friends into his contacts. One day I noticed his mom was calling. On the screen appeared the name “Mother.” That was a sensible and dignified choice—and, I’ll admit, a sign of respect for the better parent in our home. Naturally, I got curious. What name had he given me?
I scrolled through his contacts, assuming that if Wendi was “Mother,” I must be “Father.” Not there. I searched for “Dad.” Still nothing. My curiosity turned into mild concern. “Does he call me ‘Corey’?” No. In a last-ditch effort, I thought, “We’re soccer players—maybe he calls me ‘Pelé.’” Wishful thinking. Finally, I called his number myself, and two words popped up on his screen: “Not Mother”!
Brothers and sisters, by which name are you called?

The airport in Brisbane is the only thing that has changed in two years. When I first arrived, there were only three Quonset huts, five palm trees, and a broken wooden fence. Monday when I went to see my friend off, I noticed a change. They have a new terminal made of stone. There are two palm trees in large stone barrels on either side of the passenger ramp. I took a picture of Ernstein between them when he left. He was finally going home. He told me he was glad. I told him I knew what he meant and envied him. He said he hoped his mother would notice a change in him. He said two years make a lot of difference, especially to 19-year-olds. Twenty-one meant a lot.
I got a letter that night; it was from Ernstein. It about blew my mind. He told me all about his first date. Oh, he also said his mother hadn’t noticed any change.
Jensen was quiet for the next three days. I think he was homesick. But today we got a phone call. That old man wants to talk to us.

“No! You can’t go with me!”
There was no discussion. I had issued my verdict and slammed the front door to the house behind me, hurrying out to the car before Nathan could hound me again. He was always hounding me, but, as my best friend, Brian, said, that was a little brother’s job.
Brian was an older brother, too, with two sisters. I’m three years older than Nathan. Brian and I both agreed that as 17-year-old high school seniors, we should not be bothered by younger siblings. After all, had my big brothers even given me the time of day while we were growing up? I’m not sure they even knew I existed, except to punch or tease me once in a while.
Nathan dropped from the edges of my mind as I gunned the car out of the driveway and headed for Brian’s house. When I pulled up front I saw someone on the porch I didn’t recognize. I honked the horn, and the tall kid turned to open the door to yell something inside. In a minute Brian appeared, and the two hurried to the car.
“Hey, Alex,” said Brian as he slammed into the front seat. The back door slammed too, right behind him.
“This is Jason. He just moved in next door.”
I had to turn in the front seat to get a good look at Jason in the back.
“Hi, Jason. What’s up?”
Jason was at least four inches taller than Brian, and very skinny. His hair was red, cut short, and combed neatly back away from his slender face, which was covered with a multitude of freckles.
“Hi, Alex. So where we going?”
“We’ve got a history project we’re working on,” said Brian. “We need some things from the library, but it won’t take long. Then we’ll stop by the mall and see who’s there.”
“Great,” said Jason. His smile was huge, stretching almost across his whole narrow face. “But I have to be home by six-thirty for dinner.”
Brian and I both nodded, knowing that our parents expected us home for dinner as well.
Over the next few weeks Jason became a third member of our friendship, going everywhere with us, and doing the things we did. We all had so much in common that we got along great. Then came the day we had planned to go to the school’s swimming pool, and Jason called me just a little while before it was time to leave.
“Alex, do you mind if I drive tonight?”
Since my family happened to have an extra car with my brother away on a mission, I had driven everywhere we went. My friends chipped in for gas now and then, but I was always behind the wheel.
“I guess,” I said into the phone. “How come?”
“Oh, I just want to drive tonight, if that’s okay.”
“Sure, I don’t care. Pick me up after you get Brian at seven.”
I had to gulp down my dinner to be ready in time. I hoped that the warning about swimming on a full stomach was just a legend. With my dishes safely in the dishwasher, I grabbed my swimming stuff and headed for the door. Suddenly, an excited voice called out from behind me.
“Can I go with you, Alex?”
I didn’t even turn around.
“No!”
I heard my dad call something out to me as I shut the front door, but I knew it would be a comment about being nice to Nathan, so I jumped down the front steps and ran to the old Buick idling in front of the drive.
It wasn’t until I was sitting down in the back seat that I noticed Brian was also in back, and another person, a very short person, was up front with Jason.
“Hey, Alex,” Jason said with a turn of his head toward me. Then, nodding to the short kid next to him up front he said, “This is my brother, Daniel. I wanted to drive tonight so I could bring him.”
Daniel was all smiles as he turned in the seat enough for me to get a better look at his round and happy face. His thick head of blond hair stuck out , but it was something else that caught my attention. I was surprised because Jason had often mentioned his younger brother, but never the fact that he had Down’s syndrome.
“Where are we taking him?” I asked.
“He’s going swimming with us,” said Jason. He had pulled the car out onto the street and headed toward the pool.
I took a quick glance at Brian, who just raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders.
“Got stuck baby-sitting, huh?” I looked at Jason as he drove, but my attention went quickly back to Daniel, who was still turned, still smiling brightly at me.
“No. I just wanted to bring him along. Daniel really likes to swim. He won a gold medal in the 50-meter race at last year’s Special Olympics.”
I didn’t think Daniel’s smile could get any bigger, but suddenly it did. Then he turned back to the front and reached across the space between him and his older brother and placed a pudgy hand on Jason’s shoulder. It remained there all the way to the swimming pool.
Daniel really was a good swimmer. Brian and I headed straight for the high dive once we were in our suits, but Jason and his brother remained in the shallow end, where they practiced a few laps with several different strokes. Almost every length of the pool Jason would fall behind just before reaching the end, Daniel surging ahead to touch the wall first. Then his blond head would pop up, the smile as big as ever. I couldn’t help but watch him between each dive I took.
Before long most of the friends who had met us at the pool had abandoned the deep end and were cheering Daniel on as he challenged each newcomer to a race. With each victory Daniel would slap the wall, jump up smiling, and shout out in glee. Then he would give solid high-fives to anyone near. I’m still not sure just how I got there, but suddenly I found myself back against the wall of the pool, waiting to push off in my own race with Daniel.
Since I was on a couple of athletic teams at school, I was used to the cheers of the crowd, but this time it was different. No one was cheering for me.
“Go Daniel!”
“Come on, Danny Boy!”
The voices echoed through the building as Jason gave us the starting signal. I didn’t want to disappoint the crowd, but my competitive spirit was suddenly in gear and I pushed off with a great burst. I’m not the greatest swimmer in the world, but then I’m not too bad, so I moved strongly through the water, determined to win the race. After a stroke with my right arm I lifted my head to see how far Daniel was behind. I was amazed to see him right beside me.
I took a huge breath, put my face in the water, and surged forward, but under the water I could see the motion next to me. Daniel swam with strong, steady strokes that pushed his short, round body swiftly through the water.
No way, I thought to myself and gave everything I had to the power in my legs and arms. Still, no matter what I did, Daniel moved steadily on. He touched the wall almost a full body length in front of me. When I came up out of the water, there was Daniel, his face dripping wet, smiling as big as ever.
“Good race, Alex,” he said and suddenly his arms were around me, hugging me tight. The cheers from our friends broke us up as Daniel moved through the water to give the high hand to everyone. But first among them was Jason, Daniel’s big brother.
“Great job, Daniel!” Another high-five and then another hug, this one between brothers.
I swept my wet hair back from my forehead, not sure if the water that had suddenly appeared in the corner of my eyes was from the pool.
A few nights later, I again had to wolf down my dinner to get out in time to meet the guys. Without saying much I cleaned up my plate, put it in the dishwasher, and headed for the door.
“Where to tonight?” Dad asked.
“Bowling,” I said. “Brian’s dad got us some coupons for the new alley by the mall.”
I turned again toward the door; then, stopping in my tracks, I turned and took a couple of steps back to the table.
“So, Nathan,” I hesitated for an instant, glanced at Mom and Dad, then back to my younger brother. “You want to go with me?”

Once there was a man who liked taking evening walks around his neighborhood. He particularly looked forward to walking past his neighbor’s house. This neighbor kept his lawn perfectly mowed, withblooming flowers and healthy, shady trees. It was obvious that the neighbor worked hard to have a beautiful lawn.
But one day as the man was walking past his neighbor’s house, he noticed in the middle of this beautiful lawn one enormous yellow dandelion weed. It looked so out of place that it surprised him. Why didn’t his neighbor pull it out? Couldn’t he see it? This dandelion bothered the man so much that he wanted to do something about it. Should he spray it with weed killer? Perhaps if he went at night, he could remove it secretly.
The man kept thinking about the dandelion as he walked toward his home. He walked into his house without even glancing at his own front yard—which was covered with hundreds of yellow dandelions!
approach: come to
teachable: ready to learn
I’m not sure why we are able to tell people how to fix their problems so well, while we often have difficulty seeing our own. But we need to see ourselves clearly. We must approach our Heavenly Father with teachable minds. We must be willing to learn and change. As we do so, God will lead us by the hand. We will “be made strong, and blessed from on high” (D&C 1:28).
Jesus Christ taught not to judge other people. He asked why we would pay attention to a small speck, or mote, that was in someone else’s eye if we had a large piece of wood, or beam, stuck in our own eye! Read what Jesus said below.
“Why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye? … First cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother’s eye” (Matthew 7:3, 5).
Because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ, each of us can change for the better! Draw a line between the two pictures of the same child. How did that child choose to change?

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.

So your first question is “What’s an Iditarod?” Well, it’s a famous sled-dog team race held each year in Alaska. Your next question is “An Iditarod in sunny Arizona?” The answer to this question has more to it.
For the past six years the young men and Scouts from four different stakes in central Arizona have participated in a modified Iditarod race at their annual winter campout in Flagstaff, Arizona. Only instead of dog power, these sleds use Scout power. This past January, 375 young men were divided into teams of about 10. They pulled sleds over and through snow, mud, and dirt to the finish line. Each team built a sled equipped with both skis and wheels to handle any conditions. The course was two-and-a-quarter miles long with 10 activity stations along the way where Scouts competed in activities like archery, log sawing, and target ax throwing. The winning time along with the individual scores in the events determined the winner.
Friday night before the race, camp was set up, dinner prepared and eaten, and campers gathered around a campfire for a genuine fireside, where they heard an inspiring message from a member of the Peoria Arizona North Stake presidency. Saturday morning two teams at a time set out every 15 minutes to begin the race. An awards ceremony rounded out the day of fun and team building.
Brett Wood from the Sierra Verde Ward said, “The Iditarod is so awesome. The race course competition challenges you mentally and physically. It teaches you teamwork. It is hard but rewarding.”
“We really enjoyed the Iditarod,” added JC May from the winning Daisy Mountain Ward. “It is a time for us to get to know each other and work as a team. Everyone pulled together and worked hard.”

I was thinking of the term search and destroy this past winter as I visited with a neighbor and friend in beautiful Heber Valley east of Salt Lake City. Some snowmobile adventurers had been lost for a several-day period in the backcountry of high winds, penetrating cold, and eerie silence. My friend Johnny told me of the desperate plight of the lost and referred to the anxiety of their families. He mentioned that he was a member of the county search and rescue force, whose members left their businesses and farms and went in search of the lost and missing.
The searchers had prayed for a break in the winter weather, knowing the critical element of time in such a rescue. Their prayers were answered; the weather cleared. Surveying each grid of the vast area through high-powered field glasses as the helicopter flew back and forth through the mountains and the ravines, the search party finally spotted the lost party. Then came the difficult task of reaching and retrieving the courageous group. All was well. The lost were found. Lives were spared. Worry and fear yielded to joy and jubilation.
Johnny, with heartfelt emotion, said to me, “I love to search and rescue. Just to look into the faces of those who could have died and feel, as well as see, their profound gratitude fills my body and soul with compassion and thanksgiving. I’ve never before experienced anything quite like it.”

Rick Cartier, a former seminary student, now serving in the Brisbane Australia Mission, talks about his love of the scriptures. He says, “There were three of us in the branch that were really good friends. At times, either my friends or I went astray, but what kept bringing me back to the scriptures were two things: my testimony and caring leaders like our seminary teacher. It was love that kept bringing me back. And that’s what the scriptures are about, our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ’s love for us.” Rick and his friends are all serving full-time missions, the most missionaries the Charlottetown Branch has had out serving at the same time. They are a little like Alma and the sons of Mosiah, excited that they are all strong in the faith and teaching others.

For New Beginnings, I was asked to talk about virtue as a Young Women value. I was supposed to wear something gold to coordinate with its value color, but my wardrobe didn’t seem to include that color. After searching through my closet, I located a gold shirt that I hadn’t worn in a long time. I tried it on only to realize I’d outgrown it. Looking in the mirror, I thought, “This is probably not a good night to wear something a little too short—I’m representing virtue.”
Then it hit me: I’m always standing for virtue. Every day I represent virtue and modesty in my attitude, actions, words, and clothing. On Sundays and at youth activities, I can be a model of modesty for the younger girls. As one of the few Latter-day Saint students at my school, I try to dress appropriately, because to others, I represent my religion. Most important, my clothes can show others and myself that I know my body is a temple and that I respect it as such. By dressing modestly, I “stand for truth and righteousness,” just as the Young Women motto proclaims.
As I talked about virtue that night, I spoke with confidence. Perhaps my outfit was more yellow than gold, but I felt at peace before my friends, my leaders, and my Heavenly Father. “No matter what I’m doing,” I thought, “I always want to dress modestly. I represent virtue every single day.”

Jenni Lynn was still worried about yesterday’s Primary lesson. Carefully shutting her bedroom door, she pulled her thinking chair out of the corner and sat down to give some thought to what she had learned in Primary. Jenni Lynn was seven years old, and Sister Hendley, her teacher, had told the children about baptism and confirmation. Sister Hendley said that every person who was confirmed a member of the Church received the gift of the Holy Ghost.
Jenni Lynn was afraid of ghosts. When her friends told ghost stories, she plugged her ears. When scary shows came on television, she ran into her bedroom and shut the door. Shawn, her big brother, and Lisa, her big sister, laughed at Jenni Lynn and called her a scaredy-cat. She didn’t like their teasing, but still she was afraid of ghosts.
She wanted to be baptized and to become a member of the Church. But I don’t want to have a ghost around, Jenni Lynn worried. In two more months I’ll be eight. What can I do?
At dinner Jenni Lynn watched Shawn and Lisa. She watched Mother and Daddy too. They had all been baptized and confirmed. They all had the gift of the Holy Ghost. But they didn’t act as though they were scared. She was the only one. Maybe I shouldn’t be afraid either, she reasoned.
The telephone rang, interrupting Jenni Lynn’s thoughts.
After Dad had answered the telephone, he said, “Grandma is coming a day early. I have to go to the airport after dinner and pick her up.”
“Oh, my,” said Mother. “I’m going to need some help getting everything ready.”
“We’ll help!” the children said, jumping up from the table.
Shawn helped clear the table. Lisa didn’t complain once as she did the dishes. Jenni Lynn helped Mother get Grandma’s room ready. She dusted the dresser and helped Mother put pretty flowered sheets on the bed.
“Grandma will need a blanket, too,” said Mother. “Jenni Lynn, will you please go get the comforter out of the cedar closet.”
Jenni Lynn ran into her parents’ bedroom. She started to open the cedar closet and stopped. Sister Hendley had said that another name for the Holy Ghost is the Comforter. What if a ghost were in the closet? She turned and ran back to her mother. Trying not to look frightened, she asked, “What’s a comforter?”
“It’s a soft, fluffy quilt,” Mother answered as she opened the dresser drawers to see if they were clean.
“Why is it called a comforter?” Jenni Lynn asked.
“Because it’s warm and soft. When you wrap it around you it makes you feel safe and good inside,” Mother explained.
Jenni Lynn sighed with relief. There wasn’t a ghost after all. She ran back to the bedroom, opened the door to the cedar closet, and lifted down a beautiful pink satin comforter. It was shiny and slippery to touch. Then she sat on the bed and pulled the comforter around her and over her head until there was only a hole big enough to peek through.
Mother was right, thought Jenni Lynn inside her comforter cave. I feel warm and safe in here. She sat still for a long time because it felt so good.
“Hurry, dear,” said Mother, coming into the room. When she saw her daughter, she asked, “What are you doing all wrapped up in that comforter?”
Jenni Lynn peeked out. “It feels good, Mother,” she said. “Just like when you hold me on your lap.”
“Does it, little one?” smiled Mother as she sat on the bed and cuddled Jenni Lynn close.
“Mother, why do they call the Holy Ghost the Comforter?” asked Jenni Lynn.
“Because He’s a special friend. He comforts you. That means He makes you feel warm and safe and helps you solve your problems,” answered Mother.
“Just like this comforter makes me feel warm and safe; right, Mother?” asked Jenni Lynn.
“Almost,” said Mother. “Except He’s a real person.”
Jenni Lynn snuggled closer to her mother and said, “But I thought that He was a scary ghost. I was afraid of Him.”
Mother laughed. “You and your ghosts! Well, He’s not that kind of ghost. The Holy Ghost is just a name that shows He is a spirit without a body. He loves us and Jesus sent Him to help us. Now why don’t you help me put that satin comforter on Grandma’s bed?”
Jenni Lynn jumped off the bed and helped Mother gather up the comforter in her arms. Just as they reached the door, she looked up at Mother and said, “Know what? I can hardly wait until I have the Holy Ghost for my friend.”

Abu sat outside watching people walk by on the street in front of his house. Abu was very hungry. Marian, a woman who was selling sweet biscuits, was near him, walking back and forth in the street. The biscuits looked delicious in their brightly colored wrappers. Marian carried them in a pan on her head. Abu really wanted a package of those biscuits. He knew they would be very good.
Marian stopped and set the biscuits down right in front of Abu.
“She knows I am hungry and has put the biscuits here for me!” he thought. He quickly picked up a package of biscuits.
Just then, his father saw him. “Abu, what do you have?” he asked.
“Papa, I’m so hungry! I need some biscuits,” Abu said.
Papa gently took Abu into his arms. “Abu, I want you to have some biscuits,” he said. “But you cannot take things from other people without asking or paying for them. Did you ask Marian if you could have some of her biscuits?”
“No,” Abu said, looking at the ground.
“Let’s give Marian back this large package of biscuits, and I will buy you a small package. I want you to learn to be honest. Do you know what that means?”
“Tell me, Papa,” Abu said.
“It means to do the right thing,” Papa said. “It means to pay for things instead of stealing. It means to tell the truth instead of lying. It means to do what you say you will do. So we will pay Marian for a package of her biscuits. Marian needs the money to buy food for her children. I love you, Abu, and Heavenly Father loves you too. And He is happy when you do the right thing.”
“I love you too, Papa,” Abu said. “I want to be honest always.”

“Did you sing that song when you were in Primary?” Jessica asked.
“No, ‘Families Can Be Together Forever’ hadn’t been written yet when I was in Primary. Several years after Grandpa passed away, Grandma heard the Primary children sing it in sacrament meeting. She felt the Spirit so strongly that she was sure Heavenly Father was speaking right to her. Grandma loved the words because they gave her comfort in knowing that her family could be together forever.”

Some years ago I had a most unusual experience while flying in a four-seat, single-engine airplane.
We were flying toward Salt Lake City, and it was one of those days when the smog and fog had settled over the valley very quickly.
We were still flying above the fog at 3,000 feet when our pilot radioed to air traffic control at the Salt Lake tower for instructions for our approach and landing.
He was an expert flier, but the plane didn’t have radar or the other sophisticated equipment that larger planes have.
The controller told our pilot that although the runway was closing down because of poor ground visibility, he would talk us down through the fast-accumulating dense fog if we wanted him to.
Our pilot turned to us and said, “What do you want to do? We can either be talked down by the traffic controller, or we can go back to Nevada and land and wait for the weather to clear in a day or two.” We all agreed that we should land in Salt Lake if at all possible.
It was a very interesting experience to sit in our small plane and listen to the instructions from the control tower to the pilot. The controller, through radar, could see where we were. He told our pilot when to lower our altitude and when to turn either right or left. We were now in such dense fog that we could not see anything at all and were totally under directions from the tower.
I remember thinking how completely dependent the four of us were on the expertise and knowledge of the controller, who could see us on the radar scope.
It was a remarkable experience, for even though we kept lowering our altitude, we could not see the ground at all.
At about 500 feet our pilot said to my friend who was sitting in the right front seat, “Now you watch for the runway, and when you see it, tell me.” The pilot concentrated on watching the instruments and following exactly the instructions he received from the air traffic controller. I was watching the altimeter.
Soon we were down to 400 feet, 350 feet, 300 feet—still we could see nothing. Then all of a sudden my friend in the front seat shouted, “I see the runway!”
We were all relieved as we looked out the windshield of the airplane. There, directly in front of us, was the runway, and the nose of our airplane was right on the white line in the center of it as we approached for landing. How grateful I was that someone in the tower had the experience and knowledge to give us careful instructions so we could safely land the plane!

When the Children’s Friend was created in January 1902, several magazines in the area were struggling to stay in business. The Primary Association wanted to print a magazine, but the First Presidency feared that not enough people would subscribe to it. They gave permission for the magazine to be printed, but they did not provide Church funds.
Two women, Primary General President Louie B. Felt and Secretary May Anderson, dove into the project with enthusiasm. They visited a little printing office in Salt Lake City and announced that they wished to print a year’s worth of magazines. The printing office manager told them, “We must have something tangible to hold in case you do not pay your bills.”* Sister Felt offered to give up her house as payment if the magazine failed.
After the magazines were printed, Sister Felt and Sister Anderson ironed used wrapping paper, collected string, wrapped the magazines individually, and addressed them by hand. They carried bundles of magazines to the post office four blocks away to be mailed. Their hard work paid off! The magazine was a great success. Although the Children’s Friend was first printed for leaders and teachers, Sister Felt and Sister Anderson soon included stories and activities for children, as well.

Spring came late that year, and by May it was still cool and rainy. One night Brother Hanson had an artery burst in his chest. He died before any of us had the chance to even see him.
Our whole troop attended the funeral. We sat together on the bench in our Scout uniforms. Troops from the community were there, too—in fact, one whole side of the chapel was a sea of Scouts.
Afterward, my family took me out to the gravesite. My mom kept looking at me out of the corner of her eye like she was worried. I stood silently and stared at the coffin lying above that deep, empty hole.
“Would you like to stay a little longer, Philip?” she asked before she left for the car.
I nodded. I stood until I was the last person left. The rain dripped into my eyes and dribbled down the back of my collar, but I hardly noticed. It seemed to me that the earth was grieving for what it had lost, for what we had all lost.
I kicked at the dark sodden ground with my toe. It was good dirt, and very solid. I knew that that would have pleased him. I whispered my last and only good-bye, then turned for the car and home.

That’s the type of intensity that builds in Arizona each time the Safford Bulldogs and the Thatcher Eagles meet in a rivalry that spans 80 years. So imagine what the Safford quarterback, Brandon McEuen, and the Thatcher quarterback, Teren Bingham, might discuss face-to-face the day before the big game.
How about baptism?
That’s right. On Thursday they reviewed plans for Brandon’s baptismal service. On Friday they faced each other as starters on opposing teams. Then on Saturday, Teren Bingham of the Eagles baptized Brandon McEuen of the Bulldogs.
The next day, both young men wore white. The congregation sang “Praise to the Man” (Hymns, no. 27), chosen by Brandon because Joseph Smith’s experience was key in helping him gain a testimony. Teren, limping on his broken foot, and Brandon, with a broad smile on his face, entered the baptismal font together.

Thinking we can’t help can have devastating results. “I can’t remember my bishop ever asking me about my son’s condition and how I am handling this situation in my life,” says a father. “This is especially strange, because I am his executive secretary. My home teachers haven’t mentioned the problem with our child, either, and my high priests group leader has avoided talking with me about it.

“If my bishop, home teachers, and high priests group leader were insensitive or uncaring, I would be able to understand. But they’re all good men. As I review the situation, I realize that they are just people who do not know what to do.”

I have thought often about the priest and the Levite in the parable of the good Samaritan. When they saw the wounded man by the roadside, why did they cross over to the other side? Perhaps rather than being evil or bad people, they were simply afraid. Perhaps they didn’t know what to do. Perhaps they didn’t care enough. They allowed their ignorance, apathy, or fear to overcome the feelings of charity to which they should have responded.

It was the Samaritan, a political adversary, who, “when he saw him, … had compassion on him.” He did what he could for the man and then enlisted the support of others to give the necessary care. (See Luke 10:29–37.)

Like the Samaritan, we can help if we want to. All we really need is the awareness and the desire. Try to think of individuals with disabilities as exactly that—individuals who happen to have disabilities. They have the same needs as the rest of us; they want to be loved and recognized, to participate, to experience the same joys we experience.

It is difficult to involve people with special needs because there really aren’t that many things they can do.

There are as many ways to involve them as there are people with disabilities.

We need to remember that the Church exists for the individual—not the individual for the Church. Adapting Church programs to the needs of the individual requires sensitivity and inspiration.

I know a bishop who presides over his ward from a wheelchair, and intellectually impaired Relief Society sister who serves with great pride in the nursery, and a woman with hearing impairments who teaches Sunday School. Another young man, completely paralyzed except for his head and neck, completed a full-time mission where he had part in the conversion of more than two hundred people!

A high councilor says: “I am blind, yet I’ve had major callings in the ward and stake. People relate to me as a person—the handicap doesn’t get in the way. This wasn’t always so; it’s taken a few years for people to learn to understand.”

Whether a person with a handicap is called to serve as stake president or as the helper who turns off the lights after the meetings—he or she can feel the joy of serving in the Lord’s kingdom.

I sympathize with those who have special needs, but I honestly don’t have the time to take on any more projects.

Assisting those with special needs usually means new attitudes rather than new programs, more caring rather than more time.

Several years ago our family attended a Latter-day Saint Scout Training Camp. Our older children joined in the activities and were having a wonderful time. However, our nine-year-old autistic son, Brian, was having a difficult time. The Cub Scout events were not designed for someone with social and language impairments. I felt hurt, humiliated, and brokenhearted as I observed the intolerance and impatience directed toward my normal-appearing but handicapped son’s inappropriate behavior. He was as miserable as his peers.

So at a Relief Society meeting at the camp I took a few moments to explain Brian’s disability and share some of the challenges we were facing in rearing him. After that, the sisters began explaining the situation to their families. Within an hour the entire camp had learned about Brian.

Never have I seen such a complete reversal in attitude, nor felt such an outpouring of love and acceptance. It confirmed my belief that the Church is made up of wonderful people who will respond in a Christlike manner when they understand others’ needs. They’ll not only respond, but they’ll also be better because of it.

“Kurt is a Down syndrome Scout who also has coordination problems,” says a priesthood leader. “He went with our Scout troop on a hike of about thirty kilometers. After sixteen kilometers, he lost his walking rhythm. But with his dad in front of him and his Scoutmaster behind him, he walked every step. We waited hours for him to finish.

“When Kurt and his helpers finally appeared, a spontaneous cheer went up, and Kurt proudly ran the last part, crying, and saying, ‘I did it, I did it! They are cheering for me! They thing I’m good!’ Everyone had tears in their eyes. We will never forget that lesson.”

Jesus said: “Have ye any that are sick among you? Bring them hither. Have ye any that are lame, or blind, or halt, or maimed, or leprous, or that are withered, or that are deaf, or that are afflicted in any manner? Bring them hither … for I have compassion upon you.” (3 Ne. 17:7.)

This same merciful Savior still lives and loves each one of us, regardless of our disabilities or our weaknesses. May we walk in his footsteps and follow his example. May our desire to serve his special children increase. May we have the compassion to overcome our own fears and love them, teach them, and work beside them in the Lord’s kingdom.

With new awareness and genuine fellowship, let us invite those with special needs to come unto Christ. More often than not, we may find they are leading us to Him!

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

Because of financial struggles, one sister had to move from her beloved home and ward after living there for 22 years. That was painful. Of her first Sunday in her new ward, she said: “I felt very alone, even though I knew a few people. I was one of the first to Relief Society that morning. I sat there and watched the sisters file in and take their seats. They all seemed to need their own row, not just their own seat. They didn’t sit by each other and they didn’t sit by me. I felt like an island.” Sisters, why do we do that to each other?! The sister continued: “Then Lisa came in. Her face lit up when she saw me and she charged over to me, popped down beside me, put her arm around me and gave me a big hug. It’s amazing how much a small gesture like that can mean. Her warmth”—and I would add, her love—“washed away my loneliness.”