“Warm Fuzzy Love,” Ensign, Apr. 1992, 71
Once upon a time there was a land where every person was given a bag of ‘warm fuzzies’ when he or she was born. These warm fuzzies made them feel happy all over. People gave them to each other freely, and no one ever ran out.
“But one day a bad witch started telling the townspeople they would run out of warm fuzzies if they gave so many away. This had never occurred to them before—and they became worried. Before long, people were giving them out only once in a while. And as they stopped sharing, they became sadder and sadder until they began to shrivel up and die.
“Then a young woman came to this land. She gave her warm fuzzies freely since she hadn’t heard about the witch and wasn’t worried about running out. People disapproved, and they passed a law making it a criminal offense to give warm fuzzies recklessly.
“But the children liked the young woman and liked feeling happy and warm and fuzzy all over, so they followed her example. As of now, it is hard to say what will happen. Will the grownups stop the recklessness of the children? Or will they remember the days when warm fuzzies were abundant and start to give again?”
I told my family this story at home evening during a time when we seemed to be arguing and bickering often. Then I gave each of them a felt bag filled with a dozen pom-poms of one color—a different color for each person in the family. I challenged them to give their warm fuzzies freely, and promised that if they did, no one would run out.
This was quite a project, but family members rose to the occasion. Our children were quick to give warm fuzzies to someone who was sad or hurt, and often they simply said, “I love you.” They even helped our autistic, mentally retarded daughter, Jaclyn, five years old at the time, give her warm fuzzies out.
At the end of our one-week experiment, we evaluated the results. No one had run out of warm fuzzies. Each bag was full of assorted colors of pom-poms. Everyone was happy. It really worked!
Now, months later, we still find warm fuzzies on top of dressers, in pencil holders, tucked in drawers. We give them freely, and often the recipient is the only one who knows. Once, when Selina realized I’d had a rough day, she handed me a warm fuzzy and said, “Mom, I think you need a hug.” Brian slipped a warm fuzzy into Jaclyn’s hand following one of her seizures. One of my warm fuzzies went into Chich’s lunch sack with a love note. Chich slipped one to Brian after they had spent a few minutes talking father-to-son. Just the other day, I put my hand in my sweater pocket and felt a warm fuzzy Sara-Beth had given me long ago.
The warm fuzzies continue to bless our home with love.—Janet Humeland, Amity, Oregon