“Please Help It Stop Bleeding,” Ensign, Jan. 2001, 69–70
One morning in July 1985, I was looking forward to spending a quiet day at home with my three children, ages six, four, and one. Earlier my husband and I had taken the family car to the service station for some repairs. I didn’t mind being without a car for one day; it would give me a chance to catch up on some things that had gone undone with our family’s hectic summer schedule.
The children played happily in the backyard while I kept an eye on them from the kitchen window. Suddenly I heard the sobs of my one-year-old, Michael. I turned off the kitchen faucet and ran outside. As I opened the back door, I could see blood all over Michael’s chin and T-shirt.
My husband had been repairing our sprinkler system and had left a small bundle of PVC pipe near the patio. Michael had fallen on a jagged piece of pipe and scraped his chin, or at least that’s what I thought.
I took him into the house and started to clean the wound. It was just a tiny cut, but it would not stop bleeding. Even when I put direct pressure on it, the bleeding still wouldn’t stop.
I took Michael into the bedroom and offered a short prayer: “Please, Heavenly Father, help me know what to do. Please help it stop bleeding.”
Shortly after I finished my prayer, I heard the doorbell ring. Taking Michael with me, I opened the door and saw my Relief Society president, Geri Robinson, standing there with her kitchen apron on.
“How are you doing, Janis?” she asked.
“Fine,” I answered.
She looked at me with a puzzled expression. “A few moments ago I was in the middle of canning some fruit, and I felt a prompting to come over here immediately,” she told me. She had turned off her stove and done just that.
I assured her that everything was fine, not even considering that this woman was the answer to my prayer.
Geri could see that Michael had been crying. I told her about the accident and Michael’s cut.
“Where is your doctor’s office?” she asked. I told her it was clear across town and that I didn’t have a car but that I didn’t feel Michael needed to go in for such a small cut.
Geri gently took my hand and told me we were going to see the doctor and make sure everything was all right. She quickly gathered my children and ushered us into her car.
When the doctor examined Michael, he saw that the piece of pipe had made a cut almost three-fourths of an inch deep that would not have been detected without a professional exam.
“I’m impressed that you knew enough to bring your son in,” he told me. “Most parents wouldn’t have done that. Without prompt attention, the cut could have become infected and caused serious problems.”
My heart overflowed, and so did my tears. I realized that my Heavenly Father had sent this dear, sweet sister to me at a time when I needed help. I am sure some of Geri’s fruit was ruined that day, but she helped me see that our Father in Heaven is ever mindful of us. How grateful I am that Geri listened to the Spirit of the Lord and followed His promptings!