Gospel Story Finder

My testimony continued to grow the next year as we read the Doctrine and Covenants. I obtained a testimony that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I also decided to follow his example and ask God if the Church is true. Although I already had conviction in my heart, one afternoon I found myself alone and sincerely prayed. As I did, I realized that the testimony I was asking for had been developing as I studied the scriptures and attended seminary.
The Lord opened my mind and my heart that year, and I understood the Doctrine and Covenants as I never had before. I also learned of the great value of souls (see D&C 18:10–16) and began to share my growing testimony with those who did not know about the gospel, including my father.

Just for the record, Jay Dee Bateman’s parents do have names. They are Karma and Brent. But anytime they go places with their oldest son, or when they meet anyone connected with Alta High School, where Jay Dee has been a student, they are introduced as Jay Dee’s parents. When they meet someone from the high school football team, or when they go into the fast-food restaurant where their son works, they hear only one thing. “Oh, you’re Jay Dee’s parents.”
“It’s fun to be related to somebody famous,” Karma says, smiling.
Jay Dee Bateman, 19, a priest in the Hidden Valley Second Ward in Sandy, Utah, is like many boys his age. His favorite class in school is weight lifting. He likes to hang out with the cheerleaders. He attends most of the school dances. Just about everybody at school and in his neighborhood knows him. He loves to play with his two younger brothers, and his three younger sisters can persuade him to help them with their chores. At church, when he gives the sacrament prayer, it brings a spiritual tone to the meeting.
Oh, and by the way, Jay Dee was born with Down’s syndrome.
As his parents point out, Jay Dee has never let his limitations keep him from trying new things. But perhaps his finest achievement is something he is able to teach by example. He knows how to make and keep good friends.
One of the biggest challenges most teens face, including LDS teens, is feeling accepted and confident enough to extend themselves and make friends with lots of different people. When the New Era first heard about Jay Dee, we intended to do an article about how a group of LDS kids were able to include a handicapped boy in their circle of friendship. However, when we talked with them about Jay Dee, they told us over and over that the credit was all Jay Dee’s. They said they hadn’t made the first moves or kept the friendships alive. Jay Dee had done it. The article idea changed. We started making a list of rules Jay Dee had taught them about making and keeping friends.
Give everybody a chance. “I met Jay Dee in the seventh grade,” says Jesse Bullock. “I was new in the school and needed a friend. I had him in choir class first period sitting right next to me. We had so much fun in that class. He doesn’t care who you are. He gives you a chance no matter what. That goes for everybody because I’ve been there.”
Call people by name. Jay Dee has a funny little habit of calling people by their whole names. His friends kind of like it. They especially like that he always remembers their names. “Jay Dee always calls you by your first and last name,” says Kendra Dana, student body president of Alta High School. “Often we are in such a hurry we just say hi. We don’t say names. I think that is admirable to be able to call people by name.”
Jared Colton says, “I knew who Jay Dee was, but he just recognized me from football. I gave him a ride one day, and he talked the whole time. When I let him out, he said, ‘Now what’s your name? My mom will want to thank you.’ He’s never forgotten my name.”
Be sociable. “I injured myself in football,” says Aaron Weaver, “and was out for the season. Jay Dee would come to every single practice because he was our team manager for football. We would sit on the bleachers and watch practice and just talk and have fun joking around. He wants to be your friend just as much as you want to be his.”
Don’t be pushy. “Lots of times I gave him a ride home from school,” says Matt Lawson. “He would never ask for a ride. He would be by my locker after last class. He’s not pushy. When I would walk out to the parking lot with him, I would be proud to be walking with him.”
Have a good attitude. “What sticks out most about Jay Dee is his basic attitude about life,” says Jesse. “I’ve never seen him down on himself or anybody else. No matter what troubles he has, he always gets through. A good attitude will invite more people to come to you.”
Be enthusiastic about the things you’re doing. “He was water boy for our football team,” says Jared. “He did that job 110 percent. When there was a timeout, he would sprint out. It wouldn’t matter what job he was given; he would do it all the way.”
Be dependable. “I’d go pick him up from football,” says Brent Bateman, Jay Dee’s dad. “He would be the only kid in the office with all the coaches. During practices, the coaches would send Jay Dee to lunch with some of the rougher football players because they knew that Jay Dee would make sure they did what they were supposed to do. He would bring them back for the second half of practice.”
Give the right kind of affection. “I’ve given more high fives to Jay Dee than to anyone else,” says Jared. “If I say hi, he stops, comes over, and shakes my hand and puts his arm around me. It’s easy to love him.”
Just be yourself. “Jay Dee doesn’t put on a show,” says Jess Arbon. “That’s what has made him so widely accepted. He is just himself around everybody. He’s not fake. He’s just who he is.”
Be accepting of differences. One of Jay Dee’s friends he has known the longest is Suzanna Romney. She and her older sister Quinn got to know Jay Dee in their ward. Even though Jay Dee was a little shy then, these sisters could see his heart of gold. They went out of their way to say hello to him. They have even asked him to be their date at girls’-choice dances. Their example began to spread through their friends and other friends and throughout the school.
“Don’t be afraid to step outside of yourself,” says Suzy. “Maybe it is easier to accept those who have Down’s syndrome or mental disabilities. What about those who aren’t born with handicaps but are just different in their interests or background? We have to not worry about that and accept everyone for the good that is in them.”
It takes practice. “It does take practice to reach outside of yourself,” says Kendra, “but when you are accepting and learn to love, it becomes easier. Things spread. If you go, then your friends will follow. Instead of one person getting to know this person who might need some help, it’s a whole group. It snowballs.”
Jay Dee Bateman has learned the secret of being a good friend. Maybe it was something he just knew inside, but through his example, others are learning the formula for making friends. And they truly care about him.
“During one football game,” says Matt Lawson, “there was a sideline play, and Jay Dee got crushed. Everyone just stopped. We didn’t care what the score was or what was happening with the game. We all helped him up. Every single person came up and asked him how he was. But he just brushed it off.”
Is it worth getting to know Jay Dee, or someone like him? “It seems,” says Jared, “that with all of us who have tried to get to know him, it has been a blessing in our lives. We have all benefitted.”
And that’s why it’s worth knowing Jay Dee. He has uncovered the secret of being a good friend. He just may have to buy nametags for his mother and father to wear. It looks like they’ll be known as Jay Dee’s parents for quite some time.
Amber Baughman, 17, of the Rock Springs (Wyoming) Fourth Ward, has a reputation similar to Jay Dee’s. Like Jay Dee, Amber was born with Down’s syndrome. And like Jay Dee, she’s figured out some ways to make and keep especially close friends.
Include everyone. At girls’ camp, Amber was a bundle of enthusiasm, and she brought a spirit of unity. “Other years, said Tambree Knight, “sometimes one or two girls used to go off for a while on their own, or maybe some would only hang out with their closest friend. But Amber needed everybody. She loved everybody and kept us together. It was really cool.”
Pray for your friends. “Amber zeroes in on feelings,” said Cami Smith. “She has a way of dealing with her friends’ distress that works every time. She prays for them. When Amber prays, she prays for us individually. She asks Heavenly Father to help us be happy again. And while she’s praying, she touches the person she’s praying for, tapping her on the head or on the shoulder. Sometimes she ends her prayers with a hug.”
Really care. Mindy, Amber’s older sister, gets emotional when she talks about going to college and leaving Amber behind. “I just can’t imagine my everyday life without my sister,” she said. But looking after her parents, her sister, and her friends has been Amber’s goal in life, one she does with enthusiasm and great care.
The girls in her ward are quick to agree—it’s nice having a friend like Amber.

It wasn’t until she attended preschool that Alba first started learning English. Even though she was very young, she remembers how frustrating it was at times. But she picked up the language quickly.

When kindergarten started, Alba’s teacher knew she was bilingual, so she assigned her a seat next to a boy who couldn’t speak any English. She asked Alba to translate basic phrases for him such as “write your name here.”

One day, a mother who couldn’t speak any English stopped by the office. The staff could not find anyone in the whole school to interpret for her. When Alba’s teacher learned of the dilemma, she immediately recommended her five-year-old interpreter. From then on—from parent-teacher conferences to phone calls—the school asked young Alba for help whenever they needed an interpreter.

“At least three times a week they would call me out of class,” she says. “It was exciting for me. I felt special,” she said with a laugh, “and I could get out of class.”

Merrell: One particular example I might share happened in Hollywood. I had met a composer who had written the music for 58 great movies, and he invited me to dinner with him and the producer of his current movie. We talked a lot about Utah, and by the end of the meal they knew I was LDS, although we hadn’t talked about that. I had dinner with the composer again, and we corresponded, and I gave him a picture of my family. One day he said to me, “You are a lot more successful than I am,” and I know he was talking about something more important than music. I looked at him as a superstar, as someone I was fortunate to even sit in the same car with, and he was admiring me.
The New Era: What advice would you give young people who may be wondering just what their own talents are?
Merrell: I think basically that if you love doing something, it is probably a talent. Maybe you excel in woodwork or are a great salesman. Or maybe you are just plain great with people and are always finding yourself doing things like putting your arms around the little boy down the block who’s lost his bicycle. That is a great talent. Parents can help you identify your talents, and you also need to ask the Lord to help you identify them. Then, once you know what they are, pursue them and use them to contribute something of value to society. Each of us has a mission to fulfill and specific talents to help us do it, and the Lord will help us if we seek his guidance.
The New Era: What role does individuality play in talent development?
Merrell: Today the world teaches that you should do your own thing and look out for your own interests at the expense of everyone else. But that, of course, is not the way the Lord intended us to use our talents. Following that philosophy will cut us off from his inspiration. We will ultimately be neither happy nor successful. However, when you realize that every individual is unique and is capable of receiving personal inspiration, it opens up a whole new world of positive possibilities.
For example, in musical expression there is usually more than one right way to do something. If I’m writing a piece of music, it is influenced by my emotions and my perceptions and comes out a certain way. But someone else, using his own creative juices, could write a whole different style of music and be equally successful. What makes personal creativity so wonderful is that there is room for a million expressions for a specific situation and all of them can be good. It’s important to remember that just because one person is successful in a particular field doesn’t mean there’s no room for someone else in the same field. It’s possible for several artists to be equally successful.
The New Era: Would you ever compose music for a film you didn’t agree with?
Merrell: No, I wouldn’t be able to write music for a picture that promoted the wrong principles. I believe that to compose the correct music for a piece means becoming totally involved in it, and I couldn’t do that if it meant compromising my principles.
The New Era: Can you sum up your general philosophy concerning being an LDS composer or entertainer in today’s world?
Merrell: Yes, I think we need to remember that our life is a mission, and if we will be receptive to the counsel and inspiration of the Lord, he will direct us in what is right. I believe that learning to listen and to remain spiritually in tune are essential to successfully completing that mission.

An example of this for me happened when I was in the U.S. Coast Guard being trained as an officer and a gentleman at Officer Candidate School in August 1974. The platoon leaders lined us up each day at 6 a.m. to inspect for dirt on our uniforms, wrinkles in our shirts, unshined shoes, and even lint on our black uniforms (white lint really showed up!). I got “gigged”—or punished—every time they found anything out of order, even something very minor. When you were gigged, you lost points on a chart, and if you lost enough points, they kicked you out of the program. During the first two weeks I lost 20 points and was getting discouraged. Then it occurred to me that instead of beating myself up over my mistakes, I should use them as learning experiences. After that, each time I got gigged, I wrote down a note to myself of what not to do the next time. Eventually I was passing inspection every week and not losing any points. Looking back, I know now that the platoon leaders were purposely finding any little mistake to nail us for just to see how we would react. There was no such thing as a perfect uniform after all. If we catastrophized and got angry or discouraged when we got gigged, their conclusion was that we certainly would not be able to handle stress well enough at sea to be leaders in the U.S. Coast Guard. And they were right.

The story does not end there and in fact is still ongoing.
Most of those who lost their fruit crop had some land available on which to plant alternative crops for the season, such as chili peppers or beans. These crops could provide at least some cash flow sufficient to survive on until next year’s fruit crop. However, there was one good brother with a young family who did not have additional land and was facing a year with no revenue at all. Others in the community, seeing the dire situation of this brother and acting on their own initiative and expense, arranged for a piece of property, used their own equipment to prepare the land, and provided the chili plants for him to plant.
I know the men about whom I have just spoken. Knowing them, I was not surprised at what they did. But those who do not know them will probably be asking two questions, both beginning with the word why. Why would they come to the temple to perform their duties and to serve after having been up all night long, only to realize that they had lost the greater part of their revenue for the whole year? Why would they use what were now scarce and very precious resources to help another in desperate need when they themselves were now in such dire financial straits?
If you understand what it means to be a disciple of Jesus Christ, then you will know the answer to these two questions.
Making the covenant to be a disciple of Christ is the beginning of a lifelong process, and the path is not always easy. As we repent of our sins and strive to do what He would have us do and serve our fellowmen as He would serve them, we will inevitably become more like Him. Becoming like Him and being one with Him is the ultimate goal and objective—and essentially the very definition of true discipleship.

I wish you could meet the marvelous young man who came to us from Bolivia, arriving with no matching clothing and shoes three sizes too large for him. He was a little older because he was the sole breadwinner in his home and it had taken some time to earn money for his mission. He raised chickens and sold the eggs door-to-door. Then, just as his call finally came, his widowed mother faced an emergency appendectomy. Our young friend gave every cent of the money he had earned for his mission to pay for his mother’s surgery and postoperative care, then quietly rounded up what used clothing he could from friends and arrived at the MTC in Santiago on schedule. I can assure you that his clothes now match, his shoes now fit, and both he and his mother are safe and sound, temporally as well as spiritually.

As our plans progressed, however, I began to become excited about the prospect of aiding the elderly. I recalled the verse in James 1:27, which reads: “Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction.” The previous year at Christmastime my Laurel class had baked cookies for all the widows in the ward. Sister Kirkham, a 90-year-old woman who walked with two canes, had wept when we came to her door and, when we were leaving, thanked us again and again for our visit. We all felt good afterwards. That’s what the gospel is all about, I thought as I anticipated the upcoming service project. The only thorn in my plans was Earl. He irritated me.
I couldn’t understand why he didn’t lose weight, or find a shampoo that would help control his problem with dandruff. If he’d exercise and eat nutritious foods he’d be in a lot better shape, I’d thought critically, proudly reviewing the personal health program I followed.
Too, his intellect was lacking and his wit was dull, a fact manifested by his love of simple puns and riddles. At one of our meetings when we were relaxing for a moment, he’d asked me jovially, “What’s black and white and read all over?” “A newspaper,” I answered quickly. He chuckled, “Ah, you already heard the joke.” I wondered who hadn’t heard the joke.
I also had serious doubts about the genuineness of his charity. His voice didn’t seem to contain a proper amount of pity when he spoke of the bedridden and ways to include them in the festivities. Nor did he seem to feel much sorrow for the plight of the elderly in general. “Old folks are a real kick,” he’d say. “My grandma can spin a yarn that’ll keep you on the edge of your seat. Course she’s in a rest home now, but that don’t get her down none.”
“He just drives me nuts!” I complained to my roommate, Carol. “Everything about him just drives me nuts.” But despite my irritation with Earl, preparation for the party progressed. Halloween came.
We arrived at Sunshine Terrace nursing home early to begin decorating and set up the refreshments.
“Hello, Earl,” the receptionist smiled as we walked through the door. I briefly wondered how she knew him. We proceeded to the big gathering room. Ancient-looking people sat along the walls in the hallway. One man with a walker had warts that covered half of his face. Another woman sat in a wheelchair which had been tied to the handrailing on the wall. Her head flopped and she drooled continually, wetting a large portion of her dress bodice. As I stepped by she clawed my skirt. I pulled away and muttered a hasty hello. Earl, his smile as usual planted on his face, walked beside me. Old eyes crinkled at him and toothless mouths grimaced his way. Some extended greetings to him and he chuckled out, “Howdy, Doris” and “Lo there, Howard” in return.
I felt tense and faintly nauseated, my charitable zeal overshadowed by fear and revulsion. Earl remained his same chortling self. I soon realized that he knew these people. He was friends with them. I hung close to his shadow, letting his greetings and handclasps compensate for my own silence and lack of response.
But despite my mere surface participation, the party was a success. The elderly people seemed delighted with the drooping orange and black crepe paper (one of Earl’s ideas), and one woman said that the cider and sugar cookies reminded her of the autumn baking days of her youth. They chilled at the ghost stories and retold the eerie tales recalled from their own childhoods.
I began to realize that these were real people with real thoughts and feelings. Nevertheless, my own self-consciousness and discomfort kept me from becoming an active participant and enjoying their company. I had never seen a man without arms or a woman with spastic palsy. I didn’t want to see them, so I focused my eyes on the floor or ceiling or I watched some of the other students in the branch or Earl.
Earl remained, well—Earl. He was still overweight. His hands were still moist, his dandruff unchecked. His remarks and jokes still displayed an amazing lack of originality, and his chuckling remained incessant. I looked at him with those people. His damp hand comfortably clasped a withered, dry one. That was when I first began to feel ashamed. Earl was naturally what I was only pretending to be. I’d come to Sunshine Terrace full of self-righteous charity, artificial smiles, and condescending words of tenderness. Earl had simply come.

Several years ago, my family and I decided to hike a mountain trail in Iceland to see a famous waterfall. We had never been on this mountain. We were uncertain about the trail, and we are not experienced hikers.
We watched others start up the trail and followed. Soon, they were out of sight, and so was the trail. We looked carefully and noticed piles of intentionally placed rocks, called cairns, at regular intervals marking the path to the waterfall. We became confident that if we could find the cairns, they would lead us to the waterfall.
Patches of ground near the trail featured white, fluffy cotton grass,1 which grows in marshy terrain. Stepping into the cotton grass always left us with muddy, water-filled shoes. We learned that the cotton grass marked a path we did not want to follow.
The trail was not easy. Sometimes it was steep, and we became tired. But we persisted, paying careful attention to the cairns and avoiding the cotton grass. Finally our efforts were rewarded. We reached the magnificent waterfall and enjoyed the view from the mountaintop and the refreshment of the water.
As we trekked down the mountain, we saw dangers we had not seen before. The cairns had helped us avoid deep pools of water and steep cliffs. We were grateful those cairns led us safely to our goal.
On our summer hike, we were free to choose a different path to the top of the mountain, but a different path might not have, and likely would not have, led to the waterfall. We could have been delayed because we were stuck in the mud, been stymied by dangerous cliffs, or given up because of tiredness. Staying on the path provided the most direct and sure route to our destination.

One young woman from Haiti in the Caribbean showed her desire to be a disciple of Christ by inviting her friend who was not a member of the Church to come with her to an FSY conference. At first her friend’s father did not want to give his daughter permission to go. Church leaders explained about the positive experiences that awaited her and the wonderful young adult counselors who would be watching over her. The father gave permission for his daughter to attend, and after seeing the difference it made in her life, he also gave her permission to attend Church meetings and—six months later—be baptized.

I like learning about other people and what they’ve been through, because I’ve been through a lot. I find a lot in common with others who struggle, because I see that I’m not the only one who goes through hard things.
I grew up in and out of foster homes. My parents weren’t there when I needed them, and some of my siblings and I were separated. When I was little, I didn’t really get to be a kid because I was busy taking care of my siblings, especially my brother who has autism. I felt like the parent when I was supposed to be a kid myself, not raising kids.
I knew about the Church, but I never really went. It was hard to believe in God when I felt like everybody else’s life was OK but He had forgotten about me and left me to go through what I was going through.
But as I got older, I started to recognize blessings in my life. I learned a lot from my mistakes and other people’s mistakes. I realized that even though it felt like everyone had broken my trust, I could always trust God. So I put my trust in Him and prayed. I knew He was there for me, even though I had no one else. I’m glad I have someone to talk to who listens to me and helps me get through hard things.
Alexis R., 14, California, USA

My husband, Larry, and I enjoy eating out at a delicious Mexican restaurant called “Mi Ranchito.” We like it so much that I keep the number stored in my smartphone.
One afternoon, we decided to order takeout. I picked up my phone and casually said, “Hey, Siri! Call Mi Ranchito.”
Siri’s chic British voice responded immediately: “OK, Lisa! From now on, I will call you ‘Ranchito.’”
Larry and I burst into laughter. It was funny. Without missing a beat, Siri changed my name to Ranchito. From that moment on, my smartphone, my husband, my children, my grandchildren, and anyone else to whom Larry related the story began to call me Ranchito. No matter what I did, Siri refused to call me Lisa again.
At first the situation was entertaining. Soon it became annoying. And as I worked to restore my true name, it became alarming. I imagined the possibility of receiving texts, emails, and snail mail addressed to “Ranchito.” I imagined pollsters soliciting polling information from Ranchito over my phone and politicians inviting Ranchito to vote for them in the next election.
“Over a very short time,” I thought, “Lisa could drop out of existence, and Ranchito could take over my social identity.”
How frightening! Siri, who doesn’t know me, doesn’t care about me, and isn’t even a real person, had effortlessly stolen my name. As I tried to figure out how to restore it, I couldn’t help but think how, if I’m not mindful, I could let technology steal away my identity, reputation, and sense of self.
I also realized how technology’s many distractions can often lead us to forget our divine identities as children of God.
Thankfully, I was able to get Siri to change my name from Ranchito back to Lisa. But this experience taught me that my most important identity is that of disciple of Jesus Christ and child of God. So I will always choose to allow a prophet of God and the Holy Ghost, rather than Siri, Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat, Instagram, Pinterest, or any other internet influence, to shape my identity and guide me along the covenant path to Jesus Christ!

It started out as an ordinary Primary lesson. I was standing in front of my class of eight-year-old boys and girls, telling them a story about one of the latter-day prophets. When I finished, I began to question them about the moral the story taught. Everyone in the class wanted to answer my question—everyone, that is, but Robert.
I thought nothing of it. He was new in the class, and I thought he was probably just shy about speaking out on his first day. But as the answer was given and as we talked about it, I noticed that Robert’s face got more and more troubled. He wasn’t understanding the idea.
The week before, I hadn’t had time to finish the lesson I had prepared. I knew there wasn’t much time again now, and so I told myself I couldn’t make the other children wait until I had explained it again for Robert’s sake. I decided to go on. After all, I told myself, we will probably go over this idea again some other time.
I made one quick look around the room to make sure the rest understood. As my eyes passed by Robert’s, my heart froze. In an instant it seemed as though his face faded away and in its place I saw that of my three-year-old son, Sam. Startled, I just stood there, staring at Robert as if I expected the transformation to happen again. It didn’t then, or ever again.
Then I realized the impact of what I had done. I had passed over a child of God simply because I couldn’t be bothered. I had lost an important teaching moment. I had been given the opportunity to place a child closer to his Father in Heaven, but had turned my back.
I’ve never forgotten the lesson I learned that day—that only when I have done my best on behalf of all the children I teach can I pray for the best from another teacher on behalf of my own child.

Years ago the seagulls in St. Augustine, Florida, USA, were starving. For generations the gulls had learned to depend on the shrimp fleets to feed them scraps from their nets. The shrimpers eventually moved from the area. The seagulls had not learned how to fish for themselves; nor did they teach their young how to fish. Consequently, the big, beautiful birds were dying even while there was plenty of fish all around them in the water.2

Cody Carr knew when he was only four that he wanted to be an astronaut. He had a little bank shaped like a spaceship that he put his tithing money in, and each time he dropped in a penny, a light would go on as if the rockets were firing. As he grew older, his school friends kidded him about being a spaceman, but Cody was serious. Those were the days of the birth of the manned space program, and he listened to every minute of every flight.
Naturally, his twin interest was astronomy. He received a telescope for Christmas and began getting up at 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning to look at the stars. “The night sky always fascinated me,” he said. “The whole universe is God’s creation, but we don’t know very much about it. I have often thought that if there were another frontier left, I’d be out exploring it. But the only one left is outer space, and there’s only one way to get there—by becoming an astronaut.”
In school, Cody took all the science and electronics classes he could. “I didn’t think electronics had much to do with space exploration, but dad suggested it, and I loved it!” He became a finalist in a statewide electronics competition.
Part of Cody’s goal to become an astronaut included a goal to become an Air Force Academy cadet. As he progressed through high school, he counseled with his father and mother and prayed about each step along the way. He had three great goals in life.
The first was to keep all the commandments of his Father in Heaven. The second was to serve a full-time mission. “All my life we have talked about a mission and the things pertaining to a mission. It was never ‘if you go on a mission’ but always ‘when you go.’” The third great goal was temple marriage.
“Every night before we went to sleep, mom or dad would come around to our beds and ask each of us in turn, ‘What do you want out of life? What do you want to do? What do you want to be?’ Those goal-setting sessions really helped me keep my head on straight. Every night I said those three things and sometimes others—like the astronaut plans—but always those three. We would talk about what I needed to do to achieve those goals, and then we would talk about any problems or questions I had.”
But two of Cody’s goals conflicted with each other. In order to go on a mission, he would have to resign from the academy after his first year—there was no such thing as a leave of absence for a mission. If he left, he was probably out of the program. To get back in, he would have to be renominated, and the mere fact of his resignation might work against him. What were the odds?
The preparations continued. Cody ran four or five miles each night to condition himself. As a junior, he spent one whole day taking college entrance exams, including the ACT (American College Test), SAT (Scholastic Aptitude Test), an Air Force engineering aptitude examination, and a physical fitness test. He was also interviewed and appraised for leadership potential.
The first year at the academy wasn’t spent just waiting for a mission call. “It was hard,” he remembers. “After the first four months I started asking, ‘Is this what I want to do in life?’ But then I would think back to the confirmations I had received through the Holy Ghost. I knew I was doing things, as President Kimball says, in their proper season and order, and I prayed, and the plan was reconfirmed. I knew I was right where I should be, and that really helped me.”
As the first year drew to a close, Cody had to reaffirm in his own mind his decision to go on a mission. To survive the toughest year in the academy and then give it all up took a lot of courage. And it might also mean abandoning his lifelong dream of becoming an astronaut. “But I had already made the decision to resign eight years earlier. I had no doubt what I was going to do even though I agonized over it.”
In March, during spring break, Cody had his mission interviews with his bishop and stake president. At the end of the summer, following SERE training (survival, evasion, resistance, and escape), he resigned. As with any cadet who asks to leave the academy, he was sent to interviews with several different counselors and officers.
“All of them would grill me at first,” Cody said, “but as soon as I told them my reasons for resigning, their attitude changed. They all expressed their respect for the LDS people they knew, and when I told them I was going to try to come back, which was something of a shock in itself, they said fine.” His written statement included a full explanation of what a mission is and why he wanted to serve.
The officer who had to sign the paper as a witness commented, “I’ve never read anything like that before in my life. Is that really what you believe?”
“I sure do,” Cody replied.
“A lot of them didn’t understand,” Cody explains, “but they accepted. They were feeling something they’d rarely felt before.”
In May Cody received his call to the Switzerland Zurich Mission. He entered the MTC in August. Concentrating on studies was second nature, and obedience was ingrained. “I wanted to use my time wisely because I knew I was paying a price for my mission,” he said.
At first the thought of not being readmitted hung over him, but the time finally came when he stopped worrying and left it in the hands of the Lord. Besides, missionary work presented its own challenges. “For the first six or seven months, I found myself going through the motions. I knew the Church was true and that the work was important, but I didn’t love it as I should. My academy experience came to my aid. I was used to doing difficult things. I worked hard and prayed every day that the work would become a joy instead of a burden. In the course of about a week, the whole thing turned around. Suddenly I was happier; I was working out of desire, not just duty. I knew my mission would be worth it even if I never got accepted back into the academy.”
Then a letter from home told Cody that Ted Parsons, another cadet who had resigned from the academy to serve a mission, had been readmitted! Maybe there was a chance after all!
Cody took the necessary exams at a U.S. military installation. “My mission president gave me a blessing. He told me I had served an honorable mission and that the Lord would help me accomplish what I needed to.”
Shortly after the blessing, Cody had a head-on bicycle collision, shattering his nose on the handlebar. “Qualifications at the academy are stringent. With an impact like that you would normally lose pilot qualification. If I had hit my eye or forehead or even my teeth, it would probably have disqualified me.” Cody is convinced he was protected.
When the test results arrived, they showed a score higher than the first time Cody applied for admission, which was advantageous because the competition was tougher.
“I had done everything I could. I made sure my end of things was in order. I wasn’t expecting the Lord to meet me more than halfway. Then I left it up to him,” Cody said.
Cody was renominated by his senator. His faith had paid off. Two weeks after returning from Switzerland and two years after leaving Colorado Springs, Cody Carr entered the academy once more. His dream of being an astronaut was fully intact, along with his other goals of keeping the commandments, marrying in the temple, and being a lifelong missionary.

Ben rested his arm on the suitcase next to him in the car. Mom and Dad were driving him to Grandpa’s house. Ben was going to stay with his grandpa for one whole week. No brothers, no baby sister—just Ben and Grandpa.
Ben had talked to Grandpa about their week together. Grandpa said it was Ben’s week and they could do all of Ben’s favorite things. Ben looked out the window. Did he remember to pack everything? He had packed his lucky fishing hat, his sunglasses, and his favorite books.
“Now, remember,” Mom said from the front seat, “Grandpa isn’t a member of our church. He’s a good person and a good grandpa. But some things at his house will seem different to you.”
“Like what?” Ben knew his grandpa didn’t go to church. But he hadn’t thought about how that would be different.
“You might have to remind him that you don’t drink iced tea,” Dad said.
“OK,” Ben said.
“You won’t be able to go to church on Sunday, but you can keep the Sabbath day holy in other ways,” Mom said.
“I will,” Ben said.
When they arrived at Grandpa’s house, Grandpa was waiting for them on the porch. Ben was the first one out of the car. “Grandpa!”
“How’s my favorite seven-year-old?” Grandpa gave Ben a big hug. “Are you ready for your very own special week? You get to choose what we do together.”
“Can we go fishing?” Ben asked. “I brought my lucky fishing hat.”
“Sure we can,” Grandpa said.
“And can we go to the zoo?” Ben asked. “I brought my sunglasses.”
“Sure we can,” Grandpa said.
“And can we read together?” Ben asked. “I brought my favorite books.”
“Sure we can,” Grandpa said. “And I think we need a shopping trip so you can pick out a toy at the store.”
“Wow,” Ben said. “This is going to be a great week!”
On Friday, Grandpa and Ben went fishing.
On Saturday, Grandpa and Ben went to the zoo.
The next day, Grandpa made pancakes for breakfast. “Today is our shopping day,” Grandpa said.
“Yippee!” Ben exclaimed. “What kind of toy should I get?”
Then Ben remembered—it was Sunday. How could he explain to Grandpa about not shopping on Sunday?
After breakfast Ben said a prayer in his room. He asked Heavenly Father to help him explain to Grandpa about keeping the Sabbath day holy.
After the prayer Ben sat on his bed. Grandpa called to Ben, “Just let me put on my shoes, and we’ll be off.”
Ben took a deep breath and stood up. He found Grandpa tying his shoes.
“Grandpa, thank you for taking me fishing and to the zoo. But I think today we should take a rest.”
“What do you mean?” Grandpa asked. “I promised to take you shopping.”
“I know, but do you think we could go another day?”
“Are you OK? Are you sick?”
“No, Grandpa,” Ben said. “Today is Sunday. At my house we don’t go shopping on Sunday.”
Grandpa didn’t say anything.
“Can we stay home today?” Ben asked. “We can take a walk. We can read books.”
Grandpa smiled at Ben. “Sure we can,” he said. “It’s your very own week, so you get to choose.”
Ben gave Grandpa a big hug. “I knew this would be a great week,” Ben said.

While I served as a bishop, I watched a young man in my ward progress as a deacon, teacher, and priest. He then prepared to serve a mission. He was shy and quiet, and he came from a family that wasn’t very active in the gospel.
The Sunday he was going to speak before leaving on his mission, I asked if his talk was prepared.
“Yes,” he said. He opened a manila folder and showed me his talk.
“That’s wonderful,” I said. “But I want to do an experiment. Will you speak from your heart instead?”
“You want me to do what?” he said.
“I trust you,” I said. “Just speak from your heart. I know you will do great things in this meeting. I’ll be right next to you if you need me.”
He gave me his talk. I’ll never forget how nervous he was as the other speakers spoke before him. But when it came time for him to speak, he got up and gave a powerful message. The whole congregation was captured by this shy boy who had become a spokesman for the Lord.
The real miracle came after the meeting. Three of his friends who had previously told me they weren’t going to serve missions came up to me with tear-filled eyes. Each of them said, “I want to go on a mission.” This young man’s testimony convinced them that they needed to serve. All three of them served successful missions. This young man is now a father and is still engaged in the gospel of Jesus Christ. He has also helped bring many members of his family back into the Church.

“Did you see Elisabeth at school today?” I asked my little brother as he came into the kitchen.
“She wasn’t there,” he said. “Our teacher said she’s sick again.”
“Hmm, that’s strange,” Mom said. “She’s been sick a lot lately.”
Elisabeth was in my brother’s first-grade class. She was also in our ward. When her family first moved in, I was excited because we had almost the same name—my name is Elizabeth with a z. Even though I was a few years older, we became good friends. I always said hi to her at church, and we liked to play at ward activities. But she had been sick lately, and we didn’t know what was wrong.
My mom called Elisabeth’s mom. “I heard Elisabeth wasn’t at school again today,” Mom said. “Is she sick? Is there something we can do to help?”
As Mom listened, tears started falling down her cheeks. “Well,” she said, “let us know how we can help. We will be praying for you.”
She hung up the phone and told us, “Elisabeth has a brain tumor. She is very sick, and she will have to go to the hospital for special treatments.”
As the days passed, Mom told us more about Elisabeth’s sickness. She said the chemotherapy and radiation treatments would make Elisabeth very weak. Elisabeth would lose her hair, and she wouldn’t be able to go to school or church very often.
After Elisabeth’s first few treatments, she felt better quickly and was able to play again. But then her treatments got longer and harder, so she couldn’t play as much. She started losing her hair and had to have tubes put in her body to feed her and keep her well. She tried to be happy, but I could tell it was hard sometimes.
I wanted to help Elisabeth feel better, so my sister and I gave her a cute pink hat and a pretty red dress.
But Elisabeth didn’t get better. After a year she started to get worse. The treatments didn’t help her anymore, and she often had to stay home. It made me sad that she was so little and losing weight.
Mom said she might not survive the cancer. I had never known anyone my age who had died before. It didn’t seem possible that Elisabeth could die.
One Sunday at dinner, Dad said, “Elisabeth is not doing well today. She probably won’t live much longer. We want everyone to pray for her to not have any more pain.”
In my heart I prayed to Heavenly Father. Heavenly Father, Elisabeth is my friend. Please take away her pain.
Later that night the phone rang. My dad told us that Elisabeth had passed away.
I ran to my room and cried. I knew she would be all right and that Heavenly Father would take care of her, but I would miss her. I didn’t understand why she had to die.
Later I saw a picture Elisabeth had drawn when she was sick. It said, “Elisabeth is happy all the time.”
Even though I still cried sometimes because I missed my friend, I knew that death is not the end. In the next life, we will meet with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ again. And when we get to be with Them, we will have happiness and peace, and all our pain and sadness will be gone.
I know I will see Elisabeth again. And I know that she is happy because “Elisabeth is happy all the time.”

At Rock Creek Hollow, on property the Church now owns, is the common grave of 13 who perished in one night. Among them was a nine-year-old girl from Denmark who was traveling alone with another family. Her name was Bodil Mortensen.
In October of 1856, wind-driven heavy snow was already two feet deep as those of the James G. Willie Company tried to find some shelter from the terrible storm. Bodil went out and gathered brush with which to make a fire. Returning, she reached her cart with the brush in her arm. There she died, frozen to death. Starvation and bitter cold drained from her emaciated body the life she had fought for.

The translation of the Book of Mormon is a miracle in itself and gives further proof of the book’s divine origin. When Oliver Cowdery arrived in Harmony, Pennsylvania, on April 5, 1829, to serve as the Prophet’s scribe, only a few pages of the final text had been translated. That evening Joseph and Oliver sat down together and discussed the Prophet’s experiences long into the night. Two days later, on April 7, they commenced the translation of the work. Over the next three months, Joseph translated at an amazing rate—approximately 500 printed pages in about 60 working days.
Oliver wrote of this remarkable experience: “These were days never to be forgotten—to sit under the sound of a voice dictated by the inspiration of heaven, awakened the utmost gratitude of this bosom! Day after day I continued, uninterrupted, to write from his mouth, as he translated, with the Urim and Thummim … the history, or record, called ‘The book of Mormon’” (Messenger and Advocate, Oct. 1834, 14; see also Joseph Smith—History 1:71, note).