Gospel Story Finder

When Primary general president Cheryl C. Lant was sent to visit with children in South Africa in 2005, she worried about whether she could emotionally handle the living conditions of some of the children. When she actually met with them, though, her reaction surprised her.
“I did see children in terrible conditions, and I knew I could do nothing to change it,” Sister Lant told students during a February 2006 devotional at Brigham Young University. “But I also felt an overwhelming love for them and a sense of God’s love for them.”

Diane’s love of the spotlight was quickly matched by her gymnastic ability, and the two made a championship combination. She started training when she was fourteen and a half years old, a late start by competitive standards, but within a year she was competing against the best in the country. She was the Junior Olympic National Champion in high school, and in college she led the University of Utah’s women’s gymnastics team to their first national victory.
After she was no longer eligible for college competition, she decided to go on a national professional tour. Diane knew her gymnastics career was mostly over, but she just wanted to hold on to the thrill of the spotlight and the fun of the sport for as long as she could.
During training for the tour Diane was practicing a vault she’d done thousands of times. She ran toward the vault just like she had done every other time. She jumped on the springboard like all the other times and flew up and over the vault—just like all the other times. But this time was different. This time she turned her body just a little too far. This time when she landed, she broke her neck. The accident put her in the hospital for almost six months and in a wheelchair for the rest of her life.
That was on December 15, 1981. Diane spent that Christmas and the next five months in the hospital, trying to imagine her life without gymnastics. After so many years of loving the sport, it was difficult for Diane to adjust.
“I hated being in the hospital, and I felt like I was in prison,” says Diane. For one month of the five she was in the hospital, she was in traction and couldn’t move at all except when the nurses came in and turned her a few centimeters every two hours. Diane had no idea she’d be in the hospital for so long. “In fact, when I was first injured I thought for sure that in a month I’d be back on the tour. I thought, ‘If I have enough faith and believe in God and in myself, I’ll be okay.’ And I just knew it.”
Recovery wasn’t quite so easy though, and things seemed to get worse. “I was a horrible patient,” says Diane. “In the hospital I was really miserable because I was so restless. I was really impatient with people.” Finally Diane came to a turning point.
“One day I was in the depths of despair. I just felt like I couldn’t bear it anymore,” Diane says. She asked for a priesthood blessing. She knew the power to heal her was present, “but I only wanted that to happen if it was Heavenly Father’s will. I had this blessing and I felt the greatest sense of peace. It was like I knew that no matter what happened it would be okay. If I didn’t walk away from the hospital there would be a reason for it. I knew that I had always tried my best to live the gospel and do what I was supposed to do, so if anybody was worthy to have that blessing, I was. But from that point on I was a different person. I was totally comforted.”
Ironically, one of the biggest aids to her recovery was gymnastics. “I don’t know if I could’ve gotten up again if I hadn’t had that training in gymnastics,” she says. “I had a lot of serious injuries when I was a gymnast that I just had to deal with. It was always down, up, down, up in gymnastics and this was just one more down I had to get up from. Gymnastics taught me to get back up so I could be a champion again.”
On the day she finally realized she would never walk again, Diane made the decision to return to school to work for her degree. She was lying on her bed with all her scrapbooks filled with souvenirs and photos of her performances. Tears dripped down her face and splashed on the scrapbook pages. “I just realized right then that things weren’t going to get any better. As I lay there crying I thought, ‘I can either give up or get on with my life’ and that’s when I decided to go back to school and get my degree.”
Now Diane teaches a class full of seven-year-olds who are just the right height to look her in the eye. “The kids will do anything for her,” says Marie. “They just love her.”
Her students aren’t her only fans. Diane also gives fireside talks to teenagers who listen intently as she tells her story. And her message is one of hope and perseverance, without bitterness for what has happened.
Her personality hasn’t changed at all. Just listen to her speak and you’ll hear the exuberant, happy girl who used to charm arenas full of people. Now her charm is just aimed at another audience. Her voice seems to smile at every person in the room and her own laughter frequently interrupts her stories.
“I think telling my gymnastics stories and sharing my experiences opens up the communication between us. They soon forget that I’m in a wheelchair. When they do that, the youth can see that I’m just a regular person and we have a lot in common, even though, in a wheelchair, I look a lot different than they do,” Diane says.
Her main message is one for potential champions: don’t give up, no matter what happens. “When I was a young gymnast I met a girl, an athlete named Nancy Thies. Nancy was a member of the U.S. Olympic team and one of the finest gymnasts in the country. I have never forgotten some very important things that Nancy taught me. I remember the first thing she said was, ‘Don’t be afraid to lose.’ She said, ‘If you fall down and you stay down, you’re a quitter and a loser and you will never win. But if you get back up and you try one more time, it will be your turn to be the champion, so just don’t give up.’” Diane says she made a promise to herself that she would remember that advice and never give up, no matter how many times she fell.
Once she faced the hardest fall of her life, not giving up was difficult, especially because of her wheelchair. The entire time she was a gymnast, whether she was swinging high above the uneven parallel bars of just doing handstands for fun, her only fear was of being blind or paralyzed. “I had such uneasy feelings about wheelchairs that I would never talk to anybody in a wheelchair or go near a wheelchair. I would avoid people in wheelchairs. I was afraid that I’d end up in a wheelchair if I got too close to one. It was almost like having thought about it so much somehow prepared me for a wheelchair,” she says.
It was probably Diane’s unconquerable spirit that prepared her more than anything else. It’s a spirit that is evident in both her funny stories and her powerfully quiet testimony about the importance of an eternal perspective and God’s love for each of his children. It’s a spirit that Diane has always had. “I’ve never met anyone, except my father, who has a stronger testimony than she does,” says Marie. “There’s no doubt in her mind that what she’s doing is right and that the Church is true. She has always been a great example.”
The lights are turned down in the room as she finishes her message, and a slide show featuring Diane, the fun-lover and gymnast, lashes on the screen in time to some fast, contemporary music. When the presentation is over, young people surround her excitedly.
Diane says, “It makes me feel really good when people tell me they’re going to try harder after they’ve heard my talk. One girl came to me once and told me she’d heard me speak four different times. The first time, she decided not to commit suicide. The second time, she decided that she didn’t have to drop out of school. The third time, she made a goal to become one of the best students in her class, and the last time she was on her way to that goal.”
Diane just shrugs her shoulders and laughs a little when someone tells her she’s wonderful. She even looks a little embarrassed, which is rare for this experienced performer. “People always think, ‘You’re so amazing, you’re so incredible,’ but I’m not. People will say, ‘If that happened to me I could never handle the situation,’ and the thing I have to say is, ‘Either you handle the situation or you die.’ You have to take whatever life gives you and deal with it, even if you might not want to. You know, if somebody dies in your family, you have to live with it. If you break your neck you have to live with it, but you just learn and that’s what’s so great about time and the healing process. You don’t have to be miraculous.”
You just have to be as willing as Diane was to get up again, so that someday it will be your turn to be the champion. For Diane, the victory is especially sweet, because she has won back what she thought she’d lost.
She is a champion again.

One devotional that is of lasting memory to me was when I was a student at Brigham Young University in Provo. Ezra Taft Benson, then President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was speaking at the Marriott Center that day. I don't recall upon what topic he spoke, however, I do vividly remember the impression I felt that day; it was this, that no matter what transgressions we may have committed in the past, we could, from that moment on, resolve to choose the right and forsake sin each and every day of our lives. As a result of his talk, I was filled with much resolution and commitment. In fact, I thought I'd take President Benson's message one step further. I made a resolution that from that moment on, not only would I not sin anymore, I would not even make any mistakes! I was very serious about my commitment! So serious, in fact, that while concentrating on "no longer making any mistakes", I didn't realize that I had walked right into the women's restroom. I did not recognize the little lady figure on the door as a clue to where I was headed, nor did I recognize the pink paint on the wall. So intent was I on concentrating that I would never make a mistake again, that I had no intimation I was going into the women's restroom until standing face to face with a young co-ed who was brushing her beautiful, long hair in front of the mirror. All I can remember was getting out of the restroom as fast as I could. I will be forever grateful to that young co-ed for not screaming for campus security. I have rehearsed in my mind several times how shallow my excuse would have sounded to the security officer. "But officer, I was concentrating on never making a mistake, when I walked into the women's restroom and made a mistake." That resolution was obviously revised the very same day it was made.

When they moved to Palmyra, New York, in 1816, they had been tried in every possible way. Two of their 10 children had died. They had been impoverished by a national economic downturn and a dishonest business associate. Poor weather had caused crop failures three seasons in a row. Lucy came near death from the consumption that had killed her two sisters. A typhus epidemic attacked all of Joseph and Lucy’s children. Little Sophronia’s life was spared only after her parents poured out their hearts on their knees by her bedside with “grief and supplication.” And young Joseph, age seven or eight, suffered a bone marrow infection—a complication that required almost-crippling surgery. The family’s good reputation had also suffered along with their fortunes, and they were “warned out” of the Vermont village where they lived so that the town would not be required to provide assistance.

When asked which merit badges had given them the most trouble, both Chad and Craig said that beekeeping was the greatest challenge. It wasn’t so much doing the work as it was finding someone who was qualified to teach them and pass them on the badge requirements. After some searching and one unsuccessful attempt to get together with a beekeeper, they finally found a man who was teaching a class in beekeeping at Weber State College, and they were able to complete the merit badge requirements with his help. By the way, Chad and Craig are still beekeepers.

Mitzi stormed out of the family council, ran up the stairs two at a time, and threw herself on her bed. What’s the big deal, anyway? she wondered. So I let a little trash word slip out. Did I need to hear the five-dollar lecture? Well, it hadn’t really been a lecture. Her dad would probably call it a reminder; but it was the same old line. “Honey, in our family we don’t use those kinds of words.”
Right—and “in our family we don’t wear those kinds of clothes,” as if there’s something sinful about a tank top or a bare midriff. And “in our family we don’t watch that kind of TV program.” Oh, yes, and “in our family we don’t talk back to our parents.”
Well, she had talked back to her dad this time; but before he’d had a chance to answer, her four-year-old brother had piped in. “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”
That’s when Mitzi had yelled, “Shut up, you little smart aleck,” and run from the room. She could only imagine her mother saying, “In our family, we don’t say shut up.”
Why does our family have to be so old fashioned, anyway? Why can’t we ever do anything fun and exciting? Into Mitzi’s mind popped the memory of last summer’s vacation—a camping trip by Crystal Creek. They had hiked and fished and stayed up late around the campfire, laughing and telling stories.
Mitzi pushed those thoughts out of her mind. She wanted to stay angry for a while, to feel picked on and misunderstood and unloved. Even so, she remembered the family roller-skating together a couple of weeks ago. They had all laughed at Mom because she was so shaky at first, but she was soon zooming around with the rest of them.
Downstairs the home evening had progressed from the family council to the lesson to refreshments. Mitzi could smell popcorn, and she was pretty sure that Mother would be fixing caramel to pour over it.
Her anger had mostly melted away, and now she was trying to figure out a way to say she was sorry to her brother and parents. She went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her red eyes. Then she paused for a moment to whisper a prayer to ask Heavenly Father to forgive her and help her. She slipped quietly downstairs.
“It’s good to know,” she said to her father, “that in our family we forgive people who do stupid things.”
Dad reached out and pulled her into the world’s warmest hug.

As a young elder in the missionary training center, I thought I knew how to do missionary work until I had an experience that changed everything about my approach to sharing the gospel. It happened in a Sunday School class with hundreds of other missionaries.
During the class, the teacher focused our attention on a comment made by the Prophet Joseph Smith. He explained that in the area where Joseph Smith grew up, missionaries of other churches tried to convince people that their churches were true by reasoning from passages of the Bible. These efforts often became quite intense, leading young Joseph to describe them as a “war of words and tumult of opinions” (Joseph Smith—History 1:10).
Over time, Joseph recognized that this approach was ineffective and confusing, and he offered an insight that can influence the way we share the gospel. He said, “The teachers of religion of the different sects understood the same passages of scripture so differently as to destroy all confidence in settling the question [of which church was true] by an appeal to the Bible” (Joseph Smith—History 1:12).
This was a revolutionary idea to me. I had assumed that the most effective way to share the gospel was by teaching it primarily from the Bible—common ground with other Christians. What Joseph Smith discovered had never occurred to me: because the Bible can be interpreted so differently, it can be a source of contention and misunderstanding, sometimes leading to “Bible bashing.” As President Jeffrey R. Holland, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, explained, “The Bible, so frequently described at that time as ‘common ground,’ was nothing of the kind—unfortunately it was a battleground.”
So what should we rely on when sharing the gospel? Again, Joseph Smith identified the answer: “Unless I could get more wisdom than I then had, I would never know [which church was true]” (Joseph Smith—History 1:12; emphasis added). Joseph discovered that the only way to know which church was true was to get “more wisdom,” or, in other words, more revelation, truth, and inspiration from God. The revelation he received to answer his question is known today as the First Vision.
This is the simple realization that changed my life as a missionary. I knew what I should do. Instead of trying to prove the Church true by reasoning from the Bible, I would rely on latter-day revelation. Specifically, I would teach the First Vision because it is God’s answer to the question of which church is true. The Holy Ghost could then confirm that answer to each individual. As one former mission president counseled, I would take “the quickest and most direct route to the Sacred Grove.”

Jim and Helen Gebhard are from Grand Junction, a small town in western Colorado. Jim is an orthopedic surgeon and specializes in treating patients with spinal conditions.
Like the Tarrs, the Gebhards considered volunteering as area medical advisors and since they speak Spanish, they thought they could serve in a Spanish speaking country. However, they were also contacted about coming to American Samoa, where the hospital has not had anyone with a spinal specialty before. Upon arrival, Dr. Gebhard had a long list of patients to see.
“We have been able to help patients that have become paralyzed because their conditions were not recognized in time,” he says. “They will be helped even more when we get our surgery operations going here.”
Sister Gebhard has a master’s degree in child development and taught courses at the local community college in Grand Junction for parents with preschool children. She now teaches those same classes at the American Samoa Community College five days a week.
The Gebhards have already developed some very close relationships with patients. “We’ve even been invited to two weddings!”
Robert Keddington worked in emergency medicine in Utah and retired several years ago. In 2020 he got a call from a senior Church leader in Salt Lake City asking him if had ever thought about serving a medical mission.
“My wife, Sue, and I prayed sincerely to know if this was something we should do and got a lovely answer from our Father in Heaven that we should go.”
“I wasn’t too sure about getting back into practice after being away for so long,” Dr. Keddington says. “I was also concerned about seeing patients with conditions related to the tropics, something I had never seen in my practice in Utah. But before I left, my local church leader gave me a blessing and told me that I would be blessed with recall to help the people here. I found again and again that as I was examining a patient, I could recall something I learned in medical school more than 40 years ago that was just what this patient needed. Truly a blessing from the Lord.”
In July 2022, the Keddingtons completed two years of service in Pago Pago. They loved every minute of their time there.
Former Pacific Area President Vincent Haleck spoke at a farewell event for the Keddingtons. He remembered how difficult it used to be for patients in American Samoa to receive necessary medical attention. “I saw many islanders try to [go] to New Zealand to get treatment but so few were able to . . . I thought how wonderful it would be to have these medical treatments available right here at home in American Samoa.” With encouragement from President Russell M. Nelson, himself a physician, it was Elder Haleck who developed the programme that eventually brought the Keddingtons and other doctors to the Pacific.
In his final remarks, Dr. Keddington said, “I have seen the hand of the Lord in my service to the people here,” he says.
“It’s been a humbling, gratifying experience.”

As a mission president, that reliance was literally 24/7 for three years. It had to be. The telephone rang one morning, and I was told one of our marvelous senior missionaries, Elder Howard Jensen, was seriously ill in a Lexington hospital 75 minutes away. Elder Jensen was a sweet, good man and president of a small branch in southern Kentucky. He and Sister Jensen were a remarkable source of support and leadership to the saints there.

Things quickly went from bad to worse with Elder Jensen’s health. I got to the hospital, where he was receiving mechanical assistance breathing and with other vital functions. One of his sons was there with his parents, and I ran an errand to a nearby pharmacy. Elder Jensen’s prognosis looked grim. It was an agonizing time.

As I drove back into the hospital parking garage, I prayed fervently to know what to do. The impression came that Elder Jensen would not live, that I should offer Sister Jensen a blessing from her son and then bless Elder Jensen. The Lord would manifest His will through that blessing, and we all would know what needed to be done. That happened, and we released Elder Jensen to continue his faithful service on the other side of the veil, in accordance with the Lord’s will. As difficult as these events were, I think they would have been impossible without the constant guidance and support of the Spirit, which also provided great comfort in the aftermath. We received a powerful witness of Elder Jensen’s sublime status and preparation.

In thinking about developing charity in our lives, I want to relate an experience that I had many years ago.

When I was growing up, my dad was not a member of the Church, well he was technically a member, but he really was not a member. My mom was very active, and she was very faithful and tried her darndest to get us kids to go to church with her each Sunday. And as a kid, I went most of the time with my mom. However as a teenager, and particularly when I was a senior in high school, I did not attend church very much. Consequently, when I graduated from high school, my testimony wasn't very strong. And in fact, I actually had a little chip on my shoulder about the Church.

Well after graduation, I started working construction on a project in the Uinta Mountains in Utah. On my first day of work, I rode up to the job site with a guy named Lynn Jarrett. Well the job site was about an hour away, so Lynn and I had lots of time to talk in the car. As we were talking, I learned that Lynn had just returned from a mission. And I could tell, Lynn was excited about it, I could tell he loved his mission and wanted to talk about it. And I remember sitting there and thinking, oh no here it comes, here is this young returned missionary, full of the gospel. I could tell he was ready to get all fired up and start preaching the gospel and call little old Eric Karl to repentance. I could see it coming. And I thought, man, I have an hour's drive with this guy today.

But an amazing thing happened. Lynn changed the subject of our conversation. He did not preach to me. He did not tell me what I should do or not do. He changed the conversation and we just had a very nice talk the rest of the ride to the job site.

Over the course of that summer, and over the course of the next summer, Lynn and I worked very closely together. And during that time, I started to trust Lynn. Lynn didn't try to preach to me, he didn't call me to repentance. He became my friend. And after he became my friend, I started asking him about the gospel. And when I asked, he didn't shy away, he taught me. He taught me by word and by example what the gospel is really about. And between him and two other people who came into my life around this time, and by the way, one of those two is sitting right there (she is the pretty one), I slowly started gaining a testimony. I started understanding why I came to this earth, and what my purpose is here.

But the funny thing brothers and sisters, and this is the point I would like to make, is that my conversion was really dependent on a friendship. Lynn exhibited a true spirit of charity of me. With the rebellious attitude I had at the time, if Lynn would have done what was in his nature, if he would have started preaching to me and thumping the bible, I would have shut him out. I would not have trusted him, and I am pretty darn sure I would not be standing here today. Lynn Jarrett befriended someone who needed a good friend. And for that I will be eternally grateful to him.

To understand the implied responsibility each of you have as recipients of this investment, I want to share with you a story of someone who didn't start with as much opportunity or life resources as many of today's BYU-Idaho students. Heber J. Grant was raised by a single mother. He grew up in poverty, in a home where his mother was forced to take in boarders to help provide for the family. And yet, despite these challenges, Heber J. Grant would go on to do remarkable things and later be called as an Apostle and eventually as the President of the Church. But despite his initial liability of growing up in poverty and without a father, Heber J. Grant did have one distinct advantage in his life.

After his father was buried, his bishop, Edwin D. Woolley, gave him a name and a blessing. In that blessing, Bishop Woolley saw by revelation that the infant boy would one day become an Apostle of the Church.[5] As President Henry B. Eyring later described, "People then and since have called Heber J. Grant a 'child of promise.' He was. But his departed father didn't make the promises to the child, [nor did Bishop Woolley]. His Heavenly Father did."[6]

About 2 years ago Elder Bednar came home with what he thought was a great proposal. Brother Ed Williams had invited us to accompany him, other colleagues, and students involved in the Natural Science Field Expedition program on a hike to the Teton Glacier.
I wasn’t too keen on the idea at first. Do I look like an expert hiker to you? After checking with several people about the skills required and the physical rigors involved, I reluctantly told my husband I would go with him.
Now that I’ve had time to ponder this difficult yet wonderful experience, I have discovered that many aspects of this hike are analogous to your situation here at BYU–Idaho. Let me explain.
The evening before this most excellent adventure began, President and I drove over to Jackson Hole. The sun was setting, and as I gazed up at the Tetons from the road to Jenny Lake, my heart started to pound as I realized where that glacier was. It was so far up there on the mountainside that I questioned my ability to ever complete the hike. What on earth was I thinking when I agreed to do this?
Well, I didn’t sleep very well that night. Tossing and turning in the motel bed, I could just envision myself nauseous from the altitude, with a twisted ankle, abandoned by the side of the trail, only to be devoured by a hungry grizzly bear.
My 12-hour hike began on a well marked, gently sloped, and easy-to-follow trail that gradually turned into a game trail which zigzagged across the mountain. As the incline became steeper, Brother Williams picked up an old tree branch and gave it to me to use as a walking stick. His helpful suggestion that I stay right behind him and place my steps where he placed his enabled me to keep the pace.
After each rest break, Brother Williams boosted our confidence by saying enthusiastically, “I want you to know we have just finished the hardest part of the hike,” even though we hadn’t. Impressive students continually increased morale by encouraging and assisting one another.
Though my hike was strenuous and exhausting, along the way we stopped to admire the beautiful, blue-green water of glacial-fed Delta Lake, nestled down in the bottom of a deep ravine. We slowed down at times to study the formation and composition of huge boulders that dotted the mountainside. We learned about alpine plants and animal habitats and about the power of glacial ice to carve and create canyon crevices and valley floors. We observed a miniature, rabbit-like pika preparing a pile of greens for winter food storage. I marveled how this determined little creature built this gargantuan haystack grass blade by grass blade.
Above the tree line, my hike became more strenuous and difficult to navigate. The power and force of the glacial ice inching its way down the mountainside had produced a huge moraine in front of it. This ridge of debris and angular rocks stacked on top of one another created a steep and unstable face on which we had to climb to reach the glacier. Members of our group were staggered across the moraine to prevent dislodging a large boulder or rock that could fall and injure a hiker below.
Just so you know, with a few pushes and pulls from my husband, I finally made it to the top of the moraine and the impressive edge of the Teton Glacier. President Bednar and I stood there, surrounded by the stunning and majestic view of the pinnacles of the Grand Tetons. They were so close you could almost reach out and touch them. The joyful feelings I experienced are somewhat indescribable. I perceived that I was standing on holy ground, and I sensed the profound love of our Father in Heaven. I knew I had received assistance from others and strength beyond my own to be standing on the glacier I had seen the night before from the road.

A few years ago I was doing some scholarly research on the role of reflection in the learning process. I made the connection that the world advises us to reflect while the parallel word in gospel language is remember. My research helped me recognize that too often I took the sacrament on Sunday, left church, and then for days did not think about the covenant I had renewed to "eat in remembrance of the body" of my Savior and "always remember him and keep his commandments."[6]
While reading 3 Nephi 18:7 I recognized my need to improve: "And this shall ye do in remembrance of my body, which I have shown unto you. And it shall be a testimony unto the Father that ye do always remember me. And if ye do always remember me ye shall have my Spirit to be with you." I wanted to have his Spirit with me, but recognized that I struggled to always remember him. In order to love the Lord with all my heart, mind, and soul, I searched for an answer to the question, "What can I do to remember the Savior's body, and the covenants I renew by partaking of the sacrament, throughout the week?"
As I reflected on how I could better remember my Savior, and the sacrifice and suffering of his body for the Atonement, one day I watched my granddaughter learning to say the parts of the body in both Spanish and English. Elena loved to sing "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes,""Cabeza, hombros, rodillas, y dedos," pointing to each body part. As I listened to her song, images of the Savior flooded my heart and helped me recall his body, his life, and his love for me.

It was 1935, and in the middle of the Great Depression. Many men were out of work, so we were lucky that Dad had a job that summer as a miner in the Oro Del Rey Mine. All of us children got to live in a tent in Goshute Canyon. We played in the creek, and we even had a pet horned owl.
But one afternoon, I noticed that my parents looked worried.
“What are we going to do?” Mama asked Dad.
Dad’s shoulders hunched. His face was dusty with dirt from the mine. “I don’t know,” he said. “They’ll pay me eventually. Just not now.”
“Well, we need money,” Mama said. “The children need to eat.”
They were silent. What would we do if Dad didn’t get paid? My sister Carol came over by me. She looked scared, so I squeezed her hand.
Finally, Dad said, “I think we need a family prayer.”
Our whole family knelt in the dirt. Dad said the prayer. He asked Heavenly Father to help us know what we could do.
Afterward, I started walking toward the old wood stove where Mama had put the doughnuts she’d been frying. She made the best doughnuts, all golden brown with flecks of sugar. I was just reaching for one when—
“Stop!” Mama yelled.
I stared at her.
“We can sell them!” she said. “Don’t you think my doughnuts are good enough that people would buy them?”
I nodded. “Of course they are!”
“You kids can take them door to door when you go into town before Primary on Wednesday afternoon,” Mama said.
So that’s what we did. We sold a dozen doughnuts for a dime. We did it week after week.
Then one awful day Mama said, “We’re out of yeast, and I don’t have a penny to buy more.” She sat down and put her head in her hands.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Shh,” she whispered. “I’m praying.”
I folded my arms and closed my eyes too.
A few minutes later, Dad pulled up in our old car. He’d been down in the valley getting the mail. He handed a fat envelope to Mama. “What do you think is in that?”
Mama opened it and gave a little gasp. With shining eyes she pulled out a sample packet of yeast!
“But, Mama,” I asked, “when the baking company sent out that sample, you hadn’t even prayed yet.”
“True,” Mama said. “But in Isaiah the Lord says, ‘Before they call, I will answer.’”

Donovan aimed his slingshot at the empty soup can on the stump.
He stretched back the slingshot’s rubber tubing.
“What are you doing?” his little sister, Dana, asked.
“Watch this!” he said.
Thwack!
The rubber snapped back into place as Donovan let go, sending the small rock flying. Some leaves in a nearby tree rustled. But the tin can didn’t move. Donovan stuffed the slingshot into his back pocket. He had missed. Again!
Dana tilted her head to the side. “What am I supposed to see?”
“Nothing,” Donovan said. “Come on. Let’s go home.” They started heading back to the house.
Donovan kicked a stick out of his way. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to use Dad’s slingshot right. And he loved that thing! He always liked using it when Dad was out of town working, like now. It helped him feel close to Dad when he couldn’t see him.
He pulled the slingshot from his pocket and spun it slowly in his hand. The rough bark had become smooth a long time ago. Dad had made the slingshot out of a strong tree branch and used it for years before giving it to Donovan.
Dad had pointed at the soup can that day. “When you focus, amazing things can happen.” Donovan still remembered what happened next. Dad had aimed the slingshot and hit the soup can. In one try! He made it look easy. Donovan really missed him.
He was still thinking about Dad when he fell asleep that night.
The next morning, Donovan carried his slingshot to his favorite patch of trees to try again.
“Focus …” Donovan said as he stared at the can on the stump. He placed another small stone in the slingshot and pulled back.
Dad keeps trying, even when things don’t always work out, Donovan thought.
Donovan tried to stop thinking about all the times he had missed before. He closed one eye, the way Dad taught him. He really focused. Donovan didn’t look at anything else but the red soup can.
Taking a deep breath, he let go.
Thwack!
CLUNK!
Donovan blinked in surprise as the can sailed off the stump. “I did it!” he said. “Yes!”
Later that night, Donovan sat next to Mom after dinner. He held up the slingshot.
“I finally hit the can today,” he said, grinning.
“Well done!” Mom said.
“You know, I think this slingshot is my favorite thing in the whole world,” Donovan said.
“Oh?” Mom asked.
“Yup. Because it helps me think about Dad and feel close to him.”
Mom smiled. “I think he’ll be happy to know you feel that way. And guess what? Dad will be home in only three days. You can show him your new skills.”
Donovan could hardly wait! “That gives me an idea,” he said.
He ran to find Dana. He could teach her to use the slingshot the same way Dad had taught him!
“Hey, Dana,” he said. “Wanna learn how to use the best slingshot in Jamaica?”
What special things help you feel close to someone in your family?

This is a very scary time we’re in right now. Schools are shut down, Church meetings are suspended, and temples are closed. Getting used to this new routine of being in quarantine has been difficult. The load of homework I had seemed unmanageable at first. I’ve been scared about the safety of my extended family members, especially my grandparents. But I’ve had to remember that living on this earth means that we will go through hard things.
After being in quarantine a while, I’ve been able to see some good aspects, like getting to sleep in and make my own schedule. One thing that’s helped me stay positive during quarantine is doing things with my family, even though at first it was hard being with each other all the time and we sometimes had small fights. But now it’s great being all together. My 12-year-old sister and I have tried some cool new recipes and baked lots of cakes and cupcakes together during the last couple of weeks.

One day my cousin Jeff came over to play. We played under the back porch. Jeff had a little dump truck and I had a windup tractor. Mom gave us an empty cereal box and we made houses and roads.
I wanted to make another road. Jeff was using the shovel, so I took Woody out of my pocket and started to dig. Woody dug nice roads. I kept making the road longer and longer until I hit a rock and then SNAP! I picked up the piece that had broken off and tried to fix Woody, but it was no use. I felt like crying, but Jeff was there.
“It’s just a dumb stick,” Jeff said.
I put Woody’s broken pieces under the porch steps and kept on playing. When Jeff went home, I crawled under the porch and got the pieces.
“I’m sorry, Woody,” I whispered.
He didn’t say anything. I put him in the cereal box and carried him down to where we planted the flower and made a hole. Then I put Woody in the hole and covered him up.
He was a good stick and I miss him a lot.

Years later I thought of that moment again. My wife and I were being taught by the missionaries. The missionaries asked me, “Do you believe that you can become like God?” I had never thought about it. But I thought, If Heavenly Father is actually my Father, He would want the best for me, like my dad did. He would want me to be able to become like Him. So I said to the missionaries, “Yes, I believe I can be like my Heavenly Father.”
The moment I answered, I knew what I said was true.

As a sophomore at BYU in Provo I took a geology class. A large part of this class concerned itself with the scientific explanation of this earth’s history, including the theory of evolution. On the first day of class the teacher went to the blackboard and took us through the Creation as outlined in our ancient and modern scriptures, making a chronological list of events. He spent the whole hour speaking of the Savior and His creations. He bore a powerful testimony about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, including our modern scriptures, with special emphasis on the Pearl of Great Price.
I am indebted to this great teacher for expanding my vision about the Creation as recorded in the 4th chapter of Abraham. For example, in the 18th verse we read:
“And the Gods watched those things which they had ordered until they obeyed.”
You may wish to read and ponder the whole chapter.
On the second day of class the teacher had covered up the blackboard of the previous day and wrote the chronology of the earth’s history according to science, including all the various periods. He then pulled the board back and displayed the previous day’s teachings beside those of the second day and proceeded to show where there were similarities and differences. He concluded by telling us that we had not signed up for a religion class but for a science class, and science is what we would be taught. However, throughout the semester he never shied away from sharing his testimony.
I am indebted to that teacher for showing me that science and religion are not really at odds. Scientific knowledge is incomplete, and the same could be said about the details of the Lord’s method of creation. Once all the facts are in, there will be no discrepancies. Since receiving that perspective 50 years ago, I have marveled at science and not felt threatened by it.

Uncle Chadwick turned from the window and sat down behind his desk. He propped his feet up and looked at us a long moment, his deep-set eyes shining with warm concern and quiet, tender affection. “It’s supposed to be a true story I don’t think you’ve ever heard before. It’s about one of the Prophet Joseph Smith’s sons, Joseph III. It happened in Nauvoo, in the early 1840s before the Prophet’s martyrdom at Carthage Jail in 1844.
“Joseph and some of the Brethren, including John Taylor and other apostles, were having a meeting at the Prophet’s home. A man by the name of Loren Walker—a member of the Church who lodged with the Prophet and his family for a time and who became a close and trusted friend—had on that occasion cleaned Joseph’s firearms and some of his clothes. He put the clothes into the wardrobe but, rather than disturb the Prophet during the meeting, put Joseph’s guns on the bed, thinking that Joseph would put them where they belonged later on.
“Now I want you children to know that the only reason the Prophet Joseph carried a gun was that the persecution he endured was sometimes so intense that he was forced to arm himself for his own safety.
“Anyway,” Uncle Chadwick continued, “the Prophet’s son Joseph went into that room to take a nap. The sound of the voices in the adjoining room kept him awake, and he found himself attracted to the pistols. Seeing that he was unobserved because of the bed’s canopy, young Joseph picked up one of the pistols. Now, he didn’t think for a minute that it was loaded or that he could possibly fire it, but the thought playfully passed through his mind that if it was loaded and he did fire it, he was sure he could hit a certain spot on the canopy.”
Suddenly Uncle Chadwick banged the flat of his hand on his desk, and we all jumped. “BANG! went the pistol,” he yelled.
“Well,” he went on, “the sound of the discharge alarmed the Prophet and the others who were holding council. Thinking the gunshot had come from outside the house and that someone was coming to attack the Prophet, they all dashed outside to look around. When they didn’t see anyone, they were puzzled. Then Brother Walker suddenly remembered where he’d left the pistols. Fearing the worst, they ran back into the house and into the bedroom.”
Uncle Chadwick pulled out a rumpled handkerchief, blew his nose, then stuffed the cloth carefully back into his back pocket. He took off his spectacles and held them up to the light as if to examine an imaginary smudge, all the while listening to the bench creak as we fidgeted. Finally, when he was sure we had fretted long enough about the worst that could have happened to young Joseph, he propped his eyeglasses back on his nose, gave us a sideways look, and continued: “Well, there lay young Joseph, as white as a just-scrubbed sheet. The pistol was at his side, and smoke was filling the canopy. He was unharmed, except that when the pistol had recoiled, it had fallen from his hand and struck him soundly on the head.
“At first there was some thought on the Prophet Joseph’s part to scold both Brother Walker, for having left the weapons there, and his son Joseph, for having played with them. But after the scare was over, there was general laughter—at the boy’s expense. The dust from the canopy, the damaged ceiling plaster that covered young Joseph, and the fast-swelling bump on his head were about all the ‘fun’ he had from the incident. However, it was a good lesson for everyone, and after that, firearms were carefully kept away from children.”