Gospel Story Finder

Brigham Anderson, a 52-year-old Whanganui resident, is debuting his first art exhibition that combines traditional M?ori tukutuku (geometric paneling art) with values from “The Family: A Proclamation to the World”.
Anderson’s exhibition titled “Ng? tukutuku o te k?inga,” (The home of tukutuku) opened at the Space Gallery in Whanganui on 1 December ran through 18 December.
Anderson’s art is what he considers faith based. He quoted President Brigham Young (1801–1877), who taught the principle that truth can be found everywhere, including in art and culture. He said the family values and truth that are found in M?ori culture are similar to those found in the gospel, and so representing both in his art is important to him.
“There are lots of similarities in all people and religions, we have more in common then we have in differences, and I hope my pieces can bridge some of those gaps,” Anderson said. He hopes his paintings can be a reminder to live the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Although not a full-time artist, Anderson started focusing more time on his art during the pandemic which led him to create story-telling tukutuku paintings that symbolize principles and values from “The Family: A Proclamation to the World.”
When people see these paintings, Anderson hopes it leads the viewer to reflect on where they are in life and what improvements they can make in regard to their own family relationships and faith.
In nine of the tukutuku panels in the exhibition, he specifically highlighted these principles for families: faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work and having fun together.
Hours of research and planning went into designing, crafting and picking symbols he used in each painting to portray its story. The colours, shapes, lines, and M?ori words he used to represent each principle all have special reasoning behind why he chose them.
In the faith panel painting, he included the word “rongo” at the bottom, which describes four of the five senses, excluding sight. With the increased influence of social media, Anderson said many rely too heavily on seeing to believe, but that isn’t how faith works. He used “rongo” to capture and symbolize the idea of not needing to see, to still exercise faith. “The word rongo also can mean peace, especially after a challenging time in our lives. The gospel of Jesus Christ brings that peace,” he said.
The panel titled “Inoi,” portrays the principle of prayer. He used the colour blue to depict Heavenly Father because “it is a peaceful colour.” The words Anderson painted mean to call out to Heavenly Father and the shapes were meant to represent someone praying and God bestowing blessings upon them. Anderson said this painting symbolizes how the further a person seeks light, the more God will give them because “everything Heavenly Father does is for our benefit.”
Anderson based the forgiveness “Muru” panel on a talk by President James E. Faust (1920 –2007). In the talk, Faust told a tragic story about a group of Amish people who forgave and served the family of someone who had killed multiple Amish children. Anderson said that story of forgiveness inspired him to create shapes that look like the white foam on top of rapids to parallel the importance of forgiving and moving on.
“If you don’t forgive, you can get caught up in the rapids, and can drown, but as you forgive, you move into more peaceful, calm water,” he said.
The colours, shapes and lines in his art are so exact, that many at first perceive his art to be digitally made and printed. But every piece of the exhibition he painted with acrylic paint. He said the precision of the paintings comes from his culture where they originally weaved tukutuku panels out of flax. If one part wasn’t done correctly, they would cut the flax off and start over completely.

Sarah Henrie, a Laurel from Glenwood, Alberta, Canada, loves puppies. And she should. Breeding miniature schnauzers has proven to be a good source of income for this young entrepreneur.
“When I was ten years old, my parents got me a dog to raise as a job so that I could do reports on it for my home-study schooling. Then we had a litter of puppies, and I’ve been doing this ever since,” says Sarah.
The puppies have given her valuable experience in learning how to run a business efficiently. She also has realized the value of paying tithing on her income.
“I made a Young Women goal to learn how to clip the dogs myself,” says Sarah. “I took a course at the university, and now I can do it on my own. It saves a lot of money.”
But as Sarah’s business has taken off, she’s learned another, more important lesson about her family. Since her business has grown, Sarah has relied on the help of her younger Primary-age sisters, Kate, Leah, Jennifer, and Amy, to keep things running smoothly. She says that if it weren’t for them, she couldn’t run her business. She also says life wouldn’t be much fun without them.
“I have to be a very good example,” she says. “It’s important for me to choose the right.”

Elder Aaron T. Hall remembers when he and his wife, Kimberly, were set apart as mission leaders over the Texas Houston South Mission. They told Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles that their feelings ranged from overwhelmed to excited. Elder Bednar expressed the need to be grateful.
“What he taught us that day has never left my thoughts relating to any calling we receive, which is, ‘We are just simply grateful,’” he said. “You wonder how in the world the Lord would have ever chosen you, but we witness that He does. And because we are willing and available, He will make us capable.”

Some years ago when I was in Mexico City, checking on some Church buildings as part of my assignment with the Church Building Department, one of the missionaries there asked, “Would you like to see the ruins of a previous civilization that are close by?” We gladly accepted the invitation. As we were returning along the highway, we saw a family working together making rope for sale. Having been in the livestock business, I was interested in their product. This family made rope from cactus fibers. They stripped the fibers from a species of long-spear cactus prevalent in Mexico and braided them into excellent rope. All of the family members were working, and I was concerned as I saw two young people who were of elementary school age. Through an interpreter, I asked these children, “Do you go to school?” They replied, “No, sir.” I said, “Why not?” They answered, “We don’t have the chance. There are no schools.” Then I asked them, “Would you like to go to school if you had the opportunity?” They replied, “Oh yes, sir.” They were sincere young people. Many people do not have the privilege of obtaining an education.
In contrast to this, what do we do with the opportunities we have? I do not know whether or not you have ever stopped to consider this, but James Russell Lowell calls this thought to our attention:
“Have you ever rightly considered what the mere ability to read means? That it is the key which admits us to the whole world of thought and fancy and imagination? To the company of saint and sage, of the wisest and the wittiest at their wisest and wittiest moments? That it enables us to see with the keenest eyes, hear with the finest ears, and listen to the sweetest voices of all time?”

A desire to follow a prophet’s counsel of “fixing up and painting our property” helped a teacher in the Ontario Third Ward, Nyssa Oregon Stake, become the first Mormon ever elected student-body president at Ontario Junior High School. “President Kimball said we should paint and clean up and take more pride in our homes,” explained Phil Bartle, “and I thought the same thing would apply to our schools, so I used that as one issue in my election campaign.” Following his victory, Phil organized a group of students who cleaned and painted the junior high school bleachers, backstops, poles, entryways, and garbage cans. In addition, they erected “Spirit” and “Pride” signs on the grounds. Their efforts appeared to pay off in more than one way as the football team went undefeated for the first time ever last fall.

One Saturday my wife and I realized that we did not have enough money to take public transportation to church the next day, and there was no way to make a cash withdrawal. Our tithing was in a donation envelope ready to be given to the bishop. We began to talk about how we would travel to church. If we used the tithing money to pay for transportation, we felt that the Lord would understand; however, we decided that it was not right.
The other possibility was to not go to church, and again we thought that the Lord would understand since we had never missed before. However, if that happened, we would not be able to take our tithing to the bishop, so that possibility was also ruled out.
Trying to be faithful, we decided to leave earlier than usual and walk to church. We left on that beautiful Sabbath day for the chapel, which was about three miles (4.8 km) from our home. For our four children (the oldest was six), it was like a party, and they enjoyed running and playing along the way.
When we reached a certain point on a wide and dangerous street, I heard the Spirit tell me, “You should cross now.” I told my wife, and she responded that it was dangerous because that part of the street began to curve, blocking our view of oncoming cars. I responded that I felt we should cross there, so we quickly crossed, my wife and I each taking two children. Just as we stepped onto the sidewalk, a car stopped on that side, and the driver asked, “Are you going to church?”
The driver was a brother who did not belong to our ward, but I had met him before because I had visited his ward. We responded affirmatively, and he offered to drive us there. As we got in the car, the brother explained that he never took this route and he was only passing that way because his business partner had lost the keys to the office and he was taking his keys to his partner.
I thought to myself that this hadn’t happened by chance. The Lord knew we needed transportation to go to church. Our tithing was in my pocket, and it provided us the opportunity to teach our children about the blessings that come from paying tithing. We arrived at the chapel earlier than ever but happy and grateful. We participated in all the meetings and did not tell anybody about what had happened.
Summers in São Paulo are very hot, especially at midday, when our Church meetings ended. We were preparing to return when someone came up and asked us, “Do you have someone to take you back?” We responded that we didn’t, and he said to us, “Do you want me to take you?” We accepted his offer, and my wife and I looked at each other with emotional smiles.
More than once the Lord had given us a great blessing for our obedience.

A few weeks before the North Vietnamese came, the full-time missionaries left, taking with them my translation of the Book of Mormon which was printed in Salt Lake City, and my work on the Doctrine and Covenants and the Pearl of Great Price. Both of these latter translations served as a major source for the final printed versions. But it was to be many years before I had the opportunity to see them. I was asked to move into the chapel to take care of it, but a week later, I received a call from the American embassy giving instructions on when and where the Vietnamese members could leave the country. I was given the privilege of being the first to board the airplane taking us to freedom. I felt humble and grateful, but my heart was confused. Most Vietnamese are attached to their motherland. The idea of leaving home forever hurt so much that many could not think of leaving. My Heavenly Father had given me great blessings in that land, so I felt loyal to it and decided to stay.
When the North Vietnamese took over Saigon, they imprisoned all South Viet Nam’s government officials and military, including Brother The, the president of our branch, and all my brothers, a son, and a son-in-law. At the end of 1975, they confiscated my property. They also wanted to put me in jail because of my past contact with Americans.
And so I tried to escape from Viet Nam. I went to an island, Phu-Quoc, close to Cambodia. I took all my scriptures, translations, and books and buried them in the beach; then I bought a boat preparing to escape. But I was not successful. The police put me in prison for three days, but because I was an old woman, they let me go. I was not able to go back to get the books and translations. They remain there to this day.
For five years I stayed close to the coast and used all my resources and strength trying to escape. I used a different name each time I tried because people would recognize my last name. I tried many different disguises—a merchant, a nun, a peddler.
One attempt I remember well. About eighty men, women, and children escaped in a small boat. Within two days, we reached international waters, but the boat’s engine failed. We drifted for fifteen days. We ran out of food and drinking water and just lay motionless on the boat’s deck awaiting death.
Finally we heard the noise of a ship’s engine. We waved for help. It was a ship from Europe. After giving us food and water, they towed our boat back to Vung-Tau harbor and the North Vietnamese. We wept openly. Many men, unable to accept such a fate, jumped into the sea and sank beneath the waves. The police imprisoned us. Luckily, I spent only a few months in jail.
On my last attempt in 1981, I was with about twenty people, waiting at the Vung-Tau beach at night for a boat. The security guards saw us and gave chase. Two women and I began to climb a hill fearfully. After about an hour, we came to a small deserted enclosure and remained there until morning.
When the sun rose, we could see we were in a cave that had been converted into a shelter complete with doors that were still in good condition. The floor was concrete, and the cave contained some used cooking utensils and pieces of broken furniture. We felt hungry, so we went out to search for food. To our surprise, we found that we were in a large, deserted orchard with trees filled with mangoes, apples, and other fruits. It was a still, quiet place, with a small pagoda nearby.
In the evening, the two women prepared to leave, but I was so weary from the fears of the past years and so despairing that I didn’t want to move anymore. I chose to stay.
The first night alone, I became afraid of my lonely, deserted situation. I left the cave and knelt down on a rock to pray. Through my tears and my loneliness, I asked Father in Heaven to give me the courage and strength to survive this ordeal. A peace and calm came upon me, and I knew that I could remain there.
This is my testimony of prayer. Whenever I have been upset or have struggled with particular challenges, I have prayed. Heavenly Father always hears and answers my prayers. He always listens to his children.
My life as a hermit began. Shaving my head, I disguised myself as an old, poor Buddhist nun. Occasionally, I went to the market down the hill to exchange ripened fruit for things I needed. I learned that the cave was called the Tiger Den—because a tiger used to live there before the villagers drove it out and made the cave into a shelter.
Each day at sunset, I sat on a rock looking out over the Pacific Ocean. I often imagined that on the other side of the water was our Heavenly Father’s temple, near which many of my brothers and sisters were living in happiness. I couldn’t help but weep, remembering the wonderful times I had had with my fellow Saints in the Saigon chapel.
Four years passed by slowly. I pondered and prayed. I wrote songs, poems, and books and tended a garden. No one knew who I was. Two of my children were still in Viet Nam, and I was able to send them letters. But I could not receive any—I didn’t have an address. Besides, I could not visit or receive visits from anyone because I felt I would bring trouble to them.
One morning, after working very hard in the garden, I felt unusually tired and decided to go to the hospital. In the office, I put my identification card on the desk; it was the only document I had with my real name on it. A woman close by saw it and asked, “Are you Mrs. Cong Ton Nu Tuong-Vy?”
I backed away and said, “Why do you ask?” She gestured for me to follow her to where she had her bag. From it she took out a letter, removed one page and allowed me to read this paragraph: “My dear Sister Thuy, you should try to find Mrs. Cong Ton Nu Tuong-Vy, who we think is living somewhere near the Vung-Tau seashore. The Church of Jesus Christ at Salt Lake City wants to contact her. Signed Quoc-Phong.”
When I saw the name of the Church, I burst into tears. Through my new-found friend, I was able to contact the remaining members in Saigon. It was 1985, ten years since I had lost contact with the Church.
Christmas that year was a memorable one. I took the bus to Saigon, where the members met together for the first time in ten years in Viet Nam. The meeting was in a park. There were nearly one hundred people there. We had ice cream and cake. Later, at our table, brethren holding the priesthood broke bread and poured water into small glasses for the sacrament. We bowed our heads and prayed silently. Our joy was full.
From that day forth, our small branch awakened as if from a deep sleep. A presiding elder was chosen to lead us. We were able to communicate sometimes with the Church and other members through VASAA (Veterans Assisting Saints Abroad Association). I was finally given permission to leave Viet Nam. VASAA had helped to arrange with the Canadian and Vietnamese governments for my exit visa. My oldest son living in Toronto, Ontario, sponsored me.
Less than a year later, in March and April 1988, I was finally able to visit Salt Lake City for ten days and attend general conference. I met many friends, missionaries, and General Authorities. The first time I saw Temple Square I could not help but weep for my blessings. In the Tiger’s Den, it had been my greatest wish to see the temple. At last, I was able to receive my endowment in the Lord’s House.
Although I am now in the United States, the memory of my experiences in Viet Nam stays with me. I pray that our Lord will bless all my brothers and sisters who remain in Viet Nam. I know by personal experience that nothing can destroy the gospel our Heavenly Father has given us.

Some Relief Society sisters recently prayed together as they prepared to visit for the first time a young widow whose husband died suddenly. They wanted to know what to do and how to work together to help prepare the home for family and friends who would come at the time of the funeral. They needed to know what words of comfort they could speak for the Lord. An answer to their prayer came. When they arrived at the house, each sister moved to complete a task. The house was ready so quickly that some sisters regretted not being able to do more. Words of comfort were spoken which fit perfectly together. They had given the Lord’s service as one, hearts knit together.

Other girls had normal little brothers who were cute, happy, and all-around great. I had Mark.
Somehow Mark seemed to be the most obnoxious little brother in the world. Whenever I cleaned a room in the house, he would mess it up in no time. At the times when I was in a terrible mood, he would bother me until I sent him crying to Mother. Soon afterwards I’d get in trouble.
“Why can’t he leave me alone?” I would often pout in the solitude of my room. “Why can’t he be normal?”
One day I stomped into my room after a trying day at school. Nothing had gone right at all. Somebody knocked at the door. From the corner of my eye I saw Mark’s small frame.
“I have something to show you,” he said in a nervous voice.
I ignored him, hoping that I wouldn’t have to contend with him right then.
“I have something to show you,” he repeated. He shifted uneasily from side to side and awaited my answer.
“Okay,” I grumbled with my back to him. He stepped into the room and began talking to me. He was very uncomfortable as he stammered through a short remark.
“In my homeroom class we were assigned to write an essay on somebody in our family, and …” He paused. Then with renewed determination, he blurted, “Read this.” He dropped a piece of folded paper on the floor next to me, then hurried out of the room.
Curiously, I unfolded the paper and prepared myself to proofread it for him. “My sister Kristi is my favorite sister. I like her because she is nice.” A wave of guilt swept over me. I read on. “She drove me to piano lessons. After we had our lesson, she would drive us to 7-11. We took turns treating each other to Slurpees.” I had no idea he enjoyed that so much. What a cute little brother!
I read about some of my accomplishments that he had admired. The essay finished with, “I’m glad Kristi is my sister. She is about the best there can be. Well, I think so.”
I thought of the many times that I had turned him away when he tried to cheer me up. I was so selfish. I read John 13:34: “A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another.” I now had a new attitude towards Mark. He was the cutest little brother in the world. I realized how much he meant to me and how much I loved him.
I pulled out a piece of paper and picked up my pen. “Dear Mark, Thank you for letting me read the essay that you wrote. I really love you a lot. I know that I can be mean at times. Please forgive me. …” I continued to tell him how much I appreciated him. I folded the paper and delivered it to him. He looked embarrassed as he took the paper from my hand.
Since then, I have enjoyed my little brother’s company. Whenever I talk about my brother to my friends, I always begin with, “I have the cutest little brother in the world!”

Many years ago I walked at dawn through the narrow cobblestone streets of Cusco, Peru, high in the Andes Mountains. I saw a man from a local indigenous group walking down one of the streets. He was not a big man physically, but he carried an immense load of firewood in a huge burlap sack on his back. The sack seemed to be as big as he was. The load must have weighed as much as he did. He steadied it with a rope that looped under the bottom of the sack and circled up around his forehead. He gripped the rope tightly on both sides of his head. He kept a rag on his forehead underneath the rope to keep it from cutting into his skin. He leaned forward under his burden and walked with deliberate, difficult steps.
The man was carrying the firewood to the marketplace, where it would be sold. In an average day he might make just two or three round-trips across the town to deliver similarly awkward, heavy loads.
The memory of him bent forward, struggling down the street has become increasingly meaningful for me with the passage of years. How long could he continue to carry such burdens?
I remember that man in Peru, hunched over and struggling to carry that enormous sack of firewood on his back. For me, he is an image of us all as we struggle with the burdens of life. I know that as we keep the commandments of God and our covenants, He helps us with our burdens. He strengthens us. When we repent, He forgives us and blesses us with peace of conscience and joy. May we then submit cheerfully and with patience to all the will of the Lord, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The idea originated when Stake President Paul Reid asked his 21-year-old daughter, Carly, if there was anything she could do to contribute to temple work in their stake. Carly had noticed that many parents were unable to attend the temple together because one or the other had to stay home with their children. Completing the 160-mile round trip to the temple meant families were separated for the entire day. She also noticed that children left with sitters all day sometimes had a negative attitude about their parents attending the temple.

Using her training as an early childhood educator, Carly developed a child-care program to cater to these families. Now, with the help of the stake youth, temple day is a family day. The children of the stake are taken care of at a chapel near the temple while their parents attend the temple. Families can travel to the temple together, and the children only have to wait three hours for their parents.

When I was a teenager, my independence and my privacy were very important to me. So I didn’t like our family rule that Mom and Dad always had to know where we were, who we were with, and when we would be home. But even though my siblings and I complained about it, we abided by it.
During my junior year in high school, my 13-year-old sister, Jenni, and I played on a volleyball team. Our team was not the best or the worst. We just played to have fun.
One of the most exciting matches of the season, involving several teams, was scheduled for a Friday night at a location about 40 minutes from our home. Since I’d had my driver’s license for more than a year, Mom and Dad let me drive our van to the match, with my little sister as my companion. Jenni and I didn’t always get along, but we had a great visit on the way to the match. Being alone gave us the opportunity to really talk. The evening was as much fun as we had anticipated. After saying good-bye to friends, Jenni and I headed for home.
Just 15 minutes into the drive—and on a busy freeway—we ran out of gas. It was a dark night, so we hoped we could coast to the next off-ramp. But the van came to a stop under an overpass more than a kilometer from the exit. Scared, we offered a prayer. “Heavenly Father,” we prayed, “please help us find a way to get home safely.”
As we ended our prayer, I remembered learning that in an emergency we should lift the car hood and put something white on the antenna, so we did. We knew it was just a matter of time before a police car would drive by and offer to help. But three times we saw police cars pass us without stopping, even though we were flashing our lights and honking.
Discouragement nearly overcame us, and we decided it was time to pray again. Finishing the prayer with tears streaming down our faces, we talked about possible solutions. We could see the exit sign and decided to walk toward it, hoping to find a telephone.
After walking almost half a kilometer, we heard vehicles approaching us and slowing down. Were our prayers going to be answered? We turned and saw two motorcycles coming toward us. At that moment we both felt very strongly that we should return to the van.
Back in the van, huddled together, we tried to comfort each other. Then, as the Spirit whispered peace to us, we looked out the window and saw our mother and father coming to a stop on the other side of the freeway. Relief and gratitude overwhelmed us as we ran into the arms of our anxious parents.
“How did you know?” we asked. Softly and clearly our parents answered that they knew where we were, who we were with, and when we were supposed to be home. Because we had always followed this rule, they knew to come looking for us when we didn’t arrive home on time.
I was never again annoyed by my parents’ strict rules.

As she grew older, Chan and I became pals. One day I was trying to teach her how to tie her shoelaces. I would show her how to do it and then untie them to let her try. After a while, we both got discouraged. It was hard for Chantel because she couldn’t understand why I didn’t just tie them so she could go play. I lost my patience and began talking to her with words that were both loud and mean. Shocked at my yelling, she looked at me with fright and tears in her eyes. Then she sniffled and pleaded with a soft, choked-up voice, “I love you.”
Now my little sister was teaching me. What I learned that day was something much more important than how to tie a shoe. Even though I was angry and mean, she still loved me. I had tried to teach Chantel something that wasn’t all that important. But in her I found a Christlike example to follow, an example of forgiveness and kindness.
I can’t think of a more important lesson.

“Mabel became ill a few days before her death. I went to see her. She was very weak but wanted to talk to me. She told me about her daughter, not Enid who lives at the farm now, but Mary, an older daughter who went away to America as a young girl. She married an American out there, and they had a daughter.”
The rector didn’t pause in his story as Lisa looked up in surprise and recognition. “Mabel had never seen that granddaughter. I believe when Mary left, there were some bad feelings. Anyway, over the years, Mabel had come to regret the things she’d said to Mary and wanted more than anything to see her again and meet Mary’s husband and daughter. But she didn’t know how to approach her. Then last year, she received a letter from her granddaughter saying that she and her mother were going to come and see Mabel the next year. Mabel was so pleased. She wanted to apologize face to face. She talked of all the things that she wanted to show her granddaughter. Most of all, she wanted that young lady to know that she loved her.
“I think Mabel knew she was going to leave us when I sat with her that day. She drew me close and made me look into those deep blue eyes of hers. Then she said, ‘Reverend, you promise me that if I’m not here when that young girl comes, you’ll find her and tell her what a fool her Gran was not to tell her that she loved her long ago. You tell her that I kept her baby picture that Mary sent right next to my bed where I could see it every morning and every evening. You tell her to grow up to be as fine a woman as her mother is. But most of all, you ask her to forgive me.’”

We have some sense of the rejoicing that is going on in Quito, Ecuador; Harare, Zimbabwe; Belém, Brazil; and Lima, Peru, both with members and missionaries, based on what happened in Bangkok, Thailand, a year ago when that temple was announced. Sister Shelly Senior, wife of the then-president of the Thailand Bangkok Mission, David Senior, emailed family and friends to say that after she and her husband had listened to President Monson announce that temple, there had been “12 sleepless hours and lots of tears of happiness.” They called their mission assistants at 11:30 p.m. and informed them. The assistants called all the missionaries. The report came back that the “whole mission was awake in the middle of the night jumping on their beds.” Sister Senior humorously admonished family and friends, “Please don’t tell the Missionary Department!”4

Then there’s the hop and pop. On a trainee’s first five jumps his parachute is opened by a static line—a 15-foot cord of strong nylon webbing attached to the plane—but, if the student has progressed favorably and acquired the necessary confidence, his sixth jump is a “hop and pop,” or “jump and pull,” one in which he is allowed to open his own parachute for the first time as soon as he exits the aircraft.
One jumper recalls his first hop and pop. “You say to yourself ‘This is it. You’re on your own this time.’ I was afraid I wouldn’t find the ripcord.”
“What was your feeling?”
“One of imminent doom. I said to myself ‘This could ruin the whole day.’”

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?

Loving those around us includes being sensitive to feelings of others. As is often done, a conducting officer announced that when the deacons were through passing the sacrament, they were invited to go and sit with their families. One father noticed a boy walk out and sit in the foyer. The next week he invited that deacon to sit with his family rather than go through the embarrassment and loneliness caused by not having his own family in attendance. This parent responded to the need of the boy rather than criticizing the leaders for the policy. The actions of this father can be enlarged on and put into practice by every member.

My father isn’t active in the Church, and that is the cause of conflict in my home. I work really hard to set a good example for him, and I know he can see the difference in my life.

But sometimes I have felt like there was someone trying to undo all the good things I did at home. It was really discouraging. One Sunday after church, I talked to my sister about it and we agreed to start doing secret acts of service in our home. Each week we chose someone in our family and tried to spend time with that person. We left notes of encouragement and did little things like making sure a sister’s dress was pressed for church or a brother’s soccer uniform was washed.

It didn’t take long for our family to realize who was providing the service, but now everyone joins in and does something. We can see the love in our home now—it is in everything we do.

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