Gospel Story Finder

I never knew that becoming a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints would negatively affect my relationship with family members. I joined the Church two months after getting a new job. My first day attending church was the day a friend invited me to help her with her baby as she was going to be baptized.
The moment I stepped into the chapel, I felt peace, comfort, and joy in my heart, and I knew that I belonged here and that the search for the right church had come to an end. I started reading the pamphlets from a friend and later booked appointments with the missionaries and I got baptized after a couple of weeks of learning with the missionaries.
However, because my family has been staunch Anglicans, I hid my new identity of being a member of the Church until I read a scripture in Romans 1:16, which says that “I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ”. This scripture gave me a sense of direction, and I said to myself that I need not to be ashamed of the gospel if I have joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I started changing everything on my social media accounts to say that I am a member of the Church. Even though people contacted me about what they were seeing on the accounts, I proudly replied to each one that I have joined the Lord’s church and that I love it and I know that it is true.
Not long after, it was time to serve a mission. I received my call to the Ghana Cape Coast Mission. I proudly shared the news with my family, and they were happy for me, and I thought all was well with the family about my decision to serve. But a few days before mission, my family was still opposed to my decision and requested that I postpone my mission instead of leaving in December 2019, to go in 2020. It became evident that my family was unhappy with my decision to go on a mission. I knew that the God I serve lives, He knows me, and He had called me to serve Him and that the time is now or never.
I needed to make a choice between my family and my mission. I was stuck, but I prayed fervently and amidst all that was happening, I stood firm with unwavering and unshakable faith knowing that He can see me through those trying moments.
The Lord comforted me at that time, and I knew that I was not alone, and He was there for me. I felt at peace even though things had not been settled between me and my family and with less than 24 hours left, the family accepted my decision to go and serve and I was able to leave for my mission. My family has embraced my service and I am happily serving my mission with love and a cheerful heart, knowing that all things are possible with God if we look unto Him in every thought, fearing not and doubting not with faith that whatever you ask you will receive.
You either stand with God and are condemned by man or stand with man and are condemned by God. If you know the truth and you put your faith first, you can find joy in your challenges because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. I know that faith can move mountains and make the impossible possible.

In Fiji, I know of a faithful wife who waited eight long years for her husband to join the Church. Eight years of attending church alone while her husband remained uninterested and hesitant. Yet she did not withdraw. She did not resent. She served.
When the wife received her patriarchal blessing, she was promised that if she remained true and faithful, a day would come when her husband would take her to the temple to be sealed for time and all eternity. Over eight years and 24 missionaries later, the husband was baptized and the couple was sealed in the house of the Lord.
To be clearer, I should say my wife, Anita, and I were sealed in the house of the Lord. My only regret? I wish I had been baptized sooner. In fact, Elder Quentin L. Cook, who spoke before me today, extended the call for me to serve as stake president while he was serving as Area President.

Illustrations by Elise Black
Krista was holding a piece of paper when her mom picked her up from Primary class.
What’s the paper for?
My teacher wants me to give a talk in Primary next week.
Good! We will help you prepare a talk.
Later, the family was eating dinner.
I want to give a talk about Heavenly Father.
That’s a great idea. I’ll help you plan your talk after dinner.
The next night in family home evening, Mom and Dad helped Krista practice her talk. Her little brother Joshua couldn’t say any words yet, but he waved his hands happily. He made her smile.
On Sunday morning, Krista put on her pink dress.
Will you and Dad and Joshua come to Primary to listen to my talk?
Of course we will.
As the family walked together to the Primary room, Krista held tightly to Dad’s hand.
When it was Krista‘s turn to give her talk, she stepped onto the small wooden box and talked into the microphone.
I look like my mommy and my daddy. I have eyes like my mommy. I have a nose like my daddy.
Krista saw her parents smiling at her, so she smiled too.
I am like my mommy and my daddy. I am also like my Heavenly Father because I am a child of God. I know that He loves me just like my parents love me.
Heavenly Father has given me a plan. I know if I obey His commandments I will return to live with Him someday. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
Krista returned to her seat. A warm glow of happiness settled over her as she thought of Heavenly Father’s love for her.

My father was the great-grandson of Charles Shumway, the first convert to the Church in our family. The missionaries found him living in the state of Wisconsin and shared the gospel with him. He was so happy that the next day, when he went to the sawmill where he worked, he told his coworkers what the missionaries had told him. One big man did not agree with his message and beat him up. He crawled back home, wounded.
When he had healed, he told his family, “I have to go find out if Joseph Smith really exists and if there really is such a thing as a prophet, like those missionaries told me.” He traveled to Nauvoo, and when he got there, yes sir, there was a prophet.
He returned home for his wife and family, headed toward the Mississippi River, built a raft, and floated back down to Nauvoo. For the rest of his life, he followed the prophet and tried to do exactly as he was directed. Under the direction of Brigham Young, he led the first company of Saints across the Mississippi after they were driven out of Nauvoo. He came into the Salt Lake Valley with Brigham Young on July 24, 1847. Later, President Young asked him to settle in Arizona. He did, and that’s where my family has stayed ever since. Thanks to my great-great-grandfather who accepted the gospel, my great-grandfather, my grandfather, my father, and I have all been active members of the Church.

From the day that I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at age 13, I desired to serve the Lord as a full-time missionary.
I was doing all I could to make sure that I would be ready when the time came. I served in my quorums and callings, and I never stopped looking forward to the day that I would be called on a mission.
In a visit to the temple, I prayed to Heavenly Father and told Him that I wanted to serve a mission. I received an answer that I needed to be ready to serve Him soon. However, I still had two years before I would be old enough. I prayed again and got the same confirmation, but this time I felt that the time was closer than I thought.
One year later, the same month I turned 18, President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) announced that all worthy 18-year-old young men could go on missions. That very moment, I realized that President Monson was a living prophet of God.
I testify that prayers are answered. Our faith in God will grow when we pray and do as He directs us.
Promise O., Abia, Nigeria

Sister Melbourne was grouchy. There was no other way to describe her. Just the other day I heard her telling the bishop that children took too much time in testimony meeting. I walked out of the chapel feeling very angry.
My anger didn’t last long, however. It was December, and Christmas was in the air. Excitement filled me right up to the top of my head. I couldn’t help but smile and laugh. My family began singing Christmas carols on the way home from church, just to let some of the excitement out.
After dinner Mom and Dad called us together. We all knew what we were going to discuss. Every year, we choose a family in our ward, and we secretly take gifts and food to their house. It is one of our favorite traditions.
When we were all together, Dad said, “It’s time we decide on a family to help this year. Does anyone have a suggestion?”
When none of us said anything, Dad looked at Mom. “Maybe Mom has a suggestion. Sometimes she notices things the rest of us miss.”
Mom smiled. “As a matter of fact, I do know of someone who needs our help. We have always chosen a family with children, but this year I think we should help Sister Melbourne.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! “But, Mom,” I protested, “she’s not poor or sick, and she’s really grouchy. She doesn’t even like kids. I think we should choose someone else.”
“I agree with April,” said my older sister, Beth. “She really is grouchy. It wouldn’t be any fun doing something for her. She might even kick our gifts off her porch. Besides, she seems to have plenty of money.”
I looked at Beth gratefully. Peter spoke up. “She’s always telling me to ‘shush,’ even when I’m being quiet.”
Lynn and Josh didn’t say anything. They were too small to know Sister Melbourne.
“I know Sister Melbourne has enough money to take care of herself,” Mom said. “And I know she isn’t very pleasant to be around, but that’s exactly why I think she needs our help.”
I wasn’t convinced, but I listened as Mom continued, “Sister Melbourne has had an unhappy life. She was divorced before she moved here. She has three children who are married. They have children of their own, but they never come to see her or let her get to know her grandchildren. Perhaps she has done something to make them want to stay away. I don’t know about that, but I do know she is very lonely and unhappy. I think she needs someone to let her know she is loved. April, you weren’t quite right when you said she isn’t poor.”
“You mean she’s poor in love?” I asked.
“Yes, and sometimes it’s much more painful to be poor in love than it is to be poor in money.”
We were all quiet for a few minutes. Then Dad said, “Let’s take a vote. How many of you would like to share Christmas with Sister Melbourne this year?”
Slowly Beth’s hand went up. Lynn and Josh raised theirs. Then Peter raised his. Looking around at everyone, I reluctantly raised mine.
Mom said instead of buying gifts for Sister Melbourne from the store, we should make them. All the next week we cut out paper decorations, strung popcorn and cranberries, and made cookies and candy. We bought apples and oranges to go with the things we had made.
It was Dad’s job to get a box just the right size for our gifts and to decorate it. We carefully arranged everything inside the box and put on the lid. Dad added a huge bow on top.
We gathered around the kitchen table to have a prayer and make our final plans. In the prayer, Dad asked Heavenly Father to soften Sister Melbourne’s heart and help her receive our gift in the spirit of love with which we were giving it. I was comforted by those words, because I remembered that Beth had said Sister Melbourne might kick our gift off the porch. I had visions of cookies, candy, paper decorations, apples, oranges, and strings of popcorn and cranberries strewn all over the ground.
We put on our coats and piled into the car. Since the box was pretty big, we decided Dad would carry it to the porch. After he returned to the car, it would be my job to ring the doorbell and run before Sister Melbourne opened her door.
I could feel my heart pounding with excitement as Dad parked down the street from her house. “April and I will walk to Sister Melbourne’s house,” he said. “The rest of you must be very quiet so you don’t attract attention.” He lifted the box out of the car and motioned for me to follow him.
“Dad,” I said, “I’m afraid Sister Melbourne will catch me and get mad.”
“She’ll never catch you!” He grinned at me. “You’re the fastest runner in our family. But if you’re worried, I’ll wait for you behind those bushes on the far side of her yard. When she’s inside again, we’ll go back to the car together.”
“I’d like that,” I said, smiling gratefully.
Dad carefully set the box on the porch. I waited until he was hidden behind the bushes. Then I ran up the steps, rang the doorbell, and flew across the yard to the bushes, where I crouched down next to Dad. “Good work,” Dad whispered.
The door opened, sending a ray of light across the snow. Sister Melbourne didn’t see the box at first, but as she was about to close the door, she saw it and stopped. She stood there for a second. Then she bent down and read her name on the top. She lifted the lid, and once again she was very still. Finally she picked up the box and looked around the yard. She was smiling, but there were tears running down her cheeks. “Thank you,” she called out. “Thank you, whoever you are.”
Dad and I were quiet for a few moments after she went inside and closed the door. I whispered, “I think she really liked our present, don’t you?”
“Yes, I think she really did.”
The next Sunday as we were coming home from church, we began singing Christmas carols again. When we passed Sister Melbourne’s house, I saw our decorations in her front window, and the popcorn and cranberry strings were on a Christmas tree that hadn’t been there the week before. “I think Sister Melbourne’s getting richer,” I said.
Mom stopped singing long enough to give me a hug and say, “So are we.”

The Laurels of the West Weber First Ward, Ogden Utah Weber North Stake, were pleased to discover that they all, including their leader, received their Young Womanhood awards at the same time.
During the year, the girls learned to make quilts and gave four quilts to the bishop to distribute to members of the ward. They organized an adopt-a-grandmother program where the girls chose an elderly lady to visit, care about, and bake goodies for. The girls have learned skills, shared talents and hobbies, and learned more about life.

I often reflect on the wonderful mothers I have had in my life, especially when Mother’s Day gets close. Although many sons could say many good things about their mothers, I briefly offer my own experiences and circumstances—they may be a little different. I publicly declare my enormous appreciation for mothers, despite having experienced much motherly absence in my own life. I am also conscious that Heavenly Father was most likely involved in the positive aspects of my short account. He certainly was in later years when I was blessed by being baptised at the age of 33, along with my wife, Jenny.
My natural mother, Irene, was unknown to me; she died from a serious infection in 1946 caused by inadequately clean medical instruments. I was 8 months old at the time, so the key consequence for me was the loss of that physical bond so essential to an infant in their early years. I was the fourth child, so very fortunately there were older siblings who had some memories of Irene; and even more fortunate was the connection I made with Shirley, the dear lifetime friend of my oldest sibling, Gwen, who fondly recalled her memories of my mother.
Shirley would often visit our home in Hayes, within a stone’s throw of her own home. She always remembered the very kind lady that was my mother. This connection with Shirley was made when I was in my fifties, and fortunately well before Gwen passed away in her late 70s — this long-distance friendship between Shirley in England and Gwen in Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe, was crucial to me in becoming better acquainted with my early departed mother.
Following Irene’s death, my father, Joe, had to decide on his children’s care. My two oldest siblings (Gwen and Peter) were placed into an orphanage called Spurgeons, located in Reigate, Surrey (now the headquarters of the Surrey Fire Service). My immediately older sister, Sue, was taken in by Grandmother Ada, Irene’s mother. In my case, my father made an unusual arrangement by letting a young married couple, the Tappins, move into our house and become my foster parents. They cared for me while my father went to work in Nigeria for the next six years. (In later years I tried to find the Tappins, unfortunately without success.)
Then in 1950, my three siblings were shipped out to what was then, Southern Rhodesia under the Fairbridge scheme, set up to provide opportunities in the British colonies for fruitful lives for orphaned British children.
In my case, I escaped shipment by coming under the care of my stepmother, Hilda, in 1949, who moved into our house in Hayes with my half-brother John, when the Tappins moved away. Hilda was a marvellous lady and loved me as her own; she was in fact a good friend of Irene’s sister Molly. Hilda, John, and I, then spent 1951 and 1952 with Joe in Nigeria.
Among many very good deeds, Hilda was largely responsible for gathering the whole of Joe’s offspring as a family. In late 1952, Joe, Hilda, John, and I went to Southern Rhodesia, and siblings Gwen, Peter and Sue were taken out of the Fairbridge home, located near Bulawayo in the south, to join the rest of us now located in what was Salisbury, the capital. We were all together in the one home for a precious two years. Then, due to concerns about space in our three-bedroomed Rhodesia-Railways-provided house, Gwen left to live in a special establishment set up to house young single women.
Those years in colonial Rhodesia were wonderful, especially for John and me. As youngsters we lived a largely outdoor life, often running around barefoot and getting up to mischief, but mostly creatively (building platforms in trees; forming rowing boats from corrugated metal sheets — usually used for roofing purposes; fabricating catapults from carefully chosen branches of trees and rubber strips from old car-tyre inner tubes, and bows that we used to shoot arrows made from dried elephant grass with pins in their heads and chicken feathers as fletching). Hilda was always around to attend to our injuries, and provide as best she could for us, including repairing clothing.
Most significantly, Irene was a devoted Christian, of the Anglican order. She gave time to keeping the local church building clean and tidy. It was she who was responsible for bringing a knowledge of Christ into my life and helping me to prepare for confirmation in the Anglican faith when I was twelve (I also had to be baptised just before, as there was no record of this having been done when I was an infant). I remember many of those times.
But, tragically within a year, Hilda died from a bloodborne disease, probably arising from an insect bite, but never confirmed. So, the wonderful architect of our recovered life was taken away from the family that she had gathered, loved, and cared for during the 1950s.
Life thereafter was very much based on the children taking up various responsibilities, the greatest burden falling on Sue (Gwen married a year later in 1959). Gwen nevertheless became a confidant during my growing teenage years. My formal attachment to the Anglican faith quickly faded, my father being a declared atheist. However, I often wonder whether, in some way or another, the spirit of Hilda, in her post-mortal state, was influencing events when I became a member of the Church in 1979 (I do like to think so).
Now, onto my third ‘mother’, in fact my mother-in-law, Christine. Jenny’s parents Christine and Bill were a wonderful kindly couple — what examples they were to Jenny and me as we started our own family (eventually including six children). There came a time after some house moves during our early years of our marriage, that Jenny’s parents relocated a few miles away from our home in Tunbridge Wells. Christine was an ever-present support to Jenny in those days, and she was always very welcome to our home. I mostly remember the happy banter she and I would have. When she passed away in 2000, in her mid 80s, it took me years to come to terms with her absence; one always seems more appreciative of loss in later years. To say I had a soft spot for Christine would understate it. She was my adopted mother, whether she knew it or not. I remember, once so shocked and agitated by Jenny’s and my joining the Church, Christine in subsequent years became a staunch defender, while remaining wedded to her Anglican faith. Close to her death she occasionally expressed doubts, but I tried to reassure her that her faith in Christ was not misplaced.
Finally, I must add my love for my wife of 55 years — what a mother she has been to our children, someone who has been ever ready to serve them, and her grandchildren, as well as her slothful husband, without question or reservation. What a treasure!
What treasures are all our mothers.

I thought I would never forget these feelings, but the pull of the world is strong and we tend to slip. But God continues to love us.

Several months after I regained my strength, we were caught in another violent storm, only this time at sea. The waves became so big they flipped our small boat over, throwing the three of us into the raging, churning ocean. When I found myself in the middle of a tumultuous sea, I was surprised, scared, and a little upset. “Why has this happened?” I thought. “I’m a missionary. Where is my protection? Missionaries aren’t supposed to swim.”

But swim I must if I wished to stay alive. Every time I complained, I found myself underwater, so it didn’t take long to quit complaining. Things are how they are, and complaining doesn’t help. I needed every ounce of energy to keep my head above water and make it to shore. Having earned my Eagle Scout Award, I was a pretty confident swimmer, but over time the wind and the waves began to sap my strength. I never quit trying, but there came a time when my muscles simply would move no more.

I had a prayer in my heart, but still I began to sink. As I was going down for what could have been the last time, the Lord infused into my mind and heart a deep feeling of love for a very special person. It was as though I could see and hear her. Even though she was 8,000 miles away, the power of that love came rushing across those miles and, penetrating time and space, reached down and pulled me up—lifted me from the depths of darkness, despair, and death and brought me up to light and life and hope. With a sudden burst of energy I made it to shore, where I found my shipmates. Never underestimate the power of true love, for it knows no barriers.

One of the residents, Roy, was 46 when Sophia was age two. Because Roy’s mental age was the same as Sophia’s, they became best friends. Brother Ralph describes how they played together and followed each other around. “Now Sophia is eight, and Roy looks up to her as his big sister. Mentally he’s still a two-year-old.” It’s touching to watch them walk hand in hand down the lane to the lambing fields. When it’s spring, Sophia takes Roy to see the newborn lambs, an outing they both cherish.

After the building was completed, Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, then president of Brigham Young University, took Teddy Kollek, the mayor of Jerusalem, on a tour of the building. For forty-five minutes, Mayor Kollek was virtually silent as he walked through the center. Finally he said, “You have taken the most beautiful piece of property we could have given you and have done more with it than I thought possible. I consider it the most beautiful building built in Jerusalem in recent years.”

I have thought about that, and I thank God repeatedly for such an individual in my life. He was a 78-year-old man who was assigned to be a priests adviser to six of us who were in our struggling teens and challenged with the future. His name was Charles B. Stewart. His son is here today as president of the great Tabernacle Choir.
I don’t know what you thought about a 78-year-old man when you were 16, but some of us questioned the wisdom of our bishop, for we thought he had literally brought Moses back.
I remember the first day I reported to my class in that rickety old upper room of the Hollywood Ward. There was that kind, gentle man to greet me. He took me by the hand as he had the other boys and said, “You’re Harold Dunn’s son, aren’t you?”
I said, “Yes, sir.”
He talked a little bit about me, my family, and showed a great personal interest. And then he said, “Paul, one of the requirements for being a member of this class is to think a new thought every day.” He said, “Do you have one this morning?”
Well now, I hadn’t had a new thought in years, and he could see my plight, and he said, “All right, I will teach you one. Listen carefully. ‘Attention is the mother of memory.’ Now can you repeat it back?” And I tried and finally gave it back to him. He permitted me to enter.
We had a wonderful class. It ended; as I went to leave he said, “I forgot to tell you—before you go home you’ve got to give me another new idea.” I thought, I won’t go home. I didn’t have one, and so he said, “Now listen very carefully and I will teach you one that you’ll always remember.” He said, “‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave, When first we practise to deceive.’” I’ve never forgotten it.
Another week passed, and we went through a similar experience. I still didn’t have a new thought. He said, “Listen very carefully. ‘There’s an odd little voice ever speaking within that prompts us to duty and warns us from sin. And what is most strange, it makes itself heard, though it gives not a sound and says never a word.’” And I’ve never forgotten that one.
I started to go home and found he wouldn’t let me go until I cited another. When I couldn’t he said, “Listen carefully. ‘There was a wise old owl who sat in an oak, and the longer he sat the less he spoke. The less he spoke, the more he heard. Oh, Paul, why can’t you be like that wise old bird?’”
I’ve thought a lot about that since. Still another week and another great thought. He said, “‘Remember, young man, example sheds a genial ray which men are apt to borrow. So first improve yourself today and then your friends tomorrow.’” And I haven’t forgotten that concept either.
Time won’t permit a number of others. Two years later I found myself in the fighting forces of our country. I was on the island of Okinawa. I received a letter from Mrs. Stewart, and it told me of the sad news that my kind friend and adviser had passed away. In it she had attached a half-written letter from Brother Stewart to me, and he said: “Dear Paul, I’ve been thinking about you in that far-off country, discouraged, I’m sure, and somewhat depressed; and in order to build your spirits, I have included some additional gem thoughts.” There were twenty-five new ideas, and I have never forgotten them.

The inspiration for this new era of temple building came in 1997 when President Hinckley went to Colonia Juárez, Mexico, to commemorate the 100th anniversary of a Church-owned school. Afterward, during a long, dusty drive, he was contemplative. “It got quiet,” recalled his secretary, Don H. Staheli. “And then, as I understand it, the revelation started coming. He had thought about smaller temples in the past, but not in the way that he thought about them this time.”19
President Hinckley later described the process: “I began to ask myself what could be done to make it possible for these people to have a temple. … As I meditated on this, the thought came into my mind that … we can build all of the essential elements of a temple into a relatively small building. … I sketched out a plan. … The whole picture came into my mind very clearly. I believe with all my heart that it was inspiration, that it was revelation from the Lord. I came home and talked with my counselors about it, and they approved of it. I then presented it to the Twelve, and they approved of it.”20

In 1989, a friend, Father François Laborde, asked Sister Pelous to help set up a home, school, medical dispensary, and farm for forty-seven homeless children—twenty-one of whom were also blind—in Nepalganj, Nepal. From Bengal, Cécile went to Nepal and assessed the needs. Back in Paris, she undertook to raise the necessary funds, but without success. Then an event—that Cécile credits to Heavenly Father’s goodness—saved the project.
A real-estate agency made her a very generous offer for her home, which was ideally located in a suburb near downtown Paris. Cécile immediately accepted their offer. She would buy a less expensive house—though not so rich in memories—and with the money she saved, she could fund the projects in Nepal. The homes and school were built in 1990, and Cécile is now looking for funds for the dispensary and farm projects.

A young woman sat across from me describing what seemed to her to be a “hopeless” marriage. She had been married in the temple only a few short months before, but things just weren’t working out. The romance was disappearing, she said; her attraction to her husband had been lost in the daily responsibilities of living. When I asked why he hadn’t come with her, she replied that he didn’t see any problem in their relationship. “He’s really a good man,” she said, “but I’m just not committed to him anymore. My love is gone.”
I have thought many times since that day about commitment in marriage. The Savior taught the principle of commitment when he answered the Pharisees, saying, “For this cause shall a man leave father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife. … What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.” (Matt. 19:5–6.) The word cleave is a powerful action word meaning to adhere closely.
Love is the necessary ingredient in cleaving to one’s spouse. “Thou shalt love thy wife with all thy heart,” the Lord said, “and shalt cleave unto her and none else.” (D&C 42:22.) However, the term love has different meanings to different people. To some, love is only an emotional and physical attraction accompanied by romantic idealization. To them, love doesn’t necessarily include the important concepts of commitment and cleaving. To others, love is the quiet, steady feeling that develops between people when they share important life experiences. Both kinds of love are important; both contribute to good marriages. But in many cases, romantic love is overplayed, while the commitment that leads to true cleaving is lacking.
As a young missionary in the Republic of South Korea, I was impressed with the quality of many of the Korean people’s marriages. When I was told that the marriages were arranged by parents, I wondered how two people could cleave so well without having first developed romantic love toward each other. Because of the narrow view I had at the time of commitment in marriage, I thought romantic feelings were the sole binding force.
But I learned some basic principles about committed love as I observed those marriages. I learned that when two people work with each other to produce a home, when they struggle to keep children fed and healthy—then love occurs. When illness or adversity strikes and one spouse sacrifices to help and care for the other—then they learn to love. When husband and wife are progressing together spiritually and emotionally—then love grows. Love, I learned, comes as the marriage, and the marriage partners, develop.
How then can a married couple foster commitment to each other?
Crises can build strong marriage. It is unfortunate that some couples see struggles in marriage as an excuse to escape. Too often they fall into blaming each other for the stresses rather than relying on each other for affection and support. Trials in life can serve as a foundation to committed love.
Recently my wife and children were very ill from an unusual bacterial infection. I gave them blessings and prayed for them. Then, not wanting to expose anyone else to their sickness, I arranged my work schedule to be able to be home to care for their needs. It was soon apparent that my acts of service to help them through three weeks of illness became a strong binding force for us. Such struggles in life sometimes push marital partners apart, but crises can serve as the training ground for commitment. We often perform such acts of service because we are committed beforehand, but in many instances service precedes commitment. It is in serving each other that we become committed to each other.
The marital relationship is much like raising rare, beautiful flowers. You plant the seed and nourish it with water, food, soil, and light. If the delicate balance of these ingredients is upset, the growth and beauty of the flower may be disturbed for a time. But working to achieve a balance of required nutrition, you can overcome the problem. Commitment to the flower comes as you take care of its needs and try to help it grow into beauty.
President Spencer W. Kimball has discussed the relationship between marital love and adversity: “a marriage may not always be even and incidentless, but it can be one of great peace,” he has promised. “A couple may have poverty, illness, disappointment, failures, and even death in the family, but even these will not rob them of their peace. The marriage can be successful so long as selfishness does not enter in. Troubles and problems will draw parents together into unbreakable unions if there is total unselfishness there. During the depression of the 1930s there was a definite drop in divorce. Poverty, failures, disappointment—they tied parents together. Adversity can cement relationships that prosperity can destroy.” (Marriage and Divorce, Deseret Book, 1976. pp. 19, 22.)
In my own marriage I have made a very conscious decision to not let outside struggles drive me from my wife. I have learned that, besides the Lord, she is my greatest support in any crisis. If I allow fears and irritations about a problem to divide us, I have excluded the person who could best help me turn the crisis into a strength.
Even when a couple experiences a division between them, working toward a shared goal can revive the ties that bind them together. Too often couples negatively emphasize the differences between them. It is more important to emphasize shared aspirations and work toward them.
I learned this principle as a Boy Scout leader in a struggle to get two groups of boys to change their negative attitudes toward each other. After trying several unsuccessful strategies, I placed them in a situation which required cooperation to overcome an obstacle. They united to achieve a common goal, and we never experienced conflict between the two groups after that day.
Recently I listened as a couple complained that they had few interests in common. She liked to read; he didn’t. He played racquetball, but physical problems kept her from doing so. The list of differences went on and on. I asked if there wasn’t just one interest they shared. They shook their heads. Finally I suggested they take a ceramics class together. Neither had tried anything like that, so it gave them a new, common interest. The effect was unbelievable. As they worked toward a common goal, the excitement of growing together helped them gradually forget their differences.
It would be wise for all of us to ask the following question frequently: “What have I done recently to improve my spouse’s feelings about himself or herself?” By deciding to enhance one another’s self-esteem, we become very committed to each other; the other’s improvement in the way they feel becomes our success as well. In addition, we need to be willing to help our partners grow in whatever area they might desire. Spouses need to encourage each other in spiritual pursuits, intellectual development, and physical fitness. It is important to encourage them, rather than discourage them by nagging remarks and demands. When we accept the goal of helping our spouse grow in a chosen area, we will experience the commitment to that person which accompanies such an attitude.
Nurturing also means finding strengths rather than weaknesses in our spouse. One of the recurring differences in studies of happily married couples compared to marriages in trouble is the amount of positive daily conversation. A good rule is to make at least two-thirds of our conversations with our spouse pleasant, positive, and nurturing to both. Problems need to be talked about and worked through, but to spend all of our time together solving problems isn’t appealing in any relationship.
“He that loveth his wife loveth himself. For no man ever yet hated his own flesh; but nourisheth it and cherisheth it.” (Eph. 5:28–29.) It is extremely difficult to be committed to our husband or wife when we feel we have nothing to offer. Just as we can’t focus primarily on our spouse’s weaknesses, we should strive to give positive messages to ourselves.
We sometimes have degrading conversations within ourselves. Listening to the thoughts and feelings that enter our minds when we look in the mirror, meet someone for the first time, or complete a task can be a key in determining the degree of love we have for ourselves. Replacing negative thoughts with positive ones can increase our self-love. Another assignment that has benefitted many individuals is to imagine themselves behaving in successful and positive ways.
We never know all there is to discover about anyone. Even though we may be married to someone for a lifetime, that someone is growing and changing. This fact makes marriage exciting—there are always delightful new things to learn about our spouse if we search for them.
One husband was recently astonished at the depth of his wife’s knowledge about political candidates. She had studied the issues and analyzed each candidate’s stand. He gained a new respect for her in his attempts to learn from her study. Another couple spends time sharing the books each reads. The husband doesn’t have as much time to read, but he enjoys her sharing what she reads. The nicest part is that he learns a great deal about his wife’s values and feelings through their discussions. This keeps their marriage vibrant and stimulating.
Some parents become closer to their children than to each other. Children might even try to get one parent to side with them against the other. When this occurs, it does not help the child or the parents.
Likewise, people and activities outside the family can have a stronger hold on us than our wives or husbands. Work, leisure, and friends can interfere with the strength of the marital commitment. It is important to guard against this by planning and taking time to talk and be together as a couple.
Anniversaries are significant events because they symbolize the marital commitment. Other events and places associated with the marriage or courtship can also become symbolic. By renewing acts such as giving flowers, writing notes, or observing special celebrations, couples are reminded of their bond. Some couples plan a time when they can leave the children with a competent babysitter for a weekend and get away. These practices serve to strengthen “cleaving together.”
At a very young age I realized my father and mother loved each other very much. It became evident in the symbols that represented their bond. Their anniversary was an event marked with great celebration. At other times of the year, outward symbols served to renew their marital commitment. The look on my mother’s face when my father presented her with a dozen red roses is indelibly painted in my mind. The symbol was powerful in my life, and my parents renewed the event many times as I grew older.
On my own wedding day, we also selected roses to represent our special occasion. Thus we continued a tradition that symbolized commitment, a symbol I had loved to witness in my parents.
Celestial living involves a never ending marital commitment. The life that results from obedience to gospel principles is one of service and compassion to one’s spouse and family. When a man and woman are married for eternity, they decide that they can better progress spiritually together than either could alone. The temple marriage does not promise to erase the struggles of married life, but it does offer the potential for commitment that can be achieved in no other way.

I want to describe the characteristics and tactics of two cheetahs Susan and I watched hunting their prey and relate some of the things we observed to the daily living of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Cheetahs are the fastest land animals on earth and reach running speeds as high as 75 mph (120 km/h). These beautiful animals can accelerate from a standstill position to running as fast as 68 mph (109 km/h) in less than three seconds. Cheetahs are predators that sneak up on their prey and sprint a short distance to chase and attack.
Susan and I spent almost two hours watching two cheetahs stalking a large group of topis, Africa’s most common and widespread antelopes. The tall, dry grass of the African savanna was golden brown and almost totally obscured the predators as they pursued a group of topis. The cheetahs were separated from each other by approximately 100 yards (91 m) but worked in tandem.
While one cheetah sat upright in the grass and did not move, the other cheetah crouched low to the ground and slowly crept closer to the unsuspecting topis. Then the cheetah that had been sitting upright disappeared in the grass at exactly the same moment that the other cheetah sat upright. This alternating pattern of one cheetah crouching low and creeping forward while the other cheetah sat upright in the grass continued for a long time. The stealthy subtlety of the strategy was intended to distract and deceive the topis and thereby divert their attention away from the approaching danger. Patiently and steadily, the two cheetahs worked as a team to secure their next meal.
Positioned between the large group of topis and the approaching cheetahs were several older and stronger topis standing as sentinels on termite mounds. The enhanced view of the grasslands from the small hills enabled these guardian topis to watch for signs of danger.
Then suddenly, as the cheetahs appeared to be within striking distance, the entire group of topis turned and ran away. I do not know if or how the sentinel topis communicated with the larger group, but somehow a warning was given, and all the topis moved to a place of safety.
And what did the cheetahs do next? Without any delay, the two cheetahs resumed their alternating pattern of one cheetah crouching low and creeping forward while the other cheetah sat upright in the grass. The pattern of pursuit continued. They did not stop. They did not rest or take a break. They were relentless in following their strategy of distraction and diversion. Susan and I watched the cheetahs disappear in the distance, always moving closer and closer to the group of topis.
That night Susan and I had a memorable conversation about what we had observed and learned. We also discussed this experience with our children and grandchildren and identified many valuable lessons. I now will describe three of those lessons.

On a June day in 1976, young Chris Sanders and his family watched anxiously from high ground as swirling waters carried away their home and all their wordly possessions. The relentless torrent, unleashed when the Teton Dam collapsed near Rexburg, Idaho, left Chris, his brother Greg, and his parents with only the clothes they were wearing and the family station wagon.
The Sanders would not get back what they had lost, but they would rebuild their lives. In the years to come, Chris’s father, Lynn, accepted advancements in his employment which required several family moves. At each new location a rental house became their home.

Right before I started high school, our family moved almost 500 miles to Tennessee, USA. My goal was to make new friends as fast as possible. But by the end of the year I had just a few friends.
At lunch, I always sat with a girl I knew, as well as her friends. At first things went great and I enjoyed hanging out and talking with them. Unfortunately, as time went on, their conversations became more and more crude and riddled with profanity. I felt really uncomfortable because I didn’t want to participate in their conversations or hear that much vulgarity.
I decided to pray for an answer to what I should do. Should I stay and just ignore it or should I give up lunch with my friends for my beliefs? I received my answer shortly afterward; I knew I could not put my religious beliefs aside for friends. After lunch, I talked with my friend, and I decided to switch tables the next day. My friend was upset, but I knew the reasons for my decision, and my mind was made up.
Later on, I talked with a few people who were in my English class, and they were happy to make room for me at their table.
I’m now in my senior year, and my entire high school experience has changed because of that decision. After moving to a new table I made several new friends. My friends in this group know my standards and frequently talk to me about them and ask me questions. They respect my religious beliefs and don’t try to change me.
I know that the decisions I make today will affect me for the rest of my life. By acting on faith, I was blessed with what have become my best friends.

Little did I know that one day two young Mormons would actually knock on my family’s door. It happened after we had moved to southern France, while I was in high school. These Mormons didn’t look like pioneers at all. They had short hair. They shaved. They even wore suits and ties! They invited me to the English class at their meetinghouse. My parents gave me permission to attend.
I soon found out that these, too, were men to be admired, not necessarily for physical stamina, but for spiritual strength. They would occasionally visit our home, and though my parents made it clear from the start that they were interested only in “social” visits, I quizzed the elders more and more about their church, and I devoured every word of their answers.
My mother was Catholic, my father Jewish. They had always encouraged me to live a good life, to call upon God, and to believe in him. But these young men seemed to know him. I gleaned many ideas from their conversations with my parents, understanding more and more as time went on. If any of my friends laughed at the missionaries or criticized the Church, I sprang to its defense. I don’t think I fully realized it at the time, but I knew in my heart that the missionaries were telling the truth.
Many sets of missionaries visited our home during my high school years, but my parents, though always polite, were not interested in the Church. And I felt too young to take the discussions on my own. I drifted through periods of varying faith. We moved from Nice to Cannes, and I finally lost track of the elders.
Some time later, during a period of intense personal struggle, I found myself once again calling on the Lord. This time I understood that I had to rely on him totally. I felt a warm glow, a real confirmation that there was an Eternal Father watching over me who knew me personally and loved me. Not long after this experience, I was taking a letter to the post office when I saw two missionaries and rushed up to them. “You’re the elders, aren’t you?” I exclaimed, and then I told them about this marvelous feeling I had about my Father in Heaven. They understood completely. “It’s the Holy Ghost bearing testimony to you of the truth,” one of them said.
Then it hit me. I could talk to others about what had happened, I could tell them about my intellectual ideas and spiritual testimonies, and they wouldn’t understand. But the missionaries knew exactly what I was describing, experience by experience. We talked for a long time.
I was soon to leave for my military service. Nevertheless, my desire to be around the missionaries and members grew powerfully. As soon as I learned a new principle of the gospel, I put it into practice. Just before I left, one of the elders said, “You know, you live like a Mormon, but you’re trying to become perfect before you will join the Church. That’s the wrong way. It’s the Church that will help you achieve perfection.” They told me I had a testimony, but I still wasn’t sure.
In the military I had time to let my feelings grow and develop. There was lots of time to think, and I reflected deeply on my impressions of the Church. I was stationed with the mountain troops in Briançon, with no LDS branch nearby. But I guarded the things I had learned in my heart and let the seed of faith grow.
When I was released from the service, I faced a critical decision. My best friend from Normandy and I had planned for a long time to visit the United States, and I had saved my money so I could go. But his plans fell through. I had to decide whether or not to go by myself. I returned to Normandy, to walk the beaches and to think.
Anyone who could have eavesdropped on my mental conversation at that time would have known I already had a testimony. “I am well off here—I have my family and friends, I feel sure of myself, and this is the most beautiful spot on earth,” I told myself. “But what if I don’t go? I could miss an opportunity to learn even more about the gospel, to really gain a testimony of it. I could give up the trip, the dream of my young years. But to give up a chance to know more about the Lord’s church?”
In the U.S. I had the opportunity to develop many close relationships with Church members. I finally began to believe I did have a testimony—I can’t forget the wonderful feelings when, each time I’d ask myself a question, I would feel the Holy Ghost enlightening my soul, clearing away the doubt. I had had difficulty understanding why polygamy had been practiced. On a bus somewhere between Colorado and Utah, I glimpsed the vision, not a visual sight, but a spiritual insight, of the men who practiced it. And I saw how it was possible for such a thing to be pure, that it had come from God. That sort of clarification continued throughout my trip in the States.
I eventually ended up visiting some islands near Seattle, Washington. There, in a small apartment, I studied the Book of Mormon for ten days. My testimony continued to grow. The time had come to return to France, and in my heart I knew I would be baptized.
Several days after I returned home, the missionaries asked me to help them teach a lesson. The investigator was a science student, and he was struggling with some of the same questions I had confronted when I was studying the same subjects. I explained to him how I had found answers to the questions, and when we left he seemed satisfied and happy.
A few days later, the missionaries called to tell me he was joining the Church. “How about that,” I told myself. “Here I am, able to help someone else accept baptism, and not myself. This has lasted long enough!” I felt I had a testimony, but I fasted and prayed. I stayed up the whole night pleading with the Lord to seal this testimony in me. Finally, early in the morning, a sweet, peaceful calm filled my soul. I knew I had to tell the elders I was ready to be baptized.
As I rounded the last corner on my way to see the missionaries, I felt a strong force trying to keep me from going. It was like walking against a 70-mile-per-hour wind, which I had done before, only it was stronger. But this was spiritual. I was just about to give up and turn around. I knew this force wanted me to doubt everything, but I finally said, “No, no. I know there’s a God.” I felt that truth deep in the roots of my soul. I knew He would battle this force for me.
I reached the chapel door, just a normal chapel door, but I had to pull with all my might to force it open. When I entered I saw some members and felt their spirit, and the opposing force was gone, broken. I felt the sweet peace in my heart again, and felt it even more strongly several days later as I was baptized and confirmed. I still feel it to this day.

And I am grateful for my wife. I would like to tell you a little story. I have been to three or four thousand meetings, I guess, in the last twenty-five years; and every one of those times she has sustained me—except for one. When I was off to a Sunday School meeting one night, she asked, “Will you be home early?” I said, “Yes, I’ll be home at 10:30.” Eleven o’clock and 11:30 came, and I wasn’t home. When I finally came home, I walked up to the door to walk in as usual, and it was locked. I rang the doorbell—and no answer. So I knocked on the door, and finally she came. She said, “I’m not going to let you in.”

I said, “Oh, come on.”

And she said, “No, it’s one time too many.”

In those days we had a Nash Rambler with a front seat that made out into a bed (but it was in the middle of winter). So I took my overcoat and went out into the car and rolled back the seat, and went to bed.

After a little while I could hear the front door open, and my wife came out to the car and asked me to come in. I told her I didn’t think I would. It was so cold I finally did.

Brethren, my wife is such a wonderful woman. In all of those years, she has sustained me so much; and I would hope that as members of the priesthood, as we hold leadership roles, we will remember this little experience and remember our wives.