Gospel Story Finder

I was not a member of the Church as a child. It wasn’t until I was an adult and a businessman that I was baptized.
My father was also a businessman. He was very worried when I joined the Church. He said, “You don’t drink alcohol anymore. That will be hard in meetings where everyone is drinking together.”
But I wasn’t worried. I decided that when someone offered me alcohol, I would say, “No, thank you.” Then I would order something else.
Years went by, and I did this many times. After a while, my coworkers noticed. If I was offered alcohol, they said, “Mathias doesn’t drink. Bring him something else.” More and more of them stopped ordering alcohol too. “I don’t want any either,” they said.
Once, some visitors came to a meeting. They were the only ones drinking alcohol.
They asked me, “Why isn’t anyone drinking alcohol? Are they all members of your church?”
“No,” I said.
I didn’t preach to my coworkers about the Word of Wisdom. I was just firm in my beliefs, and they noticed my example.

Thirteen-year-old Florence Onyejekwe reached her usual spot in the crowded outdoor market in Onitsha, Nigeria. The street was packed with sellers calling out to busy shoppers. Women balanced bundles on their heads as they walked. School had just ended for the holiday, and Florence knew her friends were enjoying the break from class. But Florence spent her holidays selling bitterleaf here at the market. It was her only chance to earn money for her school fees.
Florence did not complain, though. After all, her mother spent long hours at the market every day selling yams to buy food for the family. Mama worked so hard. Her parents both did. But without much education, there was only so much they could do. Florence was almost finished with primary school. Perhaps if she could continue her schooling, she could get a good-paying job and help her family.
When she returned home, Florence found her parents and asked, “Do you think I could go to secondary school? And maybe university?”
Mama looked at Nnam (dad) and shook her head. “University costs so much more than we have,” said Nnam. Florence looked down at her shoes. She didn’t want Mama and Nnam to see how disappointed she was.
A few days later, Florence stopped at the hospital to pick up some medicine. The hospital was almost as busy as the market, though not as loud. Florence stared at the nurses in their crisp, white caps. She pictured herself in a uniform like that, helping the sick and taking care of babies in a big hospital. Perhaps she could become a nurse.
Florence knew her parents were right—getting an education would be hard. But Florence knew how to work hard. She decided to try.
No matter how many chores filled her day, Florence made time to study. She passed the tests for secondary school, and Nnam borrowed enough money for her to go. Later she found out that the government would help pay for nursing school. Her dream was within reach!
But when it came time to begin nursing school, Florence felt a little doubt. What if it was too hard? What if she was lonely? Florence bowed her head and prayed, “Dear God, please give me the strength to go to nursing school and work hard.”
At nursing school, Florence learned how to give medicine and keep tools clean from germs. Sometimes her patients got better, but sometimes they didn’t. Florence prayed often for courage. After three long years, Florence graduated with the award for best student in her class. Her dream had come true! She got to wear the white nurse’s cap, and she was able to earn enough to help her family.
Many years later, Florence visited a small branch in the Ghana Accra Mission. Her husband, Christopher Chukwurah, was the mission president there. Florence met some children in the branch who couldn’t always go to school. They weren’t sure what to do with their futures. They reminded Florence of herself as a child. “What can I say to help them?” Florence prayed silently.
Then she felt a clear prompting: Tell them about your life.
Florence thought about her life. She had worked in hospitals in Nigeria and the United States. She had married a good man, and together they had found The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She had become a mother. Now she was helping missionaries stay healthy and work hard. Heavenly Father had helped her become a nurse. He had helped her do so much more than she had imagined. He could do the same for these children.
Florence looked at the children and smiled. “You know those white caps that nurses wear? I saw a cap like that and decided to become a nurse …”

A group of youth in Queen Creek, Arizona, determined to “arise and shine forth” and to lead the youth in their community in living the standards in For the Strength of Youth. They each wrote something that they felt was holding them back or something they wanted to change in their lives in their journals, and then they literally dug a hole. They came together, tore out the journal page, and threw it into the hole in the earth, just like the people of Ammon did in the Book of Mormon with their weapons of war.12 Then they buried those pages, and that day they each made a commitment to change. They repented. They determined to arise!

One winter morning I awoke to several inches of snow. A native of central California, I was not accustomed to snow and was dreading the uphill walk to the temple. But instead of rationalizing and staying home, I put on warm boots, carried my church shoes, and started my walk to the temple.
When I arrived, I was greeted by a familiar temple worker who was pleased to see that I had made the trek despite the gloomy weather. Once inside, I felt a sense of triumph mixed with gratitude. I realized, just as the prophet had asked, that I had become “a temple-attending and a temple-loving” person.

My eyes begin to sting as I ride my bike through smoke drifting from the barbecue on the side of the street. I close them just long enough to hit a hole in the road, nearly knocking me from my seat. I again focus my attention forward in the glare of neon lights and the headlights of the oncoming traffic. Everything seems a little hazy on this hot, muggy December night in Bangkok.
Sister Jones and I park our bikes in front of an old gray apartment complex. As we head toward the stairs, I ask, “Who are we going to see?”
“Her name is Nóg,” Sister Jones answers. “She is a 12-year-old girl who was baptized last month.”
I remember hearing about Nóg. She had been referred to the missionaries by her mother, who was not interested in the Church, but thought her daughter might like Christianity. The missionaries had been hesitant to teach a 12-year-old, but as they began to tell her of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, her eyes never left their faces.
I had been touched by the image of this little girl, crouched behind her family’s flower stand on the side of a busy street, learning about the Savior. I wondered how a little girl could accept the gospel of Jesus Christ, which is so foreign to her Buddhist culture.
We knock on the pale green door and are invited in by Nóg’s mother. Removing our shoes, we enter the one-room apartment. Before we can ask where Nóg is, we hear a voice calling from the balcony. “Sisters, come quickly.”
We step onto the small balcony overlooking the busy street. Nóg grabs me by the hand, points to the sky, and asks, “Can you see them? Can you see the special stars?”
I look up and see a few holes in the clouds through which stars can be seen faintly. “Which ones?” I ask.
“The five baby ones, right over there. You can only see them on certain nights,” she answers.
I look again and see a cluster of five tiny stars through the pollution and lights of the city. I ask how she was able to see them twinkling so dimly.
Nóg answers simply, “I look for them every night, and tonight I found them.”
I look at Nóg, who is gazing intently at the night sky. Her face is peaceful; her countenance shines. They are simple, childlike words, yet I think how similar they are to those spoken by wise, learned men—the Wise Men of old. How long those Wise Men must have searched the heavens looking for the star. How excited they must have been to see it.
My thoughts turn back to Nóg, the 12-year-old flower girl who learned of Jesus Christ amidst the chaos of downtown Bangkok, above the smoke, lights, glitter, and pollution of the world. Nóg had looked for and recognized the words of Christ and eagerly followed, just as the Wise Men did. For as the scriptures say, they are they who “look forward unto the Messiah, and believe in him” (Jarom 1:11).
How could a little girl so readily accept the gospel of Jesus Christ, so foreign to her family and culture? My question is answered as I stand on a small fourth-floor balcony above the pollution and noise and, with Nóg, look to the heavens.

Brigitte and Wanda snuggled down in their beds, giggling. They should have been asleep long ago. But after three long years as a prisoner of war in France, Papa was coming home the very next day!
“What should I call him?” asked Brigitte. It had been so long since she had seen him, she felt a little shy.
“Why, call him Papa, of course,” Wanda replied. “That’s what he is!”
Brigitte hid her face so Wanda wouldn’t see how embarrassed she was. “Well, I know that. I guess I’m just used to having only Uncle John and our other uncles. You know—calling all of them uncle. … And so much has happened since Papa had to leave us. I know Mama hoped that Papa could baptize me, but I didn’t want to wait any longer.”
The Pegnitz River had been icy cold that April day, yet it felt curiously warm to her when she stepped into it, wearing her long white nightgown. Brother Ludwig Weiss had baptized her, and Uncle John had confirmed her. It was a happy time except for Papa’s absence. Now a whole year had passed.
“Girls, you need to try to get to sleep. I want you to get up early to help me bake good things for Papa to eat when he gets here.”
Brigitte and Wanda looked at each other with guilty faces. Mama had heard them talking—they would have to be quieter. …
The next thing they knew, the sun was pouring in their bedroom window and Mama was shaking them awake. All day long the house was filled with the wonderful smells of cookies and cakes baking. The girls felt as if they would burst with waiting. When they had nearly given up hope—it was ten o’clock at night—Papa came home!
He looked different, he was so very thin—but he was still Papa. Brigitte didn’t have any trouble calling him that. She felt safe and warm and peaceful because once again Papa was in the house. Like the fresh spring breeze, Papa brought them his own special kind of laughter.
One rainy morning before she skipped off to school, Brigitte ran over to give him a kiss. “Let it rain,” she cried. “Now that you’re home, we always have sunshine in our house.”
But one day she noticed that he had an unhappy frown. Although he didn’t say anything was wrong, she worried and wondered. That night when she got up to go to the bathroom, she heard her parents speaking in whispers. I shouldn’t listen, she thought, but she couldn’t help hearing some of what they were saying.
“All these years we saved every little bit of money we possibly could to get enough to go to America—and today the government is making us change to a new kind of money,” Mama grieved. “Now we’ll have to start over.”
“I know how hard you worked as a seamstress while I was away, and I was amazed at what you were able to save, Elizabeth. We just have to have faith that we can do it again.”
So that’s what made Papa so sad. Mama too. No wonder! She thought of the straggly little plants Mama had told her to throw away. They had grown to stand tall and straight in the sun. When the vegetables were ready to harvest, Mama said hers were the best in the shared lot. My prayers helped the plants grow! I know they did! And I know my prayers can help us to get to America too. She was happy here with her friends and the members of the branch, but Papa wanted his dream to go to America and be sealed together in the temple so badly that it had become her dream too.
As the days, weeks, and months marched by, no one talked much about the dream, because Oma was not well. They could not leave her. When she died, Brigitte’s heart was heavy with sadness, but she felt a peace in her heart, too, because she knew that when their dream came true, she could be with Oma again someday. She wrote in her little brown journal:
I will always remember her faith. I will always try to have faith like hers. I want to be like Oma.
One night after dinner, Papa was talking about immigration regulations. “They insist that we have a blood relative as our sponsor, but they won’t accept any of my sisters because their families are so large, and they can’t afford it. Peter Loscher is trying to help us. He found another sponsor for us, but he isn’t a relative.”
Brigitte looked up at her father’s sad face. “Papa, remember how everyone wanted to sit by Oma in the bomb shelters because she had so much faith? Last night when you were reading from the Book of Mormon about when Nephi broke his bow in the wilderness and they were hungry, I thought that it wasn’t easy for those people to get to America, either. Heavenly Father helped them do it, just as he helped us to be safe during the war.”
Papa looked at Brigitte and his sadness disappeared. “You’re right, Gitte. I won’t lose faith.”
A short time later, Papa received a letter from Peter Loscher: I have arranged for Quentin Cannon, a former missionary in Germany, to be your sponsor. They will accept him because he has borrowed the money from his credit union (a kind of bank) to pay for your passage. You can pay him back after you get here.
Brigitte had never seen Papa cry, but his eyes were wet and his voice shook with joy as he read the letter.
“We can bring only our suitcases, ten dollars per person, and two large wooden crates, so you may as well have a party with your friends and give away what we can’t bring with us,” Papa told them.
The day to leave for America—and the temple—finally came. The family rode the street car to the train station. They took the train along the Rhine River to Rotterdam. In Rotterdam they took the stagecoach to the harbor where the ship New Amsterdam was docked. Wanda and Brigitte were seasick the entire trip, but even so, they were excited to see the Statue of Liberty welcoming them.
Papa loved bananas, but in Germany they were very costly. Now, as they waited at the New York harbor for their crates, Papa left and came back with a giant bag of bananas and an even bigger smile. “Your first taste of America!”
“George, you shouldn’t have!” Mama gasped. “We have only forty dollars.”
Wanda and Brigitte turned shocked faces to their father. His smile became even broader. “Welcome to America. These bananas were only forty cents!”
The tension was broken by relieved laughter. Mama laughed loudest of all.
Soon they got on the bus for the last part of their long journey. Only three days and they would be in Salt Lake City!
“Look!” Mama cried, almost reverently as the bus took them into the Utah town.
Brigitte looked around at the snow. She guessed it must be unusual for it to be snowing on April 29. Then she saw them—the spires of the Salt Lake Temple, reaching toward heaven.
Brigitte was eleven and a half years old. She had spent nearly half her life running from bombs and the terrible destruction of war. Soon she would dress in white, kneel at the altar of the temple, place her small hand in the hands of her parents, and be sealed to them by the power of the priesthood for time and for all eternity. What she would always remember most was the expression of joy on her father’s face.

Lara sat by the big window, looking at the pictures in the book that Grandma had given her. She wished that Mother had time to read the story to her. Baby Emily seemed to need all of Mother’s time.
Baby Emily started crying again. Lara put the new book down and went over to the baby’s crib. Lara picked up the blue and pink rattle and shook it. It sounded like a bunch of little bells. Lara thought that it sounded nice, but Baby Emily just kicked and cried some more.
“Doesn’t she like the rattle?” Lara asked.
“She’s too little,” Mother explained, picking up Baby Emily. “She’ll like it when she gets a little older. I’ll change her diaper; then she’ll be happy again.”
Lara ran to get a soft white diaper from the top of the tall stack. Then she got a damp cloth and the bottle of baby powder. After the clean diaper was on, Lara took the cloth to the bathroom and put the powder back on the shelf with Baby Emily’s other things.
When Mother sat in the rocking chair with Baby Emily, Lara tiptoed out of the room. She knew that Mother wanted the baby to go to sleep.
Lara wanted to run and shout and skip, but even before Baby Emily came, Mother wouldn’t let her run and shout and skip in the house.
The newspaper was on the floor, so Lara folded it and put it on the table.
“You are a big help,” Mother said, coming into the room. “Emily is asleep, and because you helped, I have time to do something with you. What shall we do?”
“We could read my new book.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ve been wanting to read that story.”
Lara got the book and snuggled happily beside Mother in the big chair by the window.

On one occasion when I arrived home late from an assignment, my wife expressed concern about one of our sons. She was worried that his mind was not riveted upon serving a mission, and she said as much to me. Her concerns certainly captured my attention, and I asked where the son was. She told me that he was in his room preparing to retire. Immediately I went to the room and sat on the edge of his bed. When I asked if I could speak with him a moment, he said, “Certainly.”

The hour was late. He was tired, and so was I. I, therefore, could see that nothing would be gained by a long conversation. And following the direct Alma-and-Helaman approach, the conversation went something like this:

“Son, are you still planning on serving a mission?”
“Yes,” he answered. “I’ve always planned on serving, and I haven’t changed.”
“Son, do you know what qualifies a young man to serve a mission? Do you know what worthiness means?”
“Yes, Dad,” he said. “I understand the requirements and standards of worthiness that must be met.”
I said, “Thank you. I have one last question: Are you clean and worthy to serve? Could you accept a call if one were issued you today?”
There was a moment of reflective silence; then he declared: “It isn’t easy. Temptation is real and found everywhere. However, since you’ve asked, I am clean and I am worthy to serve.”

This was a wonderful, beautiful, spontaneous, and sanctifying experience.

I thanked my son, kissed him, assured him of my love, and bid him good night. I returned to my bedroom and told my wife that all was well and that she could go to sleep.

It’s not often that a brother and sister compete in team roping, yet team roping is only the beginning of the Janice-Brent team. Just last fall, serving the governor of Utah, his wife, and other judges a meal consisting of garlic lamb steaks, baked potatoes, tossed green salad, carrots, a melon-ball appetizer, braided yeast bread, and a raspberry cream dessert was—yes, the Janice-Brent team.
Adorned with aprons and hats, and reminded by 3-by-5 cards printed with such phrases as “Put plates in oven to heat,” “Cut green peppers,” “Set fruit on table,” “Change aprons,” and “Call guests,” the efficient team won first place in the state 4-H contest and a trip to Denver, Colorado.

Last year when I was called to be the Young Women general president, as I was leaving President Monson’s office, he reached over to a bouquet of white roses, took one from the vase, and handed it to me. The moment he handed me that beautiful white rose, I knew why. I went back to the time when, as a young woman, I chose the white rose as my symbol of purity—my personal banner. How did President Monson know? I took that precious rose home, put it in a beautiful crystal vase, and placed it on a table where I could see it every day. Every day that rose reminded me of the importance of my own personal purity and virtue, and it reminded me of you. As you grow and blossom, your personal purity will enable you to become a force for good and an influence for righteousness in the world. I truly believe that one virtuous young woman, led by the Spirit, can change the world.

In my experience I recall a very significant lesson. I learned it as a home teacher.
Shortly before I was married I was assigned with an older companion to serve as home teacher to an aged little lady who was a shut-in. She was a semi-invalid, and often when we knocked on the door she would call us to come in. We would find her unable to be about and would leave our message at her bedside.
We somehow learned that she was very partial to lemon ice cream. Frequently we would stop at the ice cream store before making our visit. Because we knew her favorite flavor, there were two reasons we were welcome to that home.
On one occasion the senior companion was not able to go, for reasons that I do not remember. I went alone and followed the ritual of getting a half-pint of lemon ice cream before making the call.
I found her in bed. She expressed great worry over a grandchild who was to undergo a very serious operation the following day. She asked if I would kneel at the side of her bed and offer a prayer for the well-being of the youngster.
After the prayer, thinking of my coming marriage, I suppose, she said, “Tonight I will teach you.” She said she wanted to tell me something and that I was always to remember it. Then began the lesson I have never forgotten. She recounted something of her life.
A few years after her marriage to a fine young man in the temple, when they were concentrating on the activities of young married life and raising a family, one day a letter came from “Box B.” (In those days a letter from “Box B” in Salt Lake City was invariably a mission call.)
To their surprise they were called as a family to go to one of the far continents of the world to help open the land for missionary work. They served faithfully and well, and after several years they returned to their home, to set about again the responsibilities of raising their family.
Then this little woman focused in on a Monday morning. It could perhaps be called a blue washday Monday. There had been some irritation and a disagreement. Then some biting words between husband and wife. Interestingly enough, she couldn’t remember how it all started or what it was over. “But,” she said, “nothing would do but that I follow him to the gate, and as he walked up the street on his way to work I just had to call that last biting, spiteful remark after him.”
Then, as the tears began to flow, she told me of an accident that took place that day, and he never returned. “For fifty years,” she sobbed, “I’ve lived in hell knowing that the last words he heard from my lips were that biting, spiteful remark.”
This was the message to her young home teacher. She pressed it upon me with the responsibility never to forget it. I have profited greatly from it. I have come to know since that time that a couple can live together without one cross word ever passing between them.
I have often wondered about those visits to that home, about the time I spent and the few cents we spent on ice cream. That little sister is long since gone beyond the veil. This is true also of my senior companion. But the powerful experience of that home teaching, the home teacher being taught, is with me yet, and I have found occasion to leave her message with young couples at the marriage altar and in counseling people across the world.
There is a spiritual genius in priesthood home teaching. Every priesthood holder who goes forth under this assignment can come away repaid a thousandfold.
I have heard men say in response to a question about their Church assignment, “I am only a home teacher.”
Only a home teacher. Only the guardian of a flock. Only the one appointed where the ministry matters most. Only a servant of the Lord!

I recently went with priesthood leaders to visit the homes of four women in Honduras. These sisters and their families were in need of priesthood keys and authority, priesthood ordinances and covenants, and priesthood power and blessings.
Our last visit was at the home of a sister whose husband recently died in a tragic accident. A recent convert to the Church, she had not understood that she could receive her own endowment and be sealed to her husband. When we taught her that these blessings could be available to her and her deceased husband, she was filled with hope. Knowing that through temple ordinances and covenants her family can be sealed together, she has faith and determination to face the trials ahead.
This widow’s son is preparing to receive the Aaronic Priesthood. His ordination will be a great blessing to her and her family. They will have a priesthood holder in their home.

I received a notice from my 13-year-old son’s school announcing a special parents’ meeting to preview the new course in human sexuality. Parents could examine the curriculum and take part in a lesson presented exactly as it would be given to the students.
When I arrived at the school I was surprised to discover only a dozen or so parents there. And I was the only Latter-day Saint. As we waited for the presentation to begin, I thumbed through page after page of instruction in the prevention of pregnancy and disease. I searched for the word abstain and related words but found the idea of abstinence mentioned only briefly.
The teacher arrived shortly, accompanied by the school nurse. Before beginning the lesson, the teacher asked if there were any questions. I asked why abstinence did not play a noticeable part in the lesson material.
What happened next was shocking. I was verbally assailed by the other parents. “How stupid are you?” one sneered. There was a great deal of laughter, and someone suggested if I thought abstinence had any merit, I was out of touch with the real world.
The teacher and the nurse said nothing as I drowned in a sea of embarrassment. My mind had gone blank during the unexpected attack, and I could think of nothing to say.
When the laughter subsided, the teacher explained that the school was to teach “facts”; the home was responsible for moral training. I sat in silence for the next 20 minutes as the course was explained. The other parents seemed to give their unqualified support to the materials that would be presented to our children.
“Donuts at the back,” announced the teacher during the break. “And I’d like you to put on the name tags we have prepared and mingle with the other parents. Get to know each other.”
All the other parents moved to the back of the room. As I watched them affixing their name tags and shaking hands, I sat deep in thought. I was ashamed I had not been able to come up with an argument that would convince them to include a serious discussion of abstinence in the lesson material. I uttered a silent prayer for guidance.
My thoughts were interrupted by the teacher’s hand on my shoulder. “Won’t you join the others, Mr. Layton?”
“Thank you, no,” I replied.
“Well, then, how about a name tag? I’m sure the others would like to meet you.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” I replied.
“Won’t you please join them?” she coaxed.
Then I heard a still, small voice whisper, “Don’t go.” The instruction was unmistakable. “Don’t go!”
“I think I’ll just wait here,” I said.
When the class was called back to order, the teacher thanked everyone for putting on their name tags. She ignored me. Then she said, “Now we’re going to give you the same lesson we’ll be giving your children. Everyone please take off your name tags. On the back of one of the tags I drew a tiny flower. Who has it, please?”
The man across from me held it up. “Here it is!”
“All right,” she said. “The flower represents disease. Do you recall with whom you shook hands?”
He pointed to a couple of people. “Very good,” she replied. “The handshake in this case represents intimacy. So the two people you had contact with now have the disease.” The teacher continued, “And who did the two of you shake hands with?”
The point was well taken, and she explained how this lesson would show students how quickly disease can be spread.
“Since we all shook hands, we all have the disease; there is no escaping that fact.”
It was then I heard the still, small voice again: “Speak now, but be humble.” I recognized the importance of the latter admonition, then rose from my chair. I apologized for any upset I might have caused earlier, congratulated the teacher on an excellent lesson, and concluded by saying I had one small point I wished to make.
“Not all of us were infected,” I said simply. “One of us abstained.”

Jennifer handed Mom a piece of paper after church. She listened as her mother read the note: “Jennifer has been asked to give a talk in Primary next Sunday, February 14.”
“Mom, will you please help me?” Jennifer asked.
“Of course I will,” Mom said. “You can think and pray about what you would like to say. This week we can work on your ideas.”
“Thank you, Mom!” Jennifer said. She was a little scared, but she knew she could do it with help from Heavenly Father.
The next day as Jennifer cut out paper hearts to make valentines, an idea popped into her head. She ran to find Mom and handed her the paper heart.
“Do you think I could make some hearts to use in my talk?” Jennifer asked.
“Yes,” Mom said. “Let’s write a list of things that make your heart happy. Then we can find pictures of those things to put on the hearts.”
Jennifer had fun cutting out pictures and gluing them onto the hearts.
On Sunday morning, Jennifer knelt to say a prayer. She had done all she could to get ready for her talk. She asked Heavenly Father to help her remember what to say.
The Primary children sat and listened as Jennifer gave her talk:
My heart is happy because I have a family that loves me. We can be an eternal family.
My heart is happy when I choose the right.
My heart is happy because I know Joseph Smith was a true prophet and that Thomas S. Monson is a prophet today.
My heart is happy when I come to Primary and sing Primary songs.
My heart is happy when I read the scriptures. I know the Book of Mormon is true.
My heart is happy because Jesus Christ is my Savior. I know that He loves me. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Much of what I know came from my family. When I was about eight years old, my wise mother asked my brother and me to pull weeds with her in our family’s backyard garden. Now, that seems a simple task, but we lived in New Jersey. It rained often. The soil was heavy clay. The weeds grew faster than the vegetables.
I remember my frustration when the weeds broke off in my hands, their roots stuck firmly in the heavy mud. My mother and my brother were soon far ahead in their rows. The harder I tried, the more I fell behind.
“This is too hard!” I cried out.
Instead of giving sympathy, my mother smiled and said, “Oh, Hal, of course it’s hard. It’s supposed to be. Life is a test.”
In that moment, I knew her words were true and would continue to be true in my future.

Butch and Diana Alder, from Sandy, Utah, are serving as senior missionaries in the Australia Melbourne Mission. Warrnambool holds a special place in Elder Alder’s heart, as his great-great-grandparents, John and Charlotte Nye, joined the Church there.

The Nyes were introduced to the Church of Jesus Christ in 1856 by George Thomas Wilson, the local veterinarian, when he came to their home to treat their prized horse. Conversation turned to the gospel of Jesus Christ, and Brother Wilson invited the couple to learn more. At the time of their baptism, the nearest established congregation of the Church was in Sydney.

Elder Meurs told the story of his parents, who lived in the area, joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1958.
Fred and Lois Meurs, strong Christians from different faiths were actively searching for someone to answer their gospel questions. After carefully studying the New Testament, they began to search for a church that had teachings that were consistent with Jesus’s teachings.
They had questions about the purpose of life, priesthood authority, what happens when we die, ordinances like baptism, and the role of prophets and apostles. They had spoken to the religious leaders of the community, but no one could give them the answers they were searching for. They began to earnestly pray for someone to answer their questions.
That same week, two full-time missionaries, Elder Jones and Elder Erikson, knocked on their door and said they had a message about Jesus Christ to share with them. Fred and Lois asked them all their questions, and the missionaries answered every one. Three weeks later the Meurs were baptised and confirmed. Some other families joined soon after, and the first Warrnambool Branch was formed.
As the Church grew, new members moved in, and others moved out.
“Many wonderful people, over the years, have been touched by the wonderful association with the Warrnambool Branch and have very fond memories,” Elder Meurs said. “Faith has been strengthened, and people have become part of the Church of Jesus Christ here on the earth. They have felt the Saviour’s teachings and His presence in their lives.”
Elder Meurs, quoting President Russell M. Nelson’s remarks from the October 2024 general conference said, “My dear brothers and sisters, in a coming day, Jesus Christ will return to the earth as the millennial Messiah. So today I call upon you to rededicate your lives to Jesus Christ. I call upon you to help gather scattered Israel and to prepare the world for the Second Coming of the Lord. I call upon you to talk of Christ, testify of Christ, have faith in Christ, and rejoice in Christ!” (“The Lord Jesus Christ Will Come Again,” Liahona, Nov. 2024).
Elder Meurs concluded his remarks by saying, “I testify that Jesus Christ lives. He knows each of us. Dedicate yourselves to living the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
Also in attendance was Damon Page, Area Seventy. Speaking to the branch members, he said:
“What will we raise here in the Warrnambool Branch? By following our faith and the promptings of the Spirit, we will touch those around us. We will raise up strong sons and daughters that will become more like our Father in Heaven and His Son, Jesus Christ.”
“How do we become who we want to be? Work is the secret. We must be willing to work for those things that will bring us closer to Jesus Christ.”
Karen Jones, a branch member since 1990, said, “The members lift and strengthen each other. Many members have passed away, but the remaining members have put their shoulder to the wheel and have helped the branch to push along. Warrnambool has given me strength, love, and hope.”
President Suringa said, “What is happening today is a manifestation of the Lord’s power. There are so many great things ahead.”

One year I had a goal to improve my spiritual learning. I would bring Church books, pamphlets, manuals, and scriptures everywhere, including to school, as I hungered for the words of God. But my efforts slowed when I became busy studying for an upcoming quiz.
One day our teacher led a discussion in which she asked all the non-Catholic students in the room to stand. I was the only Latter-day Saint in the class. Six other students also stood.
Then we were questioned: What church do you belong to? Who was the founder? How was your church established?
I was the last to answer. I was nervous when I realized I hadn’t brought my Church books, but I tried to remember the things I had studied. A Bible verse came to mind:
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths” (Proverbs 3:5–6).
I stood in front of the class with boldness and forgot my fears. I stated that I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I shared the story of a young boy, Joseph Smith, who saw God. I felt a burning in my bosom, and tears fell from my eyes. I shared that the Church had been organized on April 6, 1830, and I testified that a prophet of God had been called and the priesthood restored. I testified that I knew all this was true.
The many hours of gospel study had been worth it. It had helped me defend my faith and share the gospel. I was proud when, several weeks later, four of my classmates joined me at church.
That experience taught me the importance of a testimony. At first I wondered why the Lord hadn’t prompted me to bring my books that day. They would have helped me perfectly answer the questions being asked. But then I realized that we need not memorize everything about the Church or rely on references—we should study, live, and share the gospel, relying on the Holy Ghost. I may not have had my books, but I had my testimony.

Many faithful Latter-day Saints have demonstrated that they are “settled” in keeping their covenants with God and are forever changed. Let me tell you about three such individuals—Brother Banza Mucioko, Sister Banza Régine, and Brother Mbuyi Nkitabungi.
In 1977 the Banzas lived in Kinshasa in the country of Zaire, now known as the Democratic Republic of the Congo. They were highly respected in their Protestant church community. Because of their talents, their church arranged for their young family to go to Switzerland to study and provided a university scholarship.
While in Geneva, on the bus route to school, Brother Banza frequently saw a small meetinghouse with the name “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” He wondered, “Does Jesus Christ have Saints now, in the latter days?” He eventually decided to go and see.
Brother and Sister Banza were greeted warmly at the branch. They asked some of the persistent questions they had about the nature of God, such as, “If God is a spirit, like the wind, how could we be created in His likeness? How could He sit on a throne?” They had never received a satisfactory answer until the missionaries explained restored doctrine in a brief lesson. When the missionaries left, the Banzas looked at each other and said, “Isn’t this the truth that we have heard?” They continued coming to church and meeting with the missionaries. They knew that baptism in the restored Church of Jesus Christ would have consequences. They would be stripped of their scholarships, their visas would be revoked, and they and their two young children would be required to leave Switzerland. They chose to be baptized and confirmed in October 1979.
Two weeks after their baptism, Brother and Sister Banza returned to Kinshasa as the first and second members of the Church in their country. The members of the Geneva Branch stayed in contact with them and helped them connect with Church leaders. The Banzas were encouraged to faithfully await the promised time when God would establish His Church in Zaire.
Meanwhile, another exchange student from Zaire, Brother Mbuyi, was studying in Belgium. He was baptized in 1980 in the Brussels Ward. Soon thereafter, he served a full-time mission to England. And God worked His miracles. Brother Mbuyi returned to Zaire as the third member of the Church in his country. With parental permission, Church meetings were held in his family home. In February 1986 a petition was made for official government recognition of the Church. The signatures of three citizens of Zaire were required. The three happy signatories of the petition were Brother Banza, Sister Banza, and Brother Mbuyi.
These stalwart members knew the truth when they heard it; they made a covenant at baptism that anchored them to the Savior. They metaphorically threw their old ways into a churning waterfall with no intention of retrieving them. The covenant path was never easy. Political turmoil, infrequent contact with Church leaders, and challenges inherent in building a community of Saints might have deterred less-committed individuals. But Brother and Sister Banza and Brother Mbuyi persevered in their faith. They were present at the dedication of the Kinshasa Temple, 33 years after they signed the petition that led to the official recognition of the Church in Zaire.
The Banzas are here in the Conference Center today. They are accompanied by their two sons, Junior and Phil, and daughters-in-law, Annie and Youyou. In 1986, Junior and Phil were the first two individuals baptized into the Church in Zaire. Brother Mbuyi is watching these proceedings from Kinshasa with his wife, Maguy, and their five children.

Two weeks later, however, my mother was back in the hospital. She had started to hemorrhage and was hospitalized for another two weeks.
Like most fifteen-year-old girls, I had had my share of thoughts about romance, marriage, and babies. But nothing I had ever dreamed of had prepared me for what I then faced. Not only did I have my father to cook for, but I had the four other children as well—breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. There was also the laundry to wash and, to top the list, a two-week-old baby to care for.
At times I thought I wouldn’t make it. But that new little girl and I developed a very close bond; I felt as though she were mine. I recall one day when a few sisters from our ward came by to help out by offering to take the baby for a while. But after all we had gone through to get this little one, I told them they couldn’t have her and ordered them out of the house. (I had a hard time explaining my actions!) My mother called all of the ladies later to explain how very tired I was, and that I didn’t mean to be so rude.
How happy we were when mother came home! She found a very fat little baby girl (and why not? I had thought if the baby cried she must be hungry, so I fed her constantly), and in spite of me, everyone had survived.

Perhaps you have had an experience like the one I had when I was 11 years old. I had a friend whom I admired because she seemed to know so much. One day she offered me a cigarette. She told me she would help me learn to smoke, and she pressured me with words like “It won’t hurt—just this once.” I didn’t want to offend her, but I had decided when I was very young that I would never smoke. This decision made it easier to say no. Show you know by obeying the Word of Wisdom.