Gospel Story Finder

When I was growing up, each summer our family would drive to Provo Canyon, about 45 miles (72 km) south and a little east of Salt Lake City, where we would stay in the family cabin for several weeks. We boys were always anxious to get on the fishing stream or into the swimming hole, and we would try to push the car a little faster. In those days, the automobile my father drove was a 1928 Oldsmobile. If he went over 35 miles (56 km) an hour, my mother would say, “Keep it down! Keep it down!” I would say, “Put the accelerator down, Dad! Put it down!”

Dad would drive about 35 miles an hour all the way up to Provo Canyon or until we would come around a bend in the road and our journey would be halted by a herd of sheep. We would watch as hundreds of sheep filed past us, seemingly without a shepherd, a few dogs yapping at their heels as they moved along. Way back in the rear we could see the sheepherder on his horse—not a bridle on it but a halter. He was occasionally slouched down in the saddle dozing, since the horse knew which way to go and the yapping dogs did the work.

I grew up in the Methodist Church. Even though my family usually attended church only on Christmas and Easter, I always knew I had a Father in Heaven. My brother and I used to pray with my mom. What my parents taught me as a child prepared me for what I would learn in the future.
In sixth grade I learned that my parents were getting divorced. I was heartbroken and felt very alone. My friend Courtney could relate to me because her parents divorced when she was a little girl. She became my best friend.
Courtney and I were sitting on my bed talking when she first introduced the Church to me. She didn’t go into detail about it. She just asked me if I wanted to attend church with her on Sunday. I started going to church with her every once in a while, and then I went every Sunday. After I turned 12, I even attended Mutual. There was something there. I didn’t know what it was, but I enjoyed it.
In seventh grade Courtney and another good friend, Aubrey, introduced me to the missionaries. I soon learned what the missionaries meant when they talked about feeling the Spirit. I knew the Church was true after the second discussion.
Despite my testimony of the gospel, I was scared to death to ask my parents if I could be baptized. I continued to go to church and have incredible testimony-building experiences, but I put off the “big question” for two years.
In my freshman year of high school, I enrolled in seminary, and by November I knew I had to ask. I talked with my mom. She told me the Church had only made changes in me for the better, and if being baptized was what I really wanted, then I should go ahead and do it. My first thought was, “Why in the world did I wait so long?”
Then I called my dad, but he wasn’t very excited. When I asked him if I could be baptized, he said no. He said he wanted me to attend some other churches first. So I went to some other churches, and I met some amazing people—people who lived very righteous lives. But nothing could change the feeling I felt when I stepped into a Latter-day Saint chapel. In February I called my dad and said, “I’m getting baptized on March 7th. I hope you’ll be there.”
My whole family came, including my dad. To have my family there meant the world to me. It was the most incredible day of my life.
Sometimes people ask me: “How do you do it? How do you stay so strong in the Church all by yourself? You don’t have anyone to wake you up and make you go to church or seminary. You’re all alone.”
Well, the answer is simple. I’m not alone. I have had my struggles since my baptism—it’s not easy being the only Church member in my family. But the Lord has promised that He will never leave us alone (see John 14:16–18). Heavenly Father loves us so much that He sent Christ to die for us. How could He forget us?
Life is hard, and we have all gone through times where we have felt that our strength is gone and our faith is weak. But if we will cling to the One who loves us the most—Heavenly Father—and strengthen our relationship with Him through study and prayer, we will make it through. The Lord promised: “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up” (D&C 84:88).

I was soon to graduate, and a lot of my friends were interested in what I was going to do. I was grateful for my friends and their interest in me. I wanted to start my mission early and be the best missionary I could be.
One day I was sitting in sacrament meeting thinking about my friends when a forceful idea came into my mind. I knew what I had to do. I thought I’d put two pictures and my testimony in a Book of Mormon—one football picture of me after a great victory that they could all relate to, and one picture of me in my missionary suit. I’d get the hardback copies of the Book of Mormon, and I would engrave their names in each one so that it would be something nice.
I felt that the Spirit really helped me write my testimony. The first line says, “One can experience many victories in life, but no other experience can compare with the victories that come from obedience to the gospel of Jesus Christ.” Then I explained what the Book of Mormon is and that no man can get closer to God than by reading it.
I wrote down the names of some of my buddies and asked Heavenly Father to help me discern the people I should give these books to. I came up with a list of about 70 names and started getting real excited. I started buying copies of the Book of Mormon and having pictures made in mass quantities. I’d think up new names every day, and my list grew to a hundred, then 120, and after 140 I stopped counting.
I had a special fast and a blessing before distributing the books, and an interesting thing happened. The people I was giving the books to were touched.
I gave a Book of Mormon to my head coach, and he committed to me that he would read it and ask Heavenly Father if it is true. He embraced me as I left his office. We were both in tears, and he expressed an interest in helping to support me financially. He knew that a mission was financed by the individual, and he knew I didn’t have a lot of money.
I gave copies of the Book of Mormon to other members of the coaching staff, my teachers at school, to the athletic director, and to the president of our university. They were all very appreciative, and others offered me financial help too. It was unbelievable to see the receptiveness of these people. I knew the Holy Ghost was helping me.
And of all those people I gave copies of the Book of Mormon to, only one rejected the gift. He was a very good friend of mine, and I guess he had read some anti-Mormon literature. He told me he could not accept the book. I left feeling sorrowful, and I thought maybe I had a glimpse of what Heavenly Father might feel when his children don’t accept the gospel.
After I gave away all my copies of the Book of Mormon, the friends who hadn’t come to mind when I was making the list started asking, “What about me? How come I didn’t get one?” So why not? I went out and got some more.
One of my friends, Kris McKee, told me he started reading right away and that it felt good to him to know that God talks to man today through prophets. He said he felt impressed by the account of God the Father and Jesus Christ visiting Joseph Smith, and he promised me he would continue reading.
I had an open house before I left, and there I brought together my friends from school and friends from church. The missionaries were there, of course, and all my friends were eager to talk to them, to find out what I’d be doing for the next two years.
I left shortly after that, so I haven’t yet had any referrals or feedback. All I know is that my friends write me regularly and have an interest in the Church. And I pray the missionaries will one day teach them and that they’ll accept the restored gospel.

The kilometers click by on the car’s odometer. After a few hours, you stop checking the odometer and start watching the clock. By Australian standards, the drive from Adelaide to Broken Hill, in New South Wales, is not that long. But it’s long enough that you look for any break in the monotony of the scenery.
A big pile of fluff at the side of the road flashes by and disappears in the rearview mirror. Abandoned feather duster? Dead emu, maybe? Roadkill started to become interesting about 100 kilometers ago.
Once in a while you pass a sign and a dirt road leading over the distant horizon to some station or ranch—places so isolated that the Flying Doctor makes house calls, mail is delivered by plane, and children get their school lessons by radio.
Finally! In the middle of nowhere, there’s Broken Hill, with houses, and real trees, and grass. After that initial feeling of relief, your first thought is, Why did people build this town in the middle of nowhere? The street names give your first clue: Tin Street, Silver Street, Cobalt Street. According to a tourist brochure, Broken Hill is “the site of one of the richest mines the world has ever seen.”
Usually, when gold and silver are discovered, the people who get rich are the ones who get there first and stake their claims. Fourteen-year-old Jared Kowalski came to Broken Hill a hundred years after the first miners, but he still struck it rich.
Before their move to Broken Hill, the Kowalski family lived in Ipswich, Queensland, on Australia’s east coast. It’s a nearly tropical area, green and lush and close to some of the finest beaches in the world.
Then Jared’s dad took a job as a dentist for one of the mining companies, and the Kowalskis moved to Broken Hill. In the middle of nowhere. Or at least on the edge of nowhere. And Jared couldn’t be happier.
To some, the red, sandy soil of the outback may be a poor trade for the golden beaches near Ipswich. But to Jared, the snakes and odd lizards and other creatures of the outback are fascinating. In addition to the dogs and fish and other pets that any family might have, Jared has a small backyard menagerie with a bearded dragon lizard, a shingle-back lizard, turtles, finches, and quails—oh, and his carpet python, Monty.
Jared’s interest in animals goes even further. On some Saturdays, he helps the local veterinarian in his surgery, handing him instruments. “I thought it would be interesting,” he says, “so I asked if I could help.”
And if Jared could travel, where would he go? He doesn’t have to think that one over for long. “The Amazon rain forest,” he says. “There’s all those interesting plants and animals. That’s where I’d like to serve my mission, too. I think the people there would be interesting as well.” As much as Jared likes animals, you find when you talk to him that his greatest appreciation is for people.
A good prospector must look beyond the surface of the rocks to see the treasures they might hide. Jared’s that way with people. When you ask him if he feels isolated here in Broken Hill, he says, “I like it. There are some good members here. The best ones are old. They’ve got a lot to tell you. Most of them are really spiritual.”
The branch in Broken Hill is small, and Jared is the oldest Aaronic Priesthood bearer. He’s conscious of the example he has to set for the younger boys, to show his brothers and the other boys “the right things to do.” And the priesthood itself? “It just feels good. You feel special—a lot more confident when you have to do hard things, like tests at school.”
One of those right things to do is home teaching. “I like to home teach,” Jared says. With his senior companion, Lee Robertson, Jared visits five families, offering the prayer when asked. Jared likes people, and home teaching helps him get to know these families better. (It doesn’t hurt that Brother Robertson is also an outdoorsman. He and Jared sometimes talk about hunting wild pigs in the bush, and Jared is looking forward to getting his own compound bow, maybe doing some hunting himself.)
Jared has struck it rich in Broken Hill, all right, but he would also be the first to admit that he brought his greatest treasure with him. The Kowalski home on Cobalt Street is modest, but it’s filled with family and love. As Jared puts it, “We have heaps of fun. We have family home evening, go to the movies. I go camping with my dad.”
The family also reads the Book of Mormon together. Sometimes it makes Jared feel inspired; sometimes it’s hard to understand. But it does help contribute to his growing testimony. “I’ve already got a big testimony of prayer,” he says.
When Jared’s mission call comes a few years from now, it may not be to the jungles of the Amazon. But you know that wherever he goes, he’s going to be happy and successful.
Some people look at a place and think of it as nowhere. Then a guy like Jared comes along and turns it into his own personal somewhere. Like those first prospectors, Jared has found a vein of treasure. He’s rich in the best possible way.

The summer I turned 12, just before I entered the seventh grade, I encountered the first doubts I’d had about the gospel. My parents seemed to know the Church was true, and so did the many Church leaders I’d had throughout my life. But I realized I couldn’t remember ever feeling the “warm, fuzzy feeling” that everyone talked about.
So for three months, I prayed hard every night to feel it too. I prayed for any sign that Heavenly Father was listening to me and ready for me to know. Still, no answer came.
I didn’t tell my parents, siblings, or friends about my inner turmoil. I was scared to think I was the only one without an answer, that I was the only one who didn’t know for sure that the gospel is true.
After those three months, at the end of summer vacation, it was time for our family’s annual father’s blessings. These were our “back-to-school blessings,” as we called them, so the things spoken for each of my siblings generally fit with that theme. My dad blessed my siblings with success in their schooling and academic goals.
When it was my turn, my dad laid his hands on my head. Just after he started the blessing, he spoke nine words without hesitation, in the surest voice I’d ever heard him use, which shocked me: “I testify to you that this gospel is true.” My dad didn’t even mention my academic life. Instead, he simply bore his testimony for the entire blessing.
My eyes welled with tears that confused the rest of my family—none of them, including my father, knew about the questions I’d been struggling with. However, as I learned then, my Heavenly Father did.
Since that day, I can testify that no matter how or when, whether it’s through a feeling or the words of another, Heavenly Father will answer every prayer.

Sister Chen is now battling a new disease and the aftereffects of a minor heart attack. Twenty years after first asking God why He had left her, she found herself asking the same question—and receiving the same answer. “Haven’t I already told you?” she felt Him say. “You still have temple work to do.”
So Sister Chen continues to spend one week per month at the temple.
“These are things we have to do for our ancestors that they cannot do for themselves,” she says. “With my situation, I don’t have the time commitments that others have with work and such. I need to work hard now while I can.”

A friend of mine approached me just after I received my call to the Georgia Atlanta Mission. He made some remarks that surprised me.
He said, “Russell, from what I hear, you are a good worker and long overdue for a raise. You could doubtlessly be trained to be a manager in less than a month, allowing for further promotions and pay increases. You have two solid semesters of college behind you and could have a degree in no time at all. All of your friends are here and no one really wants to see you go. So why are you squandering two years of your life on a mission, time that could be spent doing something productive?”
The question caught me completely off guard. I stammered something about my testimony of the doctrines and principles of the Church and its truth. However, at that particular point in time, I wasn’t sure myself if that was the reason I chose to embark on this sacred responsibility. Perhaps I was doing it simply because it was expected of me by my family and religious leaders.
The incident troubled me for some time until one Sunday, while flipping through the hymnbook during sacrament meeting, I came across hymn number 270, “I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go.” It isn’t a song we sing very often, so I read through some of the verses. The chorus commanded my attention and resolved my concerns. “I’ll go where you want me to go, dear Lord, Over mountain or plain or sea; I’ll say what you want me to say, dear Lord; I’ll be what you want me to be.”
Surely the lyrics of this hymn were meant for me. The lines do not read, “I’ll go where you want me to go, Bishop Buchanan.” They don’t say, “I’ll go where you want me to go, Mom and Dad.” The command to serve a mission was issued by the Savior.
There is a definite purpose and reason for me to serve in one particular area, but most of all, what matters is my capacity and willingness to be a missionary by example, by preparation, and by faith.

Finally, may I share how the Lord will touch our personal lives through our own faith and prayers. A beautiful baby girl came to our son’s home only to stay with them here on earth for less than five months. The love and care given to her by her parents was deeply touching. The struggle of this infant granddaughter for life was almost more than we could bear. The night before her passing, we went to the hospital, giving what support we could to our children.
Later that evening in my son’s home, his mother and I knelt with him and prayed for guidance. When we returned to the hospital and I took my tiny little grandchild’s hand and looked at her, I felt the Savior’s touch. Into my mind came the words, as though spoken by her to me, “Don’t worry, Grandpa; I’ll be all right.” Peace came into my heart. The Master’s touch fell upon all of us. Soon thereafter she was released to go home again to her heavenly parents.

I am grateful that I had a father and mother who taught me as a boy the joy of work and the importance of paying my tithing and of spending less money than I made so that I could have something saved for my schooling and mission.
As a young boy, I raised chickens and sold eggs in the neighborhood, mowed lawns, worked in a warehouse and brickyard, and later sold printing. By working, I had my own money to spend, and I felt pretty grown-up. I paid my tithing, put some in a savings account for a mission and schooling, and the rest was mine to spend in any way I wanted to.
My parents taught me that tithing was a commandment of our Father in Heaven and a way for us to show our love for him and our appreciation for all the blessings he gives us. I still have a tithing receipt which was given to me when I was eight years old, and it is among my prized possessions.
The younger a boy is when he learns these important lessons, the more they become a part of his life. I am sure that many of the blessings I have enjoyed throughout my life have come to me because as a boy I learned the importance of working and being thrifty, paying my tithing, and putting something away for my mission and schooling.

“I came home from a school concert and my house was on fire,” said a Laurel from Dingle, Idaho.
“The dogs barking woke us, and the house was full of smoke,” said another Dingle resident.
And still another, “When I went into the kitchen, flames were shooting out of the wall plug.”
The sight of flames devouring the homes of their neighbors became an all-too-familiar sight to the 200 residents of this southeastern Idaho community last winter. Despite the efforts of the volunteer fire department from the nearby town of Montpelier, three homes in Dingle burned to the ground within a few months.
The town members of Dingle were there with clothing, blankets, and food to help the victims, and right in the middle were the Young Women from the Dingle Ward, Montpelier Idaho Stake. Under the leadership of the Laurels, the girls tied a quilt for one family, held a surprise kitchen shower for another family, and gave the proceeds from a baked food sale to the third family. They also raised money to send to a former Dingle resident whose home burned in Utah.
In addition, they were always ready to help with any cleaning up and clearing out they were asked to do.
“You realize how much you need one another at a time like this,” softly spoke one of the fire victims. “Everybody’s been so good to us; I’ve decided that from now on I’m going to sacrifice more of my time and do more things for other people.”
The Young Women in Dingle have discovered the feelings of fulfillment that can come from doing just that. And while they hope they won’t have occasion to help in the same way again, they’ll be there if needed.

What I didn’t mention during this address was that I knew this promise was true because I was in the midst of completing this very same assignment myself for the first time.
On December 1, 2016, I obtained a new set of scriptures and proceeded to begin the same assignment that I would later extend to young adults in January. When I finished the assignment six weeks later, I had looked up and marked more than 2,200 citations from the four books of scripture.1
For me, to be able to accomplish this assignment was just thrilling!
Something I found to be most insightful was that the Savior was telling us about Himself through these various periods of time—Old Testament, New Testament, the Restoration period, and our day. In all books of scripture, the story is the same and the Storyteller is the same.
I have devoted much of my 93 years to learning about the Savior, but rare are the occasions when I have been able to learn as much as I did over this six-week study period. In fact, I learned so much about Him from this study that I am planning to share much of it in other upcoming addresses that I am currently preparing.2
Upon beginning this assignment, I didn’t expect that this study would help me to receive a new testimony of the divinity of the work of Joseph Smith—but it did! The revelations recorded by Joseph Smith and the insights found in the Bible are amazingly consistent. It was so enlightening for me to see this in my study.
Joseph Smith wouldn’t have possibly had time to correlate and cross-reference with the Bible at the rapid rate at which he was translating the Book of Mormon—but it’s all here!
So not only do I now have a greater testimony of the Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, but I also have a reaffirmation of my absolute conviction that the system Joseph Smith had for translating the Book of Mormon was a gift from God.
I know how you feel. I thought the same thing of myself—that there’s no way I can have time to do all of this. I needed to remind myself that a comment like this is not a faith-promoted comment. A faith-promoted comment would be “I know I don’t have time for this, but I’m going to make time for it. And I’ll fulfill it with what time I have.”
Each of us who takes this challenge will finish in our own time frames. For me, much of the joy of this came from getting it all done in just six weeks. This intense study over a relatively short period of time allowed me to appreciate the complementary nature of the learnings to be found in the Old Testament, the Book of Mormon, the New Testament, and the Doctrine and Covenants.
To those of you who feel you don’t have time, if you will make a sacrifice, you will be well rewarded and very, very grateful for the change of perspective, increased knowledge, and improved depth of your conversion. I know this is true because I have seen the same rewards in my own life.

Everyone in the mission knew about Madame Dupont. Her husband, President Dupont, was the branch president of one of the smallest branches in France. He had labored faithfully for years to establish The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in his hometown. In all that time, however, his wife had opposed his membership in the Church. She didn’t like his “folly.” She wouldn’t listen to his testimony. And she wouldn’t allow missionaries in her house—not even in her courtyard!
The day I arrived in town as a brand-new senior companion, my missionary companion, Elder Granville, informed me that the branch president’s wife was just getting up and around after a short sickness.
“Great,” I said, “let’s take her some flowers to wish her well. Maybe it will help to fellowship her.”
“You don’t know Sister Dupont,” he said. (We called her sister anyway even though she wasn’t a member.) “She’ll probably just snarl.”
I couldn’t believe anyone would refuse flowers after an illness. I was wrong.
I held the bouquet while Elder Granville knocked timidly at the gate.
“She’ll never hear you if you don’t knock louder than that!” I said, and I rapped on the wood. A small, gray-haired woman in her 60s peered at us through the window. I knocked again, and the front door of the house opened. “Go away!” the lady said.
“But we have something to give you,” I replied.
“If it’s for my husband, just leave it at the gate,” she said.
“Let’s go,” Elder Granville whispered.
“We have something for you,” I said again, trying hard not to sound like I was yelling.
She opened the door and walked toward us from the house.
“Oh no!” Elder Granville whispered, pulling at my coat.
By now the short little woman was nearly up to us.
“What could you possibly have for me?” she said.
“Flowers,” I said, “Flowers to wish you—”
“Don’t like flowers,” she interrupted. “Never did.”
“But—”
“Don’t like flowers. Don’t like missionaries either. Now leave me alone.”
“But there must be something you like,” I said, almost in desperation.
“Yes,” she said, “I like fruit. Fresh fruit. Never get enough of that around here. Now thanks for bringing the flowers, but I really don’t want them.”
And she turned around and walked back to the house.
“Au revoir,” I shouted after her. “Ayez une bonne journée!” It wasn’t the most authentic French, but I did want her to have a good day.
“Brother, were you ever lucky,” Elder Granville sighed as we walked away. “When Elder Stokeley and I said hello to her one day, she slammed the gate in our face.”
I handed him the bouquet of flowers.
“Let’s go tracting,” I said.
The next day was preparation day, and we were shopping at the market near our apartment. It was then that I saw the basket of apples.
“Hey, Elder Granville,” I said, “I’ve got an idea.”
I picked up the basket and started toward the check-out stand. Visions of a month of apple crisp at every meal must have danced through Elder Granville’s mind.
“We can’t eat that many apples!” he said.
“They’re not for us. They’re for Sister Dupont.”
That left him speechless. For a moment.
“Elder Romney, you’re the craziest senior companion I’ve ever had!”
“I’m only your second companion since the Missionary Training Center.”
“Well, you’re still the craziest senior I’ve ever had.”
By now the clerk was wondering what two Americans were doing arguing in English about a bushel of fruit. I set it on the counter.
“Nous prendrons toute la corbeillée,” I said.
“You’ll take the entire basketful,” the clerk repeated (in French, of course). “Trés bien, monsieur.” Then, in an effort to be friendly, “Vous devez beaucoup aimer des pommes.” (“You surely must love apples.”)
“They’re not for us, they’re for a friend,” I said.
“For a friend.” The clerk tried hard not to be amazed. “Trés bien, monsieur.”
“The whole bushel!” Elder Granville moaned. “And we could have spent the grocery money for yogurt!” He picked up the rest of the groceries, and we headed for the door.
We did eat some of the apples. We even made some apple crisp and a pie. But most of the fruit went to Soeur (Sister) Dupont. We never delivered the apples in person. Each day we would leave one, with a note attached, in her mailbox. Sometimes the note would simply say, “Ayez une bonne journée.” Sometimes it would say, “Bon rétablissement!” (“Get well soon!”) One day I even tried to translate “An apple a day keeps the doctor away” into French. I’m sure “Une pomme tous les jours vous protégera contre les maladies” lost something in the translation, but once again the wish was sincere. By the end of the month, when the apples started to shrivel, we would cut paper into the shape of an apple, write a note on the paper, and leave that inside the mailbox instead.
All this time Elder Granville kept telling me I was crazy. And all this time we never heard a word from Sister Dupont. At church President Dupont was as cordial and friendly as usual, but he never said a word about the apples.
We were having a dish of soup for lunch one day when we heard a knock at the door. I stepped from the kitchen into the hallway to answer it. I couldn’t believe it when I opened the latch and neither could Elder Granville. There stood Sister Dupont, with our latest apple message in her hand.
“What’s the deal with all these apples?” she said. “Who do you think I am, Eve?”
“We just wanted to let you know we care,” I said.
“I thank you,” she managed. And she actually tried to smile. “But please, I’ve had enough apples for awhile.” She pulled her black shawl more tightly around her head. I was about to invite her inside when she turned to go.
“Oh, by the way,” she said when she reached the top of the stairway, “my husband says I should invite you for dinner on Sunday night.”
“Dinner?” Elder Granville gasped from somewhere behind me. “With Sister Dupont?” I thought he was going to faint. But as soon as the door closed, we both whooped for joy.
Sister Dupont was a marvelous cook. There’s no cuisine like French cuisine, and it’s even better when it’s homemade. That first Sunday evening we mostly ate well and offered compliments. We also watched hope glimmer in Brother Dupont’s eyes. It had been a long, long time since he’d had missionaries in his home. This was the first time since his baptism some 17 years before. We returned for dinner the following Sunday, and the next, and the next. Through bits and pieces of the conversation, we patched together the Duponts’ story.
Before he met the missionaries, Brother Dupont said, he had been like a wanderer in a drought-ravaged land. Then suddenly he stumbled into a lake of water. The gospel was rich and refreshing to him, and he could not drink his fill. In his exuberance to immerse himself in his new-found treasure, he could not understand why others did not want to savor the same message. This lack of communication spilled into his marriage. His wife didn’t understand what had changed her husband.
As we ate, she told us of the war years, when he was bedridden. She had managed to find food for both of them, even during shortages. She had nursed him daily. Even after the war, he had required her constant care for several years before he gained the strength to walk. Then he had spent more years training and rehabilitating himself while she supported the family. No sooner had he started working again than two Americans began talking religion with him. Then he joined their church—he was the only member in town, and they baptized him in the river—and more and more of his life belonged to his church, not to her. She felt deprived, then embarrassed, when parishioners laughed at her, the wife of the town fanatic.
President Dupont repeated over and over again that the Church was true, that he knew it was true, and that he would do whatever he could to share it with his wife. “But,” he said, “she just won’t listen.”
“Can’t you see?” I said one night after they had been sharp with each other. “What you’re really saying is that you love each other. Sister Dupont, all these years you’ve been asking your husband to spend more time with you. That’s important and it’s right. And President Dupont, all you want to do is share with your wife the thing that’s most precious to you. Right?”
He nodded yes. I turned to Sister Dupont.
“Can’t you see that he wants to share the gospel with you because he loves you?”
She didn’t say anything, but you could tell she was thinking. We excused ourselves quietly and went home.
Elder Granville’s prayer that night was straightforward and concerned.
“Please, Heavenly Father, help the Duponts to understand each other. They’re both good people.”
“Amen,” I said. And it sounded so good that I said it again in a whisper.
We had teaching appointments elsewhere for the next two weeks, and then we had to go to Bordeaux for district conference. Although we stopped to see President Dupont on branch business a couple of times, it was almost a month before we were asked back to the Duponts’ home. President Dupont delivered the invitation.
“You won’t believe it,” he said. “My wife’s been reading Church books! and she’s asking questions, good, honest questions. I try to answer them, but I get too pushy. She really wants to talk to you again.” If we hadn’t had another teaching appointment, we might have rushed over right then.
“C’est incroyable!” Sister Dupont said the next time we all sat in the kitchen. “It’s incredible. Or it’s stupid! A 14-year-old boy can’t talk to God. And the Bible. It’s complete. Why should we need any more scriptures than we already have? And the priesthood. My husband’s never been to divinity school. Why should he be able to hold the priesthood?”
Good questions, all right. How could we handle this? I could imagine Elder Granville thinking this was more like the Sister Dupont of old. Maybe the niceness had been too good to last.
“Sister Dupont,” Elder Granville’s calm voice interrupted my thoughts, “we can answer all those questions for you. But we can’t answer them all at the same time. We have a series of discussions that will answer them one at a time. Would you be interested in listening to those discussions?”
She said yes.
How about that! I said to myself. There’s hope for this junior companion yet!
I wouldn’t exactly say that Sister Dupont became a golden investigator. But she did become our friend. She listened intently to the first discussion. She even joined us as her husband kneeled in prayer. And she invited us to dinner again the following Sunday. It was while we were finishing a serving of the thin mashed potatoes the French call purée that Elder Granville told Sister Dupont a story.
“Did you ever hear about the missionary who was eating dinner and asked his companion to pass the butter? The butter was right in front of him, but he couldn’t see it because it was so close.”
“What?”
“Simple. It’s like you and the gospel. All these years your husband has had it right here in front of you, but you couldn’t see it because it was so close. You keep asking where the butter is when it’s right in front of your plate.”
It may not have been the strongest analogy, but Elder Granville was trying. When we got home that night, he brought me a copy of the Book of Mormon.
“Why don’t you sign this with me?” he said, turning to a dedication on the flyleaf. “It’s for Sister Dupont.”
I looked at what he’d written.
“Voici le beurre,” it said. “Here is the butter.”
During the next two months Sister Dupont read the book—at least, she read more than half of it. And she had two more discussions, and prayed, and was talking to her husband more and more. And he was seeming happier and happier all the time. That’s when my transfer letter came.
I was moving north to Brittany where I would finish my mission. Elder Granville would be getting his third senior missionary companion. The letter had been delayed by postal strikes. I would have to catch the first train in the morning.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to leave, Elder Granville,” I said. “We’ve been working so well here. The branch president’s happy and excited again, and the members are working with him. We’ve got some inactive members coming out to church and a couple of solid investigators. The Marcellas family is getting ready for baptism. I guess I’ll just have to leave it up to you.”
A knock at the door.
“President Dupont!” Elder Granville greeted the visitor. “Come in, come in.”
President Dupont looked at me.
“I heard about the transfer,” he said. “I know you’re leaving tomorrow. My wife wants you to come say good-bye.”
There was a lot of packing and farewelling to take care of, but I knew I had to visit his wife.
“Of course we’ll be by,” I said.
The living room was dark. The wallpaper, however, was a bright combination of browns, yellows, and tans. Sister Dupont was seated on the orange couch, a tray of cookies and hot chocolate before her.
“Hello, elders,” she said. “Have a seat. What’s this about Elder Romney leaving?”
“I’m afraid that’s right. Tomorrow morning.”
“That means there will be a new missionary here, too.”
“That’s right. Elder Taylor. He’s from New York.”
“I guess I’ll have to get to know him, too.”
I could see the smile on President Dupont’s face.
“I hope you will,” I said.
“Will you write to us?”
“Of course I’ll keep in touch,” I promised. “Trust me.”
“If you can’t trust the elders, who can you trust?” she said.
I thought I might cry.
I did keep in touch, especially five months later when I got home from my mission. It was hard, and President Dupont wrote to me more than I wrote to him. But we did exchange photos (I still have a nice picture of the Duponts with their grandchildren on vacation on the Spanish coast), and Christmas cards, and news of our families. Whatever I sent, even a postcard, I always got letters back, scrawled out in President Dupont’s longhand. He would let me know when he heard from one of the elders, especially from Elder Granville. He always included greetings from his wife, but I never received anything written personally by her. Other missionaries told me that she remained friendly and supported her husband, but she never joined the Church. Every once in a while I would write to her personally and bear my testimony to her through the mail.
I’ve been home for several years now, and this week I received an unusual letter from France. The address was strange, the handwriting unfamiliar. I opened it before I got to my desk.
“Dear Elder Romney” it began. “I’ve wanted to write to you many times over the years, but I always figured my husband kept us in contact with you. Now my husband is gone. I wanted to let you know so that you could tell the other missionaries. He loved them all so much. Let them know the Church members held a funeral for him.
“I remember much of what you both told me about life after death. Perhaps my husband is there waiting for me, as you said he would be. I never did understand all you tried to tell me, all that he wanted to share with me, but I know you both believed it was true. I’m living with my daughter and her family now. Please write to me if you will.”
You know I will, Sister Dupont. You know I will.

Last summer my friend and I were playing in the backyard. She wanted to go down the hill and play in our fort. We knew we needed to ask for permission, so we went to ask her mom. She said yes. Then we went to my mom, but she was out running some errands. My friend said, “Let’s play anyway. We’ll be done by the time your mom gets back. If she asks you where you’ve been, just say that we’ve been playing on the trampoline.”
I knew that I shouldn’t lie to my mom. I told my friend I couldn’t play in the fort, and she got mad. I was sad, but I knew that I had done the right thing. When I told my mom later that night, she was very happy that I had chosen to do the right thing.
Shybree Richins, age 8St. George, Utah

Micah serves as an ambassador at his school. An ambassador helps new students. They give school tours, show how the curriculum works, and help new students fit in.
“I helped one of my friends when he first came to our school,” Micah says. “During lunch, he asked me questions about school, and I answered them. I tried to make him feel comfortable. It’s nice to stand up for friends who might be feeling down, sad, or lonely. It makes me feel like I’m becoming more like Jesus Christ.”

“Teacher! teacher! Please run now they are coming after you,” the student in a black hijab shouted at me. I couldn’t figure out why she said that. I was serving as a teacher in a village in the northern part of the country as a corper in the compulsory national youth service scheme.
Again, the warning sounded and this time, all the students in the class ran away leaving me behind. As I came out of the classroom, I saw large group of people gruesomely hacking some of my colleagues down. “What in the world is this?” I asked only to discover that I was asking the empty walls and I immediately took to my heels as the irate mobs saw me and started running towards my direction. As I ran and jumped trenches in the bush, I saw charred and dismembered bodies of old and young people.
The mobs chased me for what seemed like ages determined to do their worst. I fell into a hole and passed out. I must have stayed in the hole for many hours as it was now dark when I regained consciousness. Minutes later I heard voices of people searching for me saying, “We must find him and kill him! He is somewhere around here! He is an infidel, a Christian!” I was so afraid and started praying. As I prayed, I felt an overwhelming assuring power come over as if to say, “Be still, I am with you always.” I got up and climbed out of the hole and started saying these words as I walked aimlessly “though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me” (Psalm 23:4) then the sound of a gunshot and flickers of torch lights interrupted me.
Thank God! The soldiers came to my rescue. Days later as we went to corper’s lodge to pick our belongings, all had been burnt except my Book of Mormon.

Jung Sung Eun of Korea didn’t pass the qualification exam to become a teacher. Tina Roper of Utah, USA, lost a job that she had expected to turn into a career. Todd Schlensker of Ohio, USA, received a spiritual confirmation to marry but saw his engagement come to an end. Alessia Mazzolari (name has been changed) of Italy ended what appeared to be the perfect relationship.

Alessia also thought that her relationship with a certain young man was meant to be. “Our story was so beautiful that, even though we had the normal difficulties that every couple encounters, we thought the relationship would never end,” she remembers.

When Alessia’s boyfriend left on his mission, the separation was difficult but for a different reason than Alessia had expected. “While he was gone, I began to know myself better. I realized that many things in my life were not yet right and that many times I had hidden behind some silly ideas rather than humble myself and face reality,” she recounts. “I had been living in a kind of fairy tale, as if being in love were enough to make everything turn out right, and often this caused me to overlook the most important things.”

Still, Alessia expected a happy reunion and continued relationship after her boyfriend’s mission. However, upon his return, the couple dated only a short time before breaking up. “It was one of the most painful moments I can remember,” says Alessia.

In their respective experiences, Todd and Alessia both eventually recognized that even though a key relationship in their lives was altered, they couldn’t abandon their obedience and allegiance to the Lord. He became their anchor when everything else was changing and uncertain.

Alessia knew that completely pledging herself to the Lord would bring her the strength that she needed. “I understood that the moment had arrived for me to decide what kind of person I wanted to be,” she says. “Would I continue to live life halfway, or would I start on the path to becoming a true disciple of Christ? I wanted to know Him deeply, love Him truly, and try to be a better person by obeying all His commandments—not just externally but in my heart with true honesty.”

After being confronted with unanticipated setbacks, all four of these young adults struggled to find the courage to live in the present and again plan for the future. But they found that their faith in the Lord grew.

Alessia, by rededicating herself to the Lord, developed a deep and personal testimony. “The plan of salvation became real for me, and my covenants became more binding and deep. Christ’s Atonement was not theory anymore or something that I had read about, perhaps too superficially. A change of heart was happening inside, and I had a sure witness.” Today, she says, she feels like a new person.

They told them they’d be bigger than the Beatles. They told them they’d make more money than Bill Gates. And in its brief but extraordinary run, the band Wet Cement did appear destined for fame.
Comprised of three LDS young men—lead singer, songwriter, and guitarist Tyler Putnam, drummer Ben Aplanalp, and bassist Coby Coonradt—Wet Cement started modestly in tiny Kamas, Utah.
“We made a really, really, really bad tape in Tyler’s garage,” said Ben, 17. The band managed to get the recording to Graham Russell, a founding member of the group Air Supply.
“We get a lot of tapes sent to us,” said Graham’s wife, Jodi. “But this tape was different. The group was very rough, but Graham and I liked them immediately. Their songs were fabulous.”
The Russells invited the boys to their home. “We were pretty scared,” said Ben. “But Graham said he liked what he heard on our tape, and he wanted to record our four songs. Over the next few months we kept writing songs, and he liked them so he said, ‘Why not record an entire album?’”
On the same day the band’s debut CD was released, Wet Cement appeared as the warm-up act for Air Supply in Salt Lake City’s Abravanel Hall. The group received a Beatles-esque reaction from a large crowd of shrieking fans.
“It was definitely fun,” said Coby, 18.
Added Tyler, “There were about 2,000 people, and they were really getting into our music. That’s pretty exciting for a garage band from Kamas.”
Shortly after the Abravanel Hall appearance, several music industry giants approached the Russells with offers to take on the hip, young group. Contract negotiations began with WorldWide Entertainment and Warner Brothers, planning began on a European tour, and the boys started wondering how they would spend their newfound fortune.
“I wanted a new car—a silver Beetle,” said Tyler.
“New drum equipment,” said Ben.
But then things started to feel wrong. Wet Cement was getting ready to shoot its first music video—based on the group’s catchy tune “The Abduction Song,” which details a fanciful encounter with extraterrestrials.
“I started getting uncomfortable,” said Ben. “I thought the aliens were going to be a little too sexy—not wearing enough alien clothing. The producers didn’t want to compromise; they said sex sells. So we said we didn’t want to do it.”
The Russells were understanding but asked the boys about their long-term commitment to music.
Said 19-year-old Tyler, “I love music, but I had been thinking about a mission for a long time, and it seemed they were asking me, ‘Are you going on a mission or not?’ I could see my life was at a crossroads, and my future would go one way or another based on what I did next.”
Tyler got down on his knees and asked the Lord for help. The answer came quickly.
“I felt there was someone out there that only I could touch,” he said. “Also, I didn’t want to be an example of a bad example—someone 19-year-olds could point to and say, ‘Look, he didn’t go on a mission and he turned out okay.’ People notice what you do big time.”
Tyler told the Russells he was trading in his guitar for a set of scriptures.
“I think they thought that once I saw the stars in my eyes I’d stay. I did see stars in my eyes. It was hard. Either way, I was going to give up something.
“They were so close. They could have gone all the way,” said Jodi, who managed the band during its short life. “They were very, very talented, and they had a great vibe. They were innocent and funny, and they liked each other. They really had everything.
“It’s taken some time, because we were so passionate about what they could have accomplished, but we do respect their decision.”
For Wet Cement, walking out of the spotlight was a difficult and financially challenging decision. Not only have they given up hopes of fame and fortune, but they have taken on a substantial debt. Said Coby, “The Russells spent a lot of money recording the CD, and they invested a lot of time in us. We decided we need to try to pay them back.” Now their company, Wet-Cement, is selling the group’s CD, and all proceeds are going to paying off the debt.
Still, Tyler doesn’t regret his decision. “Anything worthwhile takes effort. Being on stage, feeling that adrenaline is fun. But some things are more important.”
Tyler has since left for the mission field in the Philippines.
“I’m glad Tyler’s going on his mission,” said Coby. “It’ll be a positive thing.”
Ben agrees, “I plan on going. I’ve seen my brothers go, and their testimonies really grow.”
Again, Wet Cement is in perfect harmony.

After translating the Book of Mormon, the Lord commanded Joseph to revise the Bible.
As he read the Bible, Joseph was inspired by the Lord to make some changes.
Joseph asked scribes to help him.
The work was delayed when the Lord commanded the Saints to move to Ohio.
After moving to Ohio, Joseph started his revisions again with Sidney Rigdon helping as scribe.
“We need to resume our work on the Bible.”
On February 16, 1832, Joseph and Sidney were revising the book of John in the New Testament.
“… they who have done good, in the resurrection of the just; and they who have done evil, in the resurrection of the unjust.”
“What does this mean?”
An incredible vision opened up to them.
They saw Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father.
They also learned that there are three kingdoms in heaven.
They were shown that those who will inherit the celestial kingdom will be resurrected first.
“These are they who are … made perfect through Jesus.”
When the vision was over, they were amazed. Sidney was tired.
“Sidney is not as used to this as I am.”
President Wilford Woodruff said that this vision “gives more light, more truth, and more principle than any revelation contained in any other book we ever read.”
Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Wilford Woodruff (2004), 120–21.

It is also very important for you to obey your parents. I had an experience that taught me the importance of obedience. I love horses, and I love to train them to jump. As a young man, I was invited to compete in the Pan-American Games, which are something like the Olympic Games for the countries of North, Central, and South America. For two years I worked very hard to train for this competition. Then one day not long before the games, I disobeyed my coach. I had just finished my training session, and he had told me it was time to stop. But I decided to make a few more jumps. As I did, I fell with my horse and was seriously injured. After all my hard work, I was not able to take part in the competition. We must all learn to be obedient to our trainers—our parents, our leaders, and our teachers. They know how to help us avoid dangers and problems.

Have you ever been by a lake or an ocean during a bad storm? The waves and the wind can become ferocious! One night a family watched a terrible storm from the window of their home near a beach. Huge waves crashed against the shore. They battered the family’s wooden boat dock, breaking it apart. The next morning they found pieces of the dock all along the shoreline. But their boat was floating peacefully and unharmed in the water. It was held in place by the strong anchor they had tied it to the night before. The anchor had held the boat and kept it from crashing into the shore and being destroyed.
Just as the boat was safe in the storm because it was held by an anchor, we can be kept safe when we listen to and follow the prophet. Listening to and obeying his counsel is like an anchor in our lives. The prophet tells us the things Heavenly Father wants us to do. He tells us things that will guide us. He tells us how we can have peace, even during times of fear and worry.