Gospel Story Finder

At age seven, Joseph Smith contracted typhoid fever, and an infection settled in his leg. Dr. Nathan Smith was pioneering a procedure by which the infected leg could be saved. Without anesthesia, Dr. Smith would need to cut Joseph’s leg and actually remove portions of the infected bone. Joseph declined brandy to endure the pain and refused to be tied down but said, “I will have my father sit on the bed and hold me in his arms, and then I will do whatever is necessary.”1

What trials will our children face? Like Joseph Smith, our children can find the courage to “do whatever is necessary.” When we are intentional about holding them and teaching them of Heavenly Father’s plan through prayer and scriptures, they will come to know where they came from, why they are here, and where they are going.

I learned something about this supposed disinterest in religion that is flooding the developed world, in an experience with a man of my age, about a year ago. Stephen is very smart, having had gotten degrees from prestigious colleges in engineering and management. In an early conversation he casually said that he hadn't gone to church for about 30 years.

Rather than trying to convince him that he needed our church I asked instead, "Do you have any questions about religious issues that you've been wondering about, and which you've not been able to get good answers to?" Turns out that he had some very good questions - about the purpose of life, if there is one; what is God, if there is one; and so on. He said, "As I went through college and graduate school, the churches just could not answer my questions. So I stopped going to church, and have been looking for answers in philosophy and science instead. Frankly, they can't answer them any better than the churches can," was his reply.

So I said, "Let's meet again. Rather than my telling you what I think you should know about my Church, can you prepare a list of these questions that have been on your mind? I'd like to bring a couple of my friends who are missionaries, who can help us see whether our new scriptures can answer some of them." He agreed.

At the next meeting we started at the top of his list, and then in the Book of Mormon found and discussed answers to that question. Stephen was impressed that indeed there was an answer to that question, and crossed that one off his list.

Before we parted, I gave Stephen a homework assignment. I asked him to read just two chapters in the Book of Mormon, which contained the answer to the next question on his list. I assigned him, before digging into his assignment, to begin by praying aloud, asking the Lord to bless him so that he could complete the assignment well. I asked him to then read the chapters; and then to write a 2-paragraph answer to his own question, based upon the information in the chapters. And finally, I asked him to pray again aloud, but this time to ask God whether the things that he wrote, and the things that he read, were true.

Stephen did the assignment beautifully. When we met next, we asked him to read his answer to his question, and then explain to us how he got the answer from the chapters that he read. For 20 minutes he excitedly summarized what he had found in the Book of Mormon - and frankly taught us, more than we taught him. I then asked him whether the things that he wrote were true. He responded, "It is, Clay. It is. For 30 years I couldn't answer this question." I noticed how respectfully he held the Book of Mormon in his hands." The whole book is true, isn't it," he said. We then kept giving him homework assignments to answer his remaining questions, meeting once every week with those wonderful missionaries. He was a dream investigator, because we had taught him how to answer his questions through the scriptures, and to verify the truth of his answers through prayer. The missionaries just had to sit there, as Stephen unfolded the gospel for us.

He was baptized a year ago.

After I was baptized, the Church became my world. I loved being at church with the other members. I remember many times being there on Saturdays with the deacons, cleaning the chapel and preparing it for Sunday. I also participated in Mutual activities. From seeing the missionaries in Primary and at home, I decided early in my life to go on a mission. When I served my mission, I was very happy. I served two years in the west of Mexico.

Children, obey the Lord’s commandments. Decide now to go on a mission and to marry in the temple. If you decide in your minds and hearts now, while you are young, to do these things, you will be good missionaries, good spouses, and good parents. I believe that what the world needs most is good mothers and good fathers guiding their families.

Children, keep away from those things that would separate you from Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ—things like lying, stealing, using drugs, violating the Word of Wisdom, doing whatever the prophets have taught us are wrong.

Be careful in choosing your friends. Good friends help us to do good things; bad friends influence us to do bad things.

Prepare now for a mission. Keep yourself morally clean. If you keep yourself clean and worthy in every way, if you take the sacrament worthily every Sunday, you will be very powerful missionaries and later you will be leaders in the Church.

I love the children of the earth. With the power and authority that I have as a General Authority, I bless you that you can gain all the blessings that your parents want for you. Where you live is not important, nor the color of your skin or your eyes or your hair. Everyone on earth is a son or daughter of God, and He wants us to return to Him as clean and innocent and worthy as we were when we were born.

You students might consider what should be your standard in regard to studying on the Sabbath. I speak from experience, having attended three universities, which included law school and earning an advanced master’s degree in corporation law. During part of that time I served as bishop and worked in New York City as an attorney. I had every temptation and opportunity to study on the Sabbath day but made it a simple matter of faith and principle that I would avoid studying on Sunday. I feel that the Lord honored my commitment. I was able to complete all that I attempted educationally and excelled where I needed to excel.

I was in college, had a good part-time job, and was engaged to be married within a few months. My life was exciting, and the future looked bright.
I was surprised when my stake president approached me one Sunday morning. He said, “The Lord wants you to serve a mission.” I felt powerfully impressed that this was a call from God. I acted upon that impression and immediately committed myself to serve.
I was called to serve in the Southern States Mission, and I began my preparation with difficult tasks. I quit my job, left the university, postponed my wedding two years, and said good-bye to my loved ones. It seemed that I was leaving everyone and everything that mattered to me.
I traveled by train many hours with missionary companions to Atlanta, Georgia. Two missionaries picked us up and drove us to meet the mission president. He greeted me for a few moments and then told me that I must leave immediately by bus to Montgomery, Alabama, where I would be given instructions about my field of labor. The same elders who had picked me up took me to the bus station and handed me a piece of paper with an address on it. They told me that the missionaries in Montgomery would tell me what to do.
I walked tentatively into the bus station, bought a ticket, and boarded the bus. It was getting dark, and I began to feel very alone. I found an empty seat next to a window and tried to ignore the growing discouragement from not knowing where I was going, whom I would be with, or what I would do.
When the bus driver took his seat, he stared at me in the rearview mirror. He walked to where I was sitting and shouted, “What are you trying to do, boy?” I was shocked that he would shout at me with all the people on the bus watching. I had no idea why he was angry. I barely whispered, “I’m just riding the bus.”
He yelled, “Are you trying to start something here?” He pointed to a white line on the floor of the bus that I hadn’t noticed before. He told me to sit in front of that line or he would put me off the bus. I was terrified and moved immediately. I did not know, until much later, that in those days white lines divided the areas where white and black people could sit. There had been a lot of dissension in the southern United States over segregation of whites and blacks, and the bus driver thought I was trying to start a protest.
I rode for several hours, huddled in the bus, trying to fight off fear, loneliness, and embarrassment. By the time I reached Montgomery, my trembling hands could hardly lift my suitcases. The bus arrived late at night, so the bus station was almost empty, and no one was there to meet me. The only information I had was the address the missionaries had given me in Atlanta. I had no idea how to find the address.
I awakened a taxi driver sleeping in his taxi and asked if he could take me to the address on the paper. He was irritated. He told me how much it would cost, and I promised to pay the fee, even though it seemed very expensive. He drove me fewer than 100 yards (90 m) and announced, “This is it!” The driver demanded his fee and left me and my suitcases in front of a small white house.
The house was dark. I carried my suitcases to the porch and knocked on the door. Nobody came. I knocked more loudly. After a few minutes, a sleepy-eyed missionary opened the door.
“Who are you?” he asked.
When I told him who I was and why I was there, he said that he didn’t know I was coming, and he didn’t invite me in. I apologized and told him I was doing only what I was told to do.
“We don’t have any room for you,” he said, still leaving me on the porch.
“What do you want me to do, Elder?” I cried. “I have been sent here, and I have nowhere else to go.”
He finally invited me into the house and told me I would have to sleep on the kitchen floor. Then he disappeared into his bedroom. Never had I felt so alone, unwanted, and discouraged.
I put my suitcases on the filthy floor and turned out the light. I was too discouraged to sleep, so I stood at the door and peered out the window. I could see the bus station that I had left only a few minutes before. I could easily walk there and buy a ticket for home. I had just enough money left. All of my joys, hopes, and dreams were at home. People there loved me. I could have my old job back, go back to school, see my family, and get married. Over and over again I thought, “Go home. Nobody here cares about you. Nobody here wants you.”
Then I asked myself, “Why did I come here in the first place?” My stake president’s words came back to me: “The Lord wants you to serve a mission.” I had felt a powerful impression when he said that to me. That feeling had been so strong that I postponed my wedding, quit my job, and left the university so I could serve a mission. I had known that the Lord wanted me to serve.
However, being in the mission field was not at all like I thought it would be. I had been sure once, but now, when I needed divine reassurance the most, those powerful feelings seemed a distant memory.
My introduction to the full-time mission field had been an unexpectedly difficult struggle for me. Yet I knew I was on the Lord’s errand. I had once known without doubt that it was His will that I serve a mission. The absence of a profound witness at that darkened window in the missionary apartment didn’t change that knowledge.
I was in the process of making a very important choice. It was a choice between what I wanted to do and what the Lord wanted me to do. It was the first time in my memory that I had ever recognized so clear a choice.
I spoke to myself: “I will never, never quit the calling I have accepted. No matter what happens, I will stay on this mission.” As I said the words, peace came to my heart for the first time since arriving in the mission field.
Now, many years later, I recognize that the Lord was guiding me through this experience. I learned that the Lord blesses us with confirming peace only after we demonstrate a willingness to obey. I shall always be grateful for the blessings of that choice. It changed my life forever.

When seminary started my freshman year, I was pumped and ready for it—but that excitement lasted probably about a week and a half. By then I was just tired, and I was going to bed late and waking up so early. Every morning, I just thought, “This is such a bummer.” And even though seminary was held at my kitchen table in my own home, I didn’t want to go. It was becoming such a burden for me.

Eventually I said to myself, “Why am I even going? I don’t need to go!” But then I decided to change my attitude. I started writing down something I’d learned every morning, and I did that for the rest of the year. At the end of the year, I read the things I’d written. Going to seminary and writing down insights every day helped me appreciate seminary and have a stronger testimony of the gospel—especially when I read through all of it and realized how much I’d grown.
Annie P., Texas, USA

Hi, I’m Matej! (It’s pronounced ma-tay.)
Burma is a country in Southeast Asia. It’s also called Myanmar!
Our Primary learned about some kids in our city whose families are refugees from a country called Burma. Being a refugee means they had to leave their homes very quickly because of problems in their country. Many of these kids couldn’t bring any of their things when they left. We wanted to help!
The Plan
We made a plan to help our new friends from Burma. First we would collect things these kids needed, like warm clothes. Then we would invite them to come to an activity where we could play together and give them what we had collected.
Working Together
Kids in our Primary donated extra coats and scarves. Our families got a jar to help us save chore money. Every time we brought our scriptures to Primary, we put a nickel in our Primary jar. School and neighborhood kids got involved too.
Collecting Supplies
My family used our chore money to buy hairbrushes, socks, and 40 shampoos! I liked shopping to get the supplies. It made me really excited. We also collected warm coats, gloves, and hats.
The Day of Our Activity
When our Primary and the Burmese branch Primary had an activity together, we played games and learned about how Jesus Christ is like a shepherd. We made yummy treats and talked about His resurrection. We made new friends, and we’re excited to play together again!
Finally!
My favorite part of the activity was giving everything to our new friends. They loved their coats so much they didn’t want to take them off! I was so happy to see how happy they were. Helping others is how I can show Heavenly Father that I love His children and I love Him.

I was feeding my baby one night at the beginning of autumn’s half-term holiday, and when scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed, I saw a post from a childhood friend who had started a community pantry box outside her house, full of kitchen cupboard basic foods from which anyone suffering from the loss of school meals during half-term could take what they needed to feed their families.
I often feel I can’t do much for others. I want to give. It’s not easy to find ways to volunteer in the community when you have young children to care for, but that Facebook post got my brain working. I could manage this small thing, couldn’t I? All it needed was a small box. I could manage that.
I searched my cupboard for the largest ‘small’ plastic box that I could find, and then I went through my small store cupboard, filling the box with tinned fruit, vegetables, rice, beans, pasta, sauces, and noodles.
When I ventured out the next morning for a day with my children, I posted a picture of the box on the village Facebook page, hoping it might be useful to someone. Nothing could have prepared me for what I found on my return.
My small box was joined by larger boxes and bags full to bursting with food. I was overwhelmed. Like the widow’s mite (See Mark 12:41-44), my small effort was joined tenfold, by the contributions of others, who have made this endeavour a real success.
It was only meant to last for half term but, at the end of the holiday, I saw a request on Facebook from another mother, saying only the word ‘pantry’, our discreet code word that told me that they had been using, and needed, the box. I knew then that it couldn’t stop now, not with another lockdown on the horizon.
Now, more than ever, we need to support each other. We now have two boxes and are starting a store of warm clothes and blankets. The children in the village school have even drawn posters for the pantry, calling everyone in sight to do a little something for their community by donating!
The donations haven’t stopped, and people have been regularly using the boxes both to give and to take. It’s warmed my heart to see our small village pull together with such love and support. The year 2020 has dealt a rough hand, but without all the hardships of this year, we wouldn’t have had the opportunity to pull together in glorious efforts of kindness and generosity, as I have witnessed with our humble village pantry. What I’ve learned, beyond all doubt, is that if anyone can help someone, then everyone will be ok.

When I was 17 years old, I enlisted in the Royal Canadian Army Reserve. I was sent to a training base, and for the first time in my life, I was on my own to determine my path. I suspected that I would be tempted not to remain active in the Church and that my testimony would be challenged
When I arrived on the base, a course sergeant gave a tour of the different buildings and churches. I was prompted to ask where the LDS branch was located. The sergeant paused for a moment. Then he said that church won’t be found on base, but if I would like to attend, I could go with him and his wife. He was a recent convert to the Church and was happy to take anyone who wanted to go. I was glad to have the option of going, even though I had not decided if I was going to go that Sunday. After all, I was alone and free to choose for myself now. But something in my heart told me I needed to attend.
That Saturday night was one of the hardest in my life. I have since called it my “tree of life” experience. It started when my friends wanted me to hang out with them at the mess hall. I knew they were just going to drink, and I told them I needed sleep because I had to get up early for church. They laughed at my choice and went their way.
After they left, I sank into my bunk. From there, I could look out the window and watch my friends on the mess hall balcony, drinking and laughing. I remembered how they had teased me for not joining them. I felt like I imagine Lehi must have felt when he looked at the great and spacious building, where people were similarly laughing at him. I turned around to face my desk, only to notice my scriptures. I eagerly opened them and began to read. These were my iron rod, and just as the word of God had kept Lehi’s family safe, I knew they would likewise protect me.
I don’t recall what I read that night, but I do recall the Spirit I felt. I felt it again when I went to church the next morning. By attending church every Sunday while I lived on the base, I built a lasting testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Since my time at training camp, I was given the opportunity to share my testimony with others as a full-time missionary in the California Sacramento Mission.

Being alone in living the gospel did not break down his faith. When he determined to serve a mission, he was willing to give up the jujitsu practices and competitions he loved—something that had been part of his life from childhood—to work and save money for a mission. Jujitsu, he says, was an art form for him. “I felt like a painter painting a picture when I practiced.” But working left him no time to practice.
Before leaving his hometown of Mystowice to serve as a missionary, Elder Tomaszewski left a challenge for his younger brother Patryk, who was also deeply involved in jujitsu. “If you want to find out why I’m doing this, why I’m giving up my sport, read the Book of Mormon and pray about it.”
And what has been his best day as a missionary?
The day he learned that his younger brother had taken his challenge to read and pray about the Book of Mormon. Patryk Tomaszewski also received a testimony. He was baptized in August 2004.
Now there are two Tomaszewskis to share the joy of the gospel.

Michelle scooped potatoes onto her plate. She looked around the table at her family. She was the youngest of 10 siblings, and some of them were in college now. She liked to hear them talk about what they were learning.
“What do you want to study when you go to college?” her brother asked. He was studying to become an engineer.
“I don’t really know yet,” Michelle said.
“You can be an engineer too,” he told her. “You’re really smart.”
Michelle liked that idea. She loved math and science. She was good at them too. She knew God wanted her to learn. And she knew that He would help her.
When Michelle got older, she did go to college to become an engineer. She worked hard to learn. Some classes were difficult. But Michelle never gave up.
While she was in college, she shared the gospel with her classmate John. Later they got married in the temple. Michelle graduated and got her master’s degree. She became a mother. She even got her dream job helping launch rockets to explore space! She was a leader and organized projects for her team.
One day Michelle’s boss asked her to work on a special project. She would help create a robot called a rover to send to Mars. Michelle was excited! For months, she built new designs and ran tests.
But after she had worked on the Mars rover for almost a year, Michelle and her husband had an important video call. It was with President Henry B. Eyring. “We’d like to invite you to be mission leaders,” President Eyring said. “Will you accept this calling?”
Michelle and John looked at each other. Serving a mission meant Michelle would have to leave her dream job. She would miss the launch of the Mars rover! But she knew serving the Lord was more important. When she was baptized, she had promised to do whatever He asked.
“Yes,” she said. Her husband nodded. “We’ll serve.”
A few weeks after Michelle and John started their mission, a rocket carrying the Mars rover took off. Michelle didn’t get to watch it. She was doing other important things. She shared the gospel and helped the missionaries in their mission. Every day, she wore a black name tag that said “Sister Amos,” with the Savior’s name underneath.
After seven months, the rocket carrying the rover finally reached Mars—more than 100 million miles (160 million km) away. Sister Amos got permission to watch the landing online. She invited their missionaries to watch too.
Sister Amos was nervous. She and many others had worked so hard on this project! Would the rover land safely?
It did! All the missionaries cheered. Then Sister Amos shared her testimony. “Jesus Christ created worlds without end,” she said. “He made the stars, the planets, and the whole universe. He wants us to learn, grow, and use our talents for good.”
She smiled. She was grateful for the ways God led her during her life. And she was grateful to be a missionary—sharing His amazing love.
Heavenly Father guided Michelle in her life. How does He guide you?
Illustrations by Alyssa Tallent

“Today we’re going to start raising butterflies,” our den mother, Sister Sills, said.
“Butterflies!” whooped my brother, Danny. He jumped up and ran in a big circle, waving his arms as if they were wings.
“Danny,” I hissed. “Sit.”
Danny stopped and looked around. Everybody else was sitting down, so Danny sat down, too. But he kept flapping his arms.
Sometimes it’s really embarrassing to have Danny for a brother. He’s actually two years older than me, but he was born with Down’s syndrome, so he doesn’t do everything at the same age as everyone else. Danny just waits until he’s ready. That’s why he’s in my Cub Scout den.
I love him, and I try to help him, but sometimes I get mad because he’s so slow at everything. Danny never complains when I do things without him, but he looks sad. I don’t like him to be sad, so I try to be patient with him.
Sister Sills explained how we were going to raise our butterflies. Then we made butterfly houses—shoe boxes with plastic windows and air holes. We also filled clear plastic cups with chopped green leaves that Sister Sills called “caterpillar food.” We called it “green goo.”
The caterpillars were so small that Sister Sills used a paintbrush to put them into our cups. We put a lid with air holes on the cups.
“That’s a butterfly?” Danny asked.
“It will turn into a butterfly, Danny,” Sister Sills told him. “Then it will fly.”
“Wow!” Danny exclaimed.
We each took two caterpillars home. Those little things ate and ate. We had to add more chopped leaves. I couldn’t believe how fast they grew. Finally they hung upside down from the lids of their cups and shed their fuzzy skins. It was like watching someone wriggle out of a very tight snowsuit. Underneath was a smooth, green chrysalis (a covering that shelters the caterpillar while it turns into a butterfly).
We moved the lids with the chrysalises attached to them to our butterfly houses and waited and waited for nearly two weeks. Danny was the first one to notice when something happened. “I got a butterfly!” he squealed. Then he ran around the room flapping his arms. This time, I just let him.
During the next day, all four butterflies emerged. We watched them exercise their new wings, and we fed them sugar water sprinkled on flowers for three days. Then we took them outside to set them free.
At first, the butterflies didn’t know what to think of the sunshine and the wind. Then one took off, and then another and another. We watched them flutter around our yard until they were out of sight.
When we looked back down, there was still one butterfly left. I gently picked him up on my finger. “Fly,” I ordered. But the butterfly stayed perched right where he was.
“I don’t think he can fly,” Dad said, looking closely. “He’s missing part of his wing.”
Mom bent down to look. “He has only four legs,” she said. “He’s supposed to have six.”
“So what do we do now?” I asked.
“I think we’d better keep him,” Dad said. “He’ll get eaten by a bird or something if we leave him out here. He probably won’t live very long, anyway.”
“I’ll take care of him,” Danny said.
I wasn’t sure about that. Sometimes Danny breaks things because he has a hard time being careful. I didn’t think he could take care of something as tiny as a butterfly without squishing it. But Dad said, “Let him try.”
Every day, Danny fed the butterfly. And every day he took it out for a walk. “Butterflies don’t need walks,” I said.
“My butterfly does,” Danny said. “He needs to learn to fly. Sister Sills said so.”
“That butterfly is never going to learn to fly. He’s missing half a wing,” I pointed out.
“It’s OK,” Danny said. “He’s trying.”
That’s what Danny always said when the poor butterfly waved its wings. I couldn’t believe how patient and gentle he was. Every day he took the butterfly outside on his finger to exercise its wings. Sometimes it stepped out onto a flower to eat.
Then one day, in a puff of wind, the butterfly flew off Danny’s finger and circled the apple tree twice before landing in the grass. There it fluttered helplessly until Danny picked it up. But as soon as he did, it spread its wings and tried again.
“He flew!” Danny exclaimed. “He flew! He tried and tried, and he flew!” I’d never seen Danny so excited.
Danny took the butterfly outside to fly every day until it got old and its wings lost so many scales that you could see right through them. Finally it died. Dad helped Danny bury it. I was afraid Danny would be really upset, but he wasn’t. He was smiling. “Heavenly Father will give my butterfly new, strong wings,” he said, “because he tried!”
I still get impatient sometimes when Danny is slow or he forgets how to behave or he does something really silly. But when I do, I remember how kind Danny was to that poor butterfly and I say to myself, “It’s OK—he’s trying.” I figure if I work really hard, I can be as patient and kind as Danny.

Seeing the needs of immigrants in Milan, Italy, Relief Society sisters organized a service opportunity to provide them with clothing and household goods. Some sisters donated gently used items, while others organized and cleaned the donations. Each sister’s offering was important. The Relief Society sisters helped visitors feel the love of Jesus Christ as they came to the donation center. Monia, a local Relief Society sister, said, “From little things come great things. And we can bless the people inside and outside the Church. It’s the gospel in action.”

They knew the value of the heavenly gifts received in the Nauvoo Temple. They are the ones who travelled across the plains at great sacrifice and personal suffering. My great great grandfather, James Godson Bleak was one of those. He was a member of the Martin Handcart Company that suffered so severely in the trek to Utah. From his biography, we read:

Twenty-six-year-old James Bleak had already endured a lifetime of loss before he began the handcart journey. Four of his siblings had died very young, his father had died when James was 14, his mother when he was 16, and the only other member of his family, his younger brother John, when James was 18. His life began to reverse course the next year, when he married Elizabeth Moore. Two years later they both joined the Church, and the next year James was called to serve in the presidency of the Whitechapel Branch in London. He then served as branch president from 1854 until he emigrated in 1856.

James and Elizabeth Bleak and their four children all survived the handcart trek, though they suffered greatly. In September, James had been so ill that Francis Webster and others pulled him in their handcarts. During the last month of the journey, James's feet became so frozen that the flesh dropped off his heels.

The Bleaks also came close to losing their 5-year-old son, Thomas. Two women in the company were helping care for him, and after a cold night they awoke to find him lifeless between them. James described how Thomas was miraculously healed after the women brought him to his parents:

"[I] began by anointing him with consecrated oil, and praying over him, calling upon the Lord to keep His promise that not one of the family should fall by the way in gathering to Zion. Tests were applied, but not a heartbeat or other sign of life was in the child. . . . After what appeared to [be] a very long time, [I] thought [I] saw a slight flutter in the child's throat. . . . Finally, by God's power and blessing, the dear child unclosed his eyes and is now a resident of Salt Lake City, father of nine children and likewise a grandfather."

Despite these difficulties, James Bleak never wavered in his faith or even in his feelings of gratitude for the opportunity to come to Zion. On the day he arrived in Salt Lake City, crippled with frozen feet, he wrote, "I feel to rejoice greatly and give praise to God for my safe arrival in Zion with my wife and children."

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.

I was in a priesthood meeting a few years ago when I heard an interesting example of relying on the teachings of the Savior. A man I had never met or seen since shared a story. He said that he and his family had just moved into town and were quite nervous, they didn't know anyone and their eight year old son had been sad to leave his friends. To their surprise they found out their new neighbors also had a son that was only a year older than theirs, although the other boy was older and notably bigger, they figured the boys could be friends.

One day this father came home from work to see his son and the neighbor's boy playing in the backyard, he was happy that his son had made a friend. As he continued to watch them the father noticed that the neighbor's boy was beginning to play a little too rough. Before he could do anything the boy had begun to push and yell at his son in a very violent manner. The father ran outside the back door to stop the boy but he had already run and jumped the fence back into his own yard. The father picked up his tearful son and carried him back into the house to clean him up. While talking about the situation the father began to ask his son what they should do. Now think about how most dads respond when their sons have been treated poorly, think about how angry that would make you. The father was clearly not very happy, and formulating a plan of what they should do, out of anger, when his wife walked in the room. Moms have a more natural nurturing kind response to these sorts of situations, after hearing about the circumstance she asked the boy, "What would Jesus do?"

After speaking with his mother the young boy decided that Jesus would probably take their new neighbor some cookies and apologize for their argument. While the father was still thinking of other possible responses, the son turned and asked his father, "Dad, will it work?" The father replied in confusion, "Will what work?" to which the boy answered, "What Jesus taught, will it really work?" I think that's a great question. Sometimes we separate our experiences from the things that we are taught by the Savior. The real question is will teachings of the Savior work in our real lives? My testimony to you today is that they do, the pathway to happiness is to follow the example and teachings of Jesus Christ.

To say I used to hate exercise is an understatement. Just about any form of exercise was uncomfortable. In my middle school gym class, we had to run laps around the field to complete a mile and a half. We also did other exercises to build endurance, strength, and flexibility. All of it was incredibly hard. And all of it took me a long time to do.
There was a reason things were so challenging. I was born with Cystic Fibrosis (CF), which is a genetically inherited terminal illness.
My condition causes mucus to build up in my lungs. My body also has a hard time absorbing nutrients. Because of this, I need lung treatments every morning and night to keep my airways clear. I also take a series of medications throughout the day. I’ve always done this. However, my life seriously improved once I added a couple of extra health habits. And yes, one is daily exercise!
Everything started to change in my life when I found something I genuinely loved to do. While in high school, I discovered dancing. The first time I combined movement with music and put my whole energy into dancing, I knew I’d found something special.
When I first started to dance, I experienced the same discomforts I had while running laps in middle school. This time, though, my new passion for dancing made all the difference. I felt carried away as my feet pounded and leapt to the rhythms and beats of the music. I was able to express myself freely through a variety of movements, feeling uplifted and empowered.
I took entry-level dance classes at school and danced as much as possible. The longer I kept at it, the more I noticed big changes in my health. My lung function grew stronger and steadier. As I continued staying active through doing what I loved, I was able to accomplish much more than I’d ever dreamed.
I’d been taught my whole life that my body is a temple. But I hadn’t really considered how this means both avoiding harmful things (drugs, alcohol, coffee, tea, etc.) but also doing the healthy things my body needs.
President Russell M. Nelson has taught: “With your body being such a vital part of God’s eternal plan, it is little wonder that the Apostle Paul described it as a ‘temple of God’ [1 Corinthians 3:16]. Each time you look in the mirror, see your body as your temple. That truth—refreshed gratefully each day—can positively influence your decisions about how you will care for your body and how you will use it. And those decisions will determine your destiny.”1
As I took care of my body and saw it as a temple, my life changed for the better. Breathing was easier, my energy increased, and I became more alert to my surroundings. My body weight increased to a healthy level, which I could better maintain because my lungs weren’t working so hard.
Before, I had always experienced a health crash at least once a year and needed a two-week hospital stay to restore my health. But after I started dancing and taking better care of myself, that need disappeared. I went six or seven years without having to stay in a hospital.
After graduation I headed off to Brigham Young University. While there, I kept pondering a part of my patriarchal blessing that mentions sharing the gospel. In the past, I’d always thought, “There’s no way I can ever serve a full-time mission. It’s too risky with CF!” In addition to the health risks, I was afraid my daily treatment routine wouldn’t fit with a typical missionary schedule.
Still, the thought wouldn’t go away. Could I actually serve a mission?
As I pondered and prayed, I kept thinking about my favorite scripture. In Mosiah 2:20–21, King Benjamin taught how the Lord had “kept and preserved” His people, “lending [them] breath” each day. These scriptures helped me see how the Lord had “kept and preserved” me.
Though I was still a bit scared, I knew it was God’s will for me to serve. I received a doctor’s clearance, submitted my papers, and was called to serve a mission. I believed the scripture that teaches that God is “supporting [me] from one moment to another” (Mosiah 2:21). As I served my mission in Boston, Massachusetts, that promise was definitely fulfilled.
My mission days were a treasure. One of the greatest blessings was developing a deeper relationship with Heavenly Father and with Jesus Christ. Part of that closeness meant achieving a better understanding of Their will concerning me, including the importance of safeguarding my health.
As a missionary, you’re focused on serving others. Yet I knew that to stay on my mission, I had to remain healthy. I decided to never miss a lung treatment. I would exercise every morning. And I would maintain good eating habits.
As a result, I was better able to be His instrument and serve others. It was a valuable lesson to know I can still serve, even with my illness. I’ve learned that what you can do, despite any limitations you have, is much better to focus on than what you can’t do.
Satan wants us to mistreat our bodies. The adversary and the world try to twist something good—the need to take care of our bodies—into something harmful: the idea that you must look or feel a certain way. This distortion can cause great discouragement when we don’t look that certain way or fit a certain size.
How do we overcome this worldly message and focus instead on better health? How can we stay motivated to prioritize better health, despite all our challenges?
One answer is to live with gratitude.
When we see our body as a gift from our Creator—when we are grateful for all it can do—we feel stronger motivation to care for it and live to our fullest capacity.
There are times with CF where my lungs don’t get the full breaths I need—when my arms become swollen from PICC lines and IVs, when I feel fatigued while fighting off illnesses. In these times, I’ve found that I can either sulk and see my body’s limitations or express gratitude by using well what is still functioning and taking the best care of myself. When we live with patience, faith, and gratitude, we find joy.
Although many say the mission is the best years of their life, I’ve come to find that my life is a mission. My mission president would always say, “A mission is the training wheels for an unselfish, consecrated life. When the mission ends, the training wheels come off, and you ride.”
Because I changed my lifestyle years ago, I’ve been able to reach a clearer understanding of what the Lord has in store for me and to accomplish much more while paying heed to the Spirit’s direction to help me change. I know that “unto whom much is given much is required” (D&C 82:3).
I’ve experienced the change from being sedentary, weak, and ill to becoming stronger and more capable. I now have many dreams and know how to better work alongside the Lord to accomplish His work. I’ve also decided to study corporate wellness and fitness coaching as my profession. After experiencing so many positive changes in my own life, I want to help others reach their potential too.
When it comes to our physical health, I think of how the Lord has sent us here so that we may have joy (see 2 Nephi 2:25). I believe this includes each of us being able to live each day to the fullest, especially within our families and with those closest to us.
I think often about the joy I can experience with my family today and throughout eternity. Some trials come and go, some stay, but our Heavenly Father, our Savior, and His gospel and promises are always constant.

Benjie was smiling from ear to ear when I picked him up after Primary. In his chubby hand he held out a picture of Mary and Joseph and the Baby Jesus in a manger. “See, Dano. Baby Jesus.”
“Did you get that in Nursery, Benjie?”
His head bobbed vigorously up and down as he proudly displayed the picture.
“Hello, Daniel.” Sister Williams, Benjie’s teacher, was holding her brand-new baby. “Benjie sure had fun in Nursery today. We had a play about the birth of Jesus, and he played the part of Joseph.”
Baby Jesus was all that Benjie talked about all week. For family home evening, Mom brought out the manger scene, and Benjie arranged each figure in the stable. Instead of having the shepherds and the Wise Men and the animals all nicely spaced out, he crowded them around the manger, “so that they can see Him real good.”
It wasn’t until the Saturday afternoon before Christmas that Mom could take us Christmas shopping.
When Benjie saw all the decorations in the store, his mouth dropped open. We walked past mountains of toy trucks and rows of new bikes. There was even a “Christmas elf” dressed in a green top and red tights, handing out tiny candy canes to all the children.
I was checking out a display of radio-controlled cars, when I felt a tug on my coat. Benjie’s brow was all puckered. “Where’s Jesus?”
“What?”
“Where’s Jesus, Dano?”
I followed his gaze as he looked up and down the rows of fake Christmas trees and tinsel and toys. He’s right, I thought. There’s not a sign of Jesus anywhere, let alone shepherds and Wise Men. But how do you explain all that to a not-yet-three-year-old?
Fortunately Mom is pretty good at things like that. She leaned over, cupped his chin in her hands and looked him right in the eyes. “Benjie, lots of people don’t know about Jesus. They think that Christmastime is only about presents and Santa Claus. But we know that the real reason we celebrate Christmas is Jesus—right?”
He nodded solemnly.
She glanced at the banner hanging from the ceiling—Merry Xmas!—and sadly added to me, “The world has taken Christ right out of Christmas.” Then she looked at her watch. “Uh-oh. We have to hurry—tonight’s the ward party.”
Mom had helped plan the party for three months. This year our ward was doing something different. Instead of a fancy dinner with Santa Claus giving goodies or small toys to the little ones before someone read the Christmas story from the Bible, the cultural hall would be decorated like a marketplace in Bethlehem. Everyone would come dressed in biblical clothes. “Daniel, it’ll be just like we’re there on the night Jesus was born,” she’d told me.
I didn’t think much of getting dressed in a costume, but Benjie’s excitement kind of rubbed off on me. I helped him find his bathrobe and tied a rope around his waist. Then I put on a robe that used to be Dad’s and made a head-covering with a towel and a couple of safety pins.
When we arrived at the church, Mom dashed to help get the food ready. The sidewalk leading to the front door was lined with paper sacks with a flickering candle, nestled in sand, in each one. Benjie had to look into each sack at the tiny flame. I held his hand because I was afraid that he’d try to blow out the candles.
The foyer and hallway were dimly lit. A “Roman soldier” who looked an awful lot like Brother Bingham, our home teacher, stood guard. Benjie gave him his “taxes”—a can of vegetable soup for the needy—and solemnly signed a big squiggly B on the “census.”
In the cultural hall, white fluorescent Christmas tree decorations sparkled like stars. There were food shops, a tailor shop, and even a gift shop. It did look sort of like I thought Bethlehem would.
When Benjie spotted the bright star shining above the manger on the stage, he made a beeline toward it. We had to stand right there by the stage while he sang the first half of “There Was Starlight on the Hillside”* over and over. Finally he saw the cardboard lamb and chicks in a pen in the corner of the room and ran over to see them.
After that, we were hungry, so we “bought” our supper at the little shops, using the “gold” in the bags we were given by a “centurion.” Benjie would not have been more pleased if it had been real gold instead of spray-painted rocks.
We sat on a blanket on the floor because “there was no room in the inn,” and munched on pita bread and orange slices. Benjie had wanted to sit right by the stage, and he kept looking up at the manger. Finally he asked, “Where’s Jesus, Dano?”
“He hasn’t been born yet,” I told him.
“Oh.”
Then he started yawning. Before long he lay down on the blanket. Mom came over and sat beside us. She gently smoothed Benjie’s sweaty hair from his forehead.
He was asleep when “Mary” and “Joseph” walked through the crowd to the stage. We all sang “O Little Town of Bethlehem,”† and Brother Dickson began to read from the Bible as some of the grown-ups acted out the Christmas story.
“‘And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger …’”‡
Everyone was quiet as Sister Williams, who was Mary, cradled her baby in her arms. He made some cooing sounds that sounded just like Brother Sampson’s doves.
Then Benjie’s voice, soft with wonder, broke the stillness: “There’s Jesus, Dano! There’s Jesus!”
My little brother had awakened and was standing, pointing excitedly at the manger scene. His face was beaming with joy. I looked over at Mom. She was smiling, her eyes shiny with tears.
I felt all warm inside. Suddenly it was as though I wasn’t in the cultural hall dressed in Dad’s old robe at all. Somehow, it felt like I really was in Bethlehem—on that long-ago night.
Nobody wanted to break the magic of that moment. Then someone started quietly singing: “Silent night! Holy night!” One by one, all of us joined in: “All is calm, all is bright …”**
I put my arm around Benjie and quietly said, “Yeah, Benjie. Jesus. He truly is the Son of God.”

It hadn’t been that way with Tessie. She was as awkward in her world as he was in his, new in California after being given to her mother in a messy divorce settlement. He remembered the first day she’d moved into the neighborhood, lost in the shuffle of refrigerators and dining room tables. She had sat in the branches of the birch tree between his house and hers, thin legs dangling, her big eyes solemn. His heart had gone out to her as he watched from beneath his car, where he’d given up on his drive shaft to watch the scene next door.

He had worked on his car a lot back then, where he could be alone and not worry about being the life of the party or what to say when the best-looking cheerleader in the school said hello to him. Tessie had watched him from high in the birch tree, never saying a word, just watching him work. It had bothered him at first, like having a shadow looking over his shoulder, and then he’d grown to like it. It was comforting to have her there, and lonely when she wasn’t.

It was almost Christmas when David had come home late one night from a date with Sherri Gilbert. Sherri was cute, and a lot of guys liked her, so when Hank had excitedly told him that she was looking his way, well, it had only seemed right to ask her out. He hadn’t known then that the movie would be boring, the hamburgers cold, and that she would talk about nothing but her summer in France with her cousin Louisa. He had been ready to swear off women forever when he’d turned the corner and seen Tessie sitting on her front porch, her head on her knees.

She’d heard the car and looked up as it turned into his driveway. He’d cut the engine and waited a few minutes before slowly climbing out.

“Past your bedtime, isn’t it?” He’d glanced at his watch and seen that it was almost midnight. “My name is David White.”

“Hello.” She’d lifted her head slightly and peered through her bangs. “How come your car’s always broken?”

“Broken?” He’d grinned. “I don’t know. Maybe I never fix it the right way.” He’d glanced at it in the driveway. It certainly didn’t look like much, one side stripped down to primer, waiting for its paint job. “Maybe if I had somebody to help me, I could talk it over and do a better job.”

She’d hesitated a minute. “Maybe I could help. I used to help my dad with his car.”

“Hey, I’d like that. I don’t suppose you have a name?”

“Tessie Tobin.” He’d thought he’d seen excitement in her eyes. “I’m only seven, and everybody tells me that I’m too little to do anything, because I’m the shortest girl in my class, but that doesn’t matter, does it?”

He’d hidden a smile. “I don’t think so. I like short people just as much as the tall ones.”

And that had been the beginning. She’d kept her promise and left the birch tree to become his first-class mate, always ready with a wrench or rag or sometimes just a glass of lemonade.

Let me conclude with a story about the BYU-Idaho Center and miracles.

In 2007, I took to the Board of Education a proposal to build an athletic facility that could also double as an auditorium. It used collapsable bleachers and chairs and could handle about 10-12 thousand people. It was about half the size of this building. It would not start until the new Manwaring Center was complete. The Board approved it. A couple of days later, I got a call from President Gordon B. Hinckley. He said, “Brother Clark, I have been thinking about your building.” He then talked with me for a few minutes about the possibility of making it bigger and building it sooner. And then something quite extraordinary happened. All of a sudden, his voice got much louder and much stronger as he said, “Brother Clark, I am here to tell you today to build it bigger and build it now.” He was emphatic!
And so, we did. It was not easy to get it approved, and not easy to build it. This beautiful and sacred place was built on time and under budget only with the help of legions of angels. I am so grateful that President Hinckley, a prophet, seer and revelator, foresaw that we had to build it much bigger and much faster. However, I have come to understand that his urgency about what he saw was not only about this building, but also about building up the kingdom of God and establishing Zion on this campus, and in the world.