Gospel Story Finder

In 1988 I was struggling in my business. After I consulted with my stake president, my wife and I decided to sell the business and find other work. I followed numerous leads in pursuit of employment, but each one left my wife and me frustrated, heartbroken, and without a steady income.
After a year our funds were running low, and I felt weighed down by a burden that seemed unbearable. We had a son on a mission and six more children at home, and I felt that I was failing them.
One day while feeling this burden, I realized that I had been repeating a tune in my mind for several days. I soon realized that it was a hymn, and the Spirit comforted me as I recalled the lyrics:
Be thou humble in thy weakness, and the Lord thy God shall lead thee,
Shall lead thee by the hand and give thee answer to thy prayers.
(“Be Thou Humble,” Hymns, no. 130)
Instantly my burden seemed lifted, and I realized that Heavenly Father knew my situation. Although we struggled financially for several years, I felt comfort knowing that He would guide our decisions if we sought to do His will.
We moved to a new town and eventually acquired a new business. With the help of others, our family was able to buy a home and make the business successful.
Even though that financial challenge is now gone, I continue trying to listen when hymns come to mind. I have learned that Heavenly Father often answers my prayers through sacred music.
Warren C. Wassom, Idaho, USA

One of those people most responsible for putting me on a fence post was my father—my hero. He was also the wisest man I’ve ever known.

Art DeMoss was a successful businessman—and is widely credited with pioneering direct response marketing of life insurance. He founded the National Liberty Corporation in Valley Forge, Pennsylvania—the first such company to sell life insurance without a traditional sales force. Instead, the company relied entirely on direct mail and newspaper and television advertising to sell policies.

I learned much from my father. For example, he taught me the importance of putting God first in my life by giving Him the first day of every week, the first part of every day, and the first dime of every dollar. He called this, in a simple little booklet he wrote, God’s Secret of Success.

On Labor Day weekend, 1979, just a few days before the start of my senior year in high school, my father dropped dead of a heart attack at age 53. My mother, just 40 years old, was suddenly widowed with seven children under the age of 22.

Shortly after we returned from the hospital that Saturday afternoon, my mother found a small piece of paper on my father’s nightstand.

In my mind I can still see—in his handwriting—the following words from the 90th chapter of Psalms: “So teach us to number our days, That we may present to You a heart of wisdom” (NASB, Psalm 90:12).

After my father died, I somehow believed that early death would pass over the rest of my family for a long time. But just seven years later, my 22-year-old brother David was killed in a car accident. In three months I’ll turn 50, meaning I’m nearly the age of my father when he died; and I’m more than twice the age of my brother when he died.

Losing a family member has a way of making one think about death—and about life. The Bible says, “You do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away” (NASB, James 4:14).

As the Old Testament figure Job tried to grasp his own devastating loss and grief, he wrote these words: “Man’s days are determined; you have decreed the number of his months, and have set limits he cannot exceed” (NIV, Job 14:5).

Winston Churchill’s father died at age 39, and England’s future prime minister grew up also expecting to die young. In his first autobiography, the young Churchill credited his military exploits in India—and, in general, his fearless first decades—to his awareness of the ticking clock.

My own father’s death at age 53 circled that age in my mind—a red mark made darker and more certain by my brother’s sudden death only a few years later. I’m never so lost in living that I don’t hear the clock tick or have an eye on the calendar—not in a paranoid sense, but with a sense of purpose.

Material blessings are a part of the gospel if they are achieved in the proper way and for the right purpose. I am reminded of an experience of President Hugh B. Brown. As a young soldier in World War I, he was visiting an elderly friend in the hospital. This friend was a millionaire several times over who, at the age of eighty, was lying at death’s door. Neither his divorced wife nor any of his five children cared enough to come to the hospital to see him. As President Brown thought of the things his friend had lost, which money could not buy, and noted his tragic situation and the depth of his misery, he asked his friend how he would change the course of his life if he had it to live over again.

The old gentleman, who died a few days later, said: “As I think back over my life, the most important and valuable asset which I might have had, but which I lost in the process of accumulating my millions, was the simple faith my mother had in God and in the immortality of the soul. You ask me what is the most valuable thing in life. I cannot answer you in better words than those used by a poet.”

That was the dying testimony of a man who was born in the Church but had drifted far from it. That was the broken-hearted cry of a lonely man who could have anything money could buy, but who had lost the most important things in life in order to accumulate this world’s goods.

Not all battles are waged on foreign soil. Nor do the participants always bear arms, throw grenades, or drop bombs. I witnessed such a conflict on the fourth floor of a California hospital. There were no shrill sounds of mortar fire to be heard, no fields of men or equipment to be seen. Yet a life or death struggle was in progress. Happy, handsome Paul Van Dusen, age fifteen, had just lost the first fight with the feared enemy called cancer.

Paul loved life. He excelled in sports. He and his parents hoped, then prayed that the doctors” fears would not be confirmed—that his precious right leg would not be amputated. Devastated, they accepted the sad news. To save his life, he must lose his leg.

The surgery completed, Paul rested.

Entering the room after Paul’s surgery, I was attracted immediately by his cheerful smile. He radiated a spirit of hope and goodness.

The crisp, white sheet lay noticeably flat where once there had been a leg. Flowers from friends surrounded his bedside. Parents, grateful for his life, stood close by.

Paul invited me to read the get well cards he had received. One carried the message: “We love you, Paul. We’re praying for you.” It was signed by members of his Sunday School class. From his classmates at school, “May you get well soon. We think you’re great.” Still another from home teachers had the inscription, “May god bless you. Tomorrow we’ll visit you again.”

What did the Carpenter from Nazareth say of such people? “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” (Matt. 25:40.)

The spirit of prayer came easily that day. A perfect peace filled the room. Smiles of confidence crept across lips moist with tears. From distant Capernaum we seemed to hear the echo, “Be not afraid, only believe.” Then Paul said, “I’ll be all right.”

We beheld a faith-filled heart and a countenance that reflected gratitude. Faith in whom? Gratitude for what?

Jesus of Nazareth,
Savior and King!
Triumphant over death,
Life thou didst bring,
Leaving thy Father’s throne,
On earth to live,
Thy work to do alone,
Thy life to give.
(Hymns, number 86.)

Can any good thing come out of Nazareth?
From Nazareth came example.
From Nazareth came sight.
From Nazareth came strength.
From Nazareth came life.
From Nazareth faith.
From Nazareth came peace.
From Nazareth came courage.
From Nazareth came Christ.
To him Nathanael declared, “Thou art the Son of God; thou art the King of Israel.” (John 1:49.) I testify that he is Lord of Lords, King of Kings, precious Savior, dear Redeemer. Jesus Christ of Nazareth. There is no other name under heaven given among men whereby we can be saved.

May we live his teachings, may we emulate his example, may we follow in his footsteps to life eternal.

My grandfather Francisco Lara told our family the fable of the Oak tree and the Almond tree.
There was once two young trees planted by a poor farmer to whom the trees
had been given. One tree was an oak the other was an almond. These trees grew on the edge of the Sonora desert and as the trees grew it became apparent that water was scarce on this farmland.
Twice a week the farmer would come down with his two buckets of water and water his trees. The Almond tree would beg and plead with the Oak tree to let him have his portion of water also because he was so thirsty. The Oak tree agreed because he loved the little Almond tree very much.
So while the roots of the Almond tree stretched out to soak up all the water the roots of the Oak went deeper into the earth searching for every drop of water it could find.
Both trees grew up very nicely; the Almond tree with his wonderful blossoms and sweet nuts and the Oak tree became very majestic.
One day a great wind began to blow in from the south and blew harder all during the day. It started to strip the leaves from the trees and snap off the small branches of the trees. The Almond tree panicked and cried out to the Oak tree as the wind blew stronger into the night. The Almond tree cried out during the night to the great Oak tree for help and the Oak tree encouraged the little Almond tree to persevere and lean into the wind.
When the daybreak came the Oak tree could see off in the horizon that the farmer's house was missing a roof and the chicken coop was blown away. He watched the old farmer make his way down to the trees. The Almond tree was blown over dead, its shallow roots thrust up into the air. The farmer and the Oak tree wept. The farmer came up to the Oak tree and patted its bark and called him "fuerte, grande y fuerte." Large and strong. And while the great Oak tree was saddened, he was thankful because of the lack of water that his roots had run deep into the earth, anchoring him against the storm of tribulation.

If you take a social psychology course, you will learn about a 28-year-old woman named Kitty Genovese, who was returning home from her job at about three o’clock in the morning. As she left her car, she was attacked and stabbed by a knife-wielding man. Her screams woke up the people in the building next to the parking lot, and the attacker fled but returned a few minutes later and stabbed her again. She screamed for help. Later investigations revealed that about a dozen people had either heard or seen the attack but did nothing.

This story took place in England.
Jonah ate his last bite of food and smiled. Dinner was always more fun when the missionaries came over.
“We want to share a message with you about service,” said Sister Kearl. “Why is serving others important?”
“Because it makes Jesus happy!” said Eliza, Jonah’s little sister.
“You’re right! It makes Him very happy. And when we help others, it makes us happy too,” said Sister Christensen. “Do you know anyone who needs help?”
Jonah thought for a minute. “I can’t think of a person, but our garden at school could use some help.”
“Good idea,” said Mum.
Jonah’s school had a garden where they could do outdoor activities. But no one had taken care of the garden for a long time. The bushes were overgrown. There were lots of weeds too.
“We’d love to help you with that!” said Sister Kearl. “Who can we invite to help clean it with us?”
“Our cousins!” said Jacob, Jonah’s brother.
“And our Primary class,” said Jonah.
The next day, Mum talked to someone at the school to get permission. They picked a day to clean the garden. Then Mum helped Jonah and his siblings call their cousins and Primary class.
A few weeks later, Jonah and his family met the missionaries at the school. Their cousins and Primary friends were there too. It was time to get to work!
Jonah put on a pair of big rubber garden gloves. “Look, Mum. My hands are huge!”
Mum laughed. “You can use those huge hands to help trim these bushes.”
She handed Jonah some clippers that looked like giant scissors. Then she helped him cut away the dead branches.
“This is fun,” Jonah said.
While Jonah trimmed, Eliza helped dig around the garden. Jacob helped Daddy build a new bird house. The others pulled weeds and gathered sticks. They put them in big blue plastic bags. Even Jonah’s youngest brother, Ezra, helped by picking up rocks.
Soon the garden was clean. Jonah counted the bags they had filled. “There are 13 bags!” he said. “We cleaned up so much rubbish.”
Sister Christensen smiled. “Now we need everyone’s big muscles to help us carry these to the car.”
Jonah, Jacob, and Eliza each grabbed a bag. Jonah felt happy as he lifted the last one into the car. Helping the missionaries had been fun. He wanted to be a missionary someday too. Until then, there were lots of ways he could serve. He could hardly wait to think of his next project!

The day the bad people flew airplanes into buildings and killed lots of people, I said in my bedtime prayer, “Bless all the good people, but don’t bless the bad people.” After I finished my prayer, my mom explained that we need to pray for bad people to help them choose the right. In my next prayer, I said, “Bless all the bad people so they will turn into good people.” I am glad I can pray to help people be good and choose the right.

Six-year-old Jason rode down the street on his new red bicycle. It was the first time he had ridden his bike without his eleven-year-old brother, Ray, riding along beside him. Jason grinned as he thought about his big brother. Ray was fun to be with. He would often take Jason along with him when he went to the park or to the baseball field. But now Ray had gone to the store for Mother, so Jason was riding by himself.
“Aaaah,” he called as he pedaled past his mother.
She smiled and waved at him. Jason didn’t dare let go of the handlebars to wave back, but he gave her a big smile. When he turned around and pedaled back to his house again, his mother motioned for him to stop. Born with a profound hearing loss, Jason wore a hearing aid in each ear. The only sounds that he could hear were very soft and unclear, so Jason had only begun to learn to talk.
“Jason,” Mother said, at the same time using sign language, “I’m going into the house to do dishes now. It will soon be dark. Please come inside in just a few minutes.”
“OK.” Jason tried to form the word with his mouth as he finger-spelled.
Mom smiled and rumpled his hair before she walked into the house, and Jason pedaled his bike down the street again. It was exciting riding past the houses, with a rush of the wind against his face. Jason wished he could go farther than the corner. It would be neat to ride around the block. The thrill of such an adventure filled his mind. He decided to go partway around, then come straight back. But as Jason pedaled faster and faster, pretending that he was a fireman racing his truck to a fire, he sped down several blocks. “Aaaah!” he crowed happily.
Then the cry froze in his throat as he stared at the unfamiliar houses that he was passing. The bicycle wobbled and nearly fell over before Jason could come to a stop. He looked around him with wide, frightened eyes. Where am I? he wondered.
Jason turned his bicycle around and pedaled back toward the nearest corner. He peered at the houses in the gathering darkness. They were all strange. Jason choked back a sob. How would he ever get back to his own home? He couldn’t ask anyone for help. He pedaled up and down the streets looking for a familiar sight, but the longer he searched, the more confused he became.
Soon it was dark, and Jason didn’t know what to do. Suddenly there came to his mind a picture of his family kneeling in prayer, and he thought, I’ll ask Heavenly Father to help me!
Jason got off his bike and lowered the kickstand, then knelt on the sidewalk and folded his arms. Dear Father in Heaven, he prayed silently, I’m lost. Please help me. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
Jason opened his eyes, half-expecting to see a familiar face, but no one was there. He could see lights shining through the windows of nearby houses. He thought about his family in his own home and about how much he loved them. Maybe I’ll never see them again. Tears trickled down his cheeks at the thought. Then the words I am a child of God popped into his mind. They were from a Primary song that his mother had taught him.
“You can learn to say the words if you try,” she had said as she signed to him. “Then you can sing it with your voice, your hands, and your heart.”
Jason had tried. It was hard, but he could sing it well enough for his family to recognize it. Now he loved to sing it often, even though he could barely hear the sounds that he made. He knew that there was beautiful music inside him, though, because he had such a happy feeling when he sang.
Maybe, Jason thought, I won’t feel so scared if I sing. He squeezed his eyes shut against his tears and began, “I am a child of God,/ And he has sent me here,/ Has given me an earthly home/ With parents kind and dear. …”
As he sang the last few words, Jason opened his eyes. He could scarcely believe what he saw: His big brother was coming down the street!
“Aaaah!” Jason cried, leaping to his feet. “Aaaah!”
Jason started to run. He didn’t stop until he ran straight into his brother’s open arms. Ray caught him in a big bear hug, swinging him off his feet.
“I’d never have found you if I hadn’t heard you singing that song!” Ray exclaimed. “You’ve sung it so many times at home that when I heard that off-tune hymn coming to me out of the darkness, I knew just who was singing. It led me straight to you!”
Jason couldn’t follow all that Ray was saying, but he knew that he was safe, and he knew that Heavenly Father had answered his prayer.

This lesson I learned anew some years ago as I received a rather unique and frightening assignment. Folkman D. Brown, then the Director of Mormon Relationships for the Boy Scouts of America, came to my office, having learned that I was about to depart for a lengthy assignment to New Zealand. He told me of his widowed sister, Belva Jones, who had been stricken with terminal cancer, who knew not how to tell her only son—a missionary in that faraway country. Her wish, even her plea, was that he remain in the mission field and serve faithfully. She worried about his reaction; for the missionary, Elder Ryan Jones, had lost his father just a year earlier to the same dread disease.
I accepted the responsibility. Following a missionary meeting held adjacent to the majestically beautiful New Zealand Temple, I met privately with Elder Jones and, as gently as I could, explained the situation of his mother. Naturally there were tears—not all his—but then the handclasp of assurance and the pledge: “Tell my mother I will serve, I will pray, and I will see her again.”
I returned to Salt Lake City just in time to attend a conference of the Lost River Stake at Moore, Idaho. As I sat on the stand with the stake president, my attention was drawn almost instinctively to the east side of the chapel, where the morning sunlight bathed the lone occupant of a front bench. I said to the stake president, “Who is the sister upon whom the sunlight is resting? I feel I must speak to her today.” He replied, “Her name is Belva Jones. She has a missionary son in New Zealand. She is very ill and has requested a blessing.”
Prior to that moment, I had not known where Belva Jones lived. My assignment that weekend could have been to any one of 50 stakes. Yet the Lord, in His own way, had answered the prayer of faith of a concerned mother. We had a wonderful visit together. I reported word for word the reaction and the resolve of her son, Ryan. A blessing was provided, a prayer offered, a witness received. Belva Jones would live to see her son complete his mission. This privilege she enjoyed. Just one month prior to her passing, his mission completed, Ryan returned home.

“God is good” was the phrase that came to my mind when my husband and I first learned we were expecting triplets. I had previously lost twins shortly after childbirth when they were born prematurely at 21 weeks. I’d also had two miscarriages. So the news that we were expecting three more babies was a surprise that my husband and I were still processing after struggling with polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS).
Fearing the worst, I wondered, “What if these babies don’t live? Does that mean God is not good?” I tried to calm my fears with the mantra, “God is always good.” I further reasoned that my love for Heavenly Father isn’t dependent upon getting what I want. I love Him, and I know He loves me. He knows when I weep and what I am feeling. Though I don’t understand why He allows certain things to happen, I know without a doubt that He desires my happiness.
Because of my complications during previous pregnancies, I was referred to a specialist who carefully monitored my prenatal care during this pregnancy. I was comforted when a visiting General Authority gave me a priesthood blessing after a stake conference and reminded me that God was very aware of my situation and that He loves me. I knew I was in good hands.
A statement made by Elder John H. Groberg when he was serving in the Seventy brought me peace during the long days of this high-risk pregnancy: “When filled with God’s love, we can do and see and understand things that we could not otherwise do or see or understand. Filled with His love, we can endure pain, quell fear, forgive freely, avoid contention, renew strength, and bless and help others in ways surprising even to us.”1
Even with priesthood blessings, the best medical care, and taking precautions to prevent the results from my earlier pregnancies, our triplets were born at 20 weeks for the same reason the twins had previously come early. One of the triplets was stillborn, and the other two died shortly after birth.
During this time, I found great comfort in the talk “Grateful in Any Circumstances” from Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. His teachings spoke peace to my broken heart, including these words:
“Some are facing the end of a cherished relationship, such as the death of a loved one or estrangement from a family member. Others feel they are facing the end of hope—the hope of being married or bearing children or overcoming an illness. Others may be facing the end of their faith, as confusing and conflicting voices in the world tempt them to question, even abandon, what they once knew to be true.
“Sooner or later, I believe that all of us experience times when the very fabric of our world tears at the seams, leaving us feeling alone, frustrated, and adrift.
“It can happen to anyone. No one is immune.
“Everyone’s situation is different, and the details of each life are unique. Nevertheless, I have learned that there is something that would take away the bitterness that may come into our lives. There is one thing we can do to make life sweeter, more joyful, even glorious.
“We can be grateful!”2
Based on Elder Uchtdorf’s talk, I started keeping a gratitude journal. In the wake of our twins’ deaths, I’d started experiencing uncontrollable anxiety and despair; the simple act of writing down the good things that had happened each day gave me the courage to let go of the bitterness and blame that had consumed me. I learned to be grateful for every day that I am alive and for the experiences that God gives me. I am a much happier person, despite our losses; I’ve learned to be “thankful in [my] circumstances—whatever they may be.”3
My seven departed little ones are teaching me about gratitude from the other side of the veil. Even though I can’t see them, I feel them influencing my life and helping me to be happy, which is one of the greatest gifts anyone could give me. They have taught me about the important things in life, about what really matters.
There are great blessings awaiting us if we stay faithful to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, obey Their commandments, and keep our covenants. I look forward to the great blessing of being reunited with my children someday and raising them during the Millennium.4 We will have our hands full, but that thought brings me so much joy and reassures me that God is always good.

When I think of progress, I tend to think of something tangible—something I can physically see or touch. In college, for example, I studied, took tests, and attended classes for four years until I was able to hold a diploma in my hands that represented all the progress I had made. You can also measure progress through other everyday things like checking off daily “to-do” tasks that make you feel productive.
There are many types of progress that one can make in life, but as I was recently preparing to teach Relief Society (for the first time ever), I started to wonder if I was lacking when it came to spiritual progress. I was teaching about a general conference talk given by Sister Jean B. Bingham, former Relief Society General President, about how making covenants helps to prepare us for eternal glory.1
I kept thinking, “Well, I can’t physically see or touch eternal glory, so how can I even know if I’m progressing on the covenant path?”
Lately I’ve felt a bit stuck. As a young single adult who has been baptized and received her endowment but hasn’t been sealed in the temple, I sometimes feel like I am at a standstill on the covenant path. I feel like I’m a board game piece that can’t move forward no matter how many times I roll the dice. I want to get married and make covenants with God and my eternal companion, but what do I do in the meantime?
How do I know if I’m moving forward?
I felt so inadequate to teach a lesson about the covenant path when I was uncertain of how I could move forward on the path myself. I had a lot of questions, so I started seeking out answers in the scriptures. And I was surprised to discover a treasure trove of truths. I truly enjoyed reading as I studied Gospel Topics, followed footnotes, and felt the Spirit guiding me to the specific answers I needed at that exact moment.
At one point I felt an overwhelming feeling of peace and actually looked up at the light in my room because I felt a sort of brightness around me.
That’s when the Spirit brought the words, “This is how,” to my mind.
Those words were the answer. I changed my perspective and realized that just by reading my scriptures I had progressed closer to Heavenly Father that day, and I could continue every day as I took steps to come closer to Christ. I recognized how keeping my covenants was helping me become more like Him, little by little.
I felt like I was finally moving my game piece forward on the board game of life.
In our everyday lives, we face a lot of uncertainty, and it can be hard to see any progress being made. But it’s truly in our everyday moments where we choose to keep our covenants with God that we are moving forward on the covenant path. When we read our scriptures, when we minister to and serve others, when we pray, when we take time to go to the temple, and ultimately when we wake up every morning and choose to live as disciples of Christ—these are the keys to progress.
By seeking Christ, we take another step toward Heavenly Father on the covenant path.
Since that moment of personal revelation, I have made a more sincere effort to study and learn more about the gospel. I’ve changed my focus to daily progress to understand how my choices lead to eternal progress.
Elder Michael A. Dunn of the Seventy has taught that simply doing “one percent better”2 makes all the difference in progress. And looking back, striving to do a little better each day really has put my movement on the covenant path in perspective. And I’ve noticed many blessings:
Deeper love for the gospel
Excitement about scripture study and spiritual habits
More time to serve others
Deeper understanding of my divine potential
More hope and joy about life
Some days I feel like I am not progressing as much as I would like, and I am still faced with a lot of uncertainty about the future. But as I align my will with God’s, I feel gratitude for this time because I am learning and growing and deepening my faith, which means I really am progressing every day—receiving the blessings of God’s promises, focusing on the Savior’s gift of repentance, and moving forward on the path, one move at a time.
If you are struggling to see your progress on the covenant path or recognize the power your covenants offer you, remember the words of Sister Bingham:
“Don’t let detractors or distractions pull you away from eternal truths. Study and ask trusted sources for greater understanding of the sacred significance of the covenants you have made. Go to the temple as often as you can and listen to the Spirit. You will feel sweet reassurance that you are on the Lord’s path. You will find the courage to continue as well as to bring others with you.”3
I know without a doubt that if we choose every day to remember and keep our covenants, no matter where we are on the covenant path, we can progress, grow, receive blessings we never even dreamed of, and continue making our way back to our Heavenly Father every single day.

On the night of June 20, 2000, several colleagues and I were working late in the executive offices of then Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho. We were making final preparations for an unexpected and historic assembly on our campus the next morning and the announcement by President Hinckley that Ricks College would become a baccalaureate-degree-granting institution and take on the name of Brigham Young University–Idaho. As an administrative team we were just beginning to realize the monumental nature of the responsibility and challenges that were before us.

As we walked out of the building that night, one of my colleagues asked, “President, are you scared?” As best as I can recall, I answered something like this: “If I thought we had to execute this transition relying exclusively upon our own experience and our own judgment, then I would be terrified. But we will have help from heaven. Because we know who is in charge and that we are not alone, then no, I am not scared.” And we who serve at BYU–Idaho unitedly testify that there has been help from heaven, miracles have occurred, revelations have been received, doors have been opened, and we have been greatly blessed as individuals and as an institution.

When I finished primary school, my father taught me to make decisions for myself. I had to travel more than 150 km to reach the city center of Mweka in the Kasai province of DR Congo, where I started secondary school in humanitarian studies with priests of the Catholic diocese of Mweka.
Once I finished secondary school, I had to follow the Catholic faith to continue my humanitarian studies; hence from the fifth and sixth humanitarian year we were prepared to embrace the Catholic faith. After completing the humanitarian cycle, we had the privilege of preparing ourselves as aspirants with the Josephite fathers.
When starting my first year in philosophy, my older brother who was my tutor informed the priest that I should not continue as an aspirant among the Josephite fathers. Not accepting the opposition, the Josephite fathers, through my godfather, asked me to abandon the path of consecration in the Catholic Church for something else.
It was then that I moved to Kinshasa to commence my studies in law. Once I arrived in 2007, I enrolled at the University of Kinshasa. In my first year in 2008, we experienced a total strike at the University of Kinshasa. During the strike, I left the neighborhood where I lived to go to the commune of Masina to stay with my older brother.
And once in Masina, during the strike, I discovered The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the neighborhood where I lived with my older brother.
I made the decision to go to a meetinghouse of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on a Sunday. When I arrived at the building, a brother greeted me at the door and invited me to come inside. I then participated in the Sunday service and afterwards I was placed in contact with the full-time missionaries.
I took the missionary lessons for two weeks. After being taught, I had a strong desire to be baptized.
However, this was the beginning of strong opposition from within my family and my older brother who was like a guardian to me. He told the village to inform everyone that I wanted to become a member, that it is a bad church, and that no one should support me or contribute money to support my academic studies.
Consequently, I dropped out of law school and began preparing for a full-time mission. Thanks to Bishop Mutambay’s advice and direction, I remained a member of the Church despite opposition and began preparing for my full-time mission. I served in the Lubumbashi DR Congo from June 2013 to June 2015.
After serving as a full-time missionary, I came home and was fortunate to find the Church’s inspired Perpetual Education Fund program which allowed me to achieve my goals in completing my law studies through this program instituted by President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008).
Today, I am a lawyer. My wife, Mireille, and I are parents of four children: Ross Power Kongo Kongo, Ron Cross Kongo Munemeka, Blacke Prestones Kongo Ibula, and Brian Lesser Congo. I accepted adversity by relying on my faith without knowing what was going to happen to me when I was abandoned for having chosen the restored Church.
I know that God is our Heavenly Father and despite difficulties and opposition He is there to help us. I will never be disappointed with the path I took and my decision to join His church.
I know this was the best decision I ever made. I will be forever grateful. Joseph Smith is the prophet of the Restoration, and I am grateful to be in the Church of Jesus Christ.

During that era of primitive times our people detested Western education and hated anyone who talked to them about sending their children to school or taking them to church. They were always afraid of white men and never wanted to appear before them or go near them. They wanted their children to remain at home, farming on their plots of land. Only people who were regarded as unhelpful members of the family were allowed to go to school or church. It was very difficult to send girls to school, for their work added to the income of the family.
I was very fortunate, and little did I think how much God had in store for me. I was the fifth child. My parents sent me to school in 1937, when an English visitor spoke to my father and he could not understand him; so my father decided to send me to school. After I completed my standard six course in 1944, the second world war brought hardship to us. It was difficult to secure employment, so I left for Jos in northern Nigeria and took up teaching as my career. But when I was 17, a Catholic priest encouraged me to take correspondence courses from Wolsey Hall, Oxford. I was very interested in subjects like English, geography, economics, history, religion, and health science, and I did well at my courses.
In 1950 I married my dear wife Fidelia Njoku. She was born at Ibeku Okwuato in Aboh Mbaise Local Government Area in 1930, the daughter of Nkoku Ugonabo and his wife Ekeoma. Both parents died when she was very young, and as a result she was denied the opportunity of education. As an orphan with younger brothers and sisters to support, she was engaged in petty trading, covering many kilometers away from home to distant markets to earn a living. She had been converted to the Catholic religion and was appointed leader in many organizations. She told me that God was directing all her affairs because of the very strong faith she had in him, and that she did all she could to avoid the temptations of the devil.
During the early years of our marriage, we had a series of troubles as a result of miscarriages. All our hopes were placed in God’s protection and the advice from our doctors. Things were very difficult, so I became a trader, with my wife as the storekeeper. She was honest and deserved the honour and admiration of people around us, who regarded her as a worthy homemaker and example to other women. Her duty is ever to give sound advice to people in all walks of life whenever her attention is needed, and her family responsibilities are the first things in her life.
In 1952 I started teaching and struggled hard to further my education. My wife was patient enough to wait for me to go to teacher training college for four years. I had a marvelous teaching career. I did not know that God had a work for me to do, besides my small efforts in the teaching profession.
In November 1965, I was visited in a dream by a tall person carrying a walking stick in his right hand. He asked whether I had read about Christian and Christiana from A Pilgrim’s Progress by John Bunyan. I told him that I had forgotten it and he told me to read it again. After a few months the same personage appeared to me again and took me to a most beautiful building and showed me everything in it. That personage appeared to me three times.
During the Nigerian civil war, when we were confined to the house, I picked up an old copy of the Reader’s Digest for September 1958. I opened it at page 34 and saw a picture of the same beautiful building I had been shown around in my dream, and I immediately recognized it. The heading was “The March of the Mormons.” I had never before heard the word Mormons. I started to read the story because of the picture of the building I had seen in my dream. I discovered that it was all about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
From the time I finished reading the story, I had no rest of mind any longer. My whole attention was focused on my new discovery. I rushed out immediately to tell my brothers, who were all amazed and astonished to hear the story.
By that time there was a blockade all over Nigeria, so I could not write any letter to the headquarters of the Church. At the removal of the blockade in 1971 I wrote a letter for instructions. Pamphlets, tracts, and a Book of Mormon were sent to me, including “Joseph Smith’s Testimony” about the restoration of the gospel. Brother LaMar S. Williams was in the Missionary Department at that time, and his instructions were that they had no authority to organize the Church in Nigeria then. I was totally disappointed, but the Holy Spirit moved me to continue writing. Many a time in dreams I saw some of the missionaries of the Church discussing matters about the Church.
Persecutions, name calling, and all kinds of abuses were rendered to me. I was persecuted in various ways but I kept deaf ears. I knew I had discovered the truth and men’s threats could not move me and my group. So we continued asking God to open the door for us.
Elder W. Grant Bangerter answered a letter I sent in the same way—that the Church could not be organized in Nigeria yet, but that the leadership had the desire to do so.
On 9 October 1976, I wrote to Elder Bangerter:
“I have received your letter of Sept. 24 with thanks. I have noted what you said therein. We are not discouraged anyhow but shall continue to pursue the practice of our faith which we have found to be true. …
“We are very optimistic that Our Lord Jesus Christ will make it possible in the future for the Church to take more direct action. We are well aware that our faith is being tried. We are doing everything we can to establish the truth among so many of Our Heavenly Father’s children in this part of the world.”
Brother Williams gave us a program to follow on Sundays. We continued praying always, until the 21st of November 1978, when the Church was officially opened for the black race (in Africa) with the authority to hold the priesthood and administer the ordinances thereof.
Nineteen members were baptized on the above date by Elders Rendell N. Mabey, Edwin Q. Cannon, Jr., and A. Bruce Knudsen. The Aboh Branch was organized, with Anthony Obinna as president, his brothers Francis and Raymond as his counselors, and his wife Fidelia as Relief Society president. When President Obinna expressed concern about the propriety of having his own family in these offices, Elder Mabey assured him that they had been chosen for their worthiness, not for their kinship. The new branch presidency promptly reported the event in a jubilant letter to the First Presidency:
“Dear Brethren,
“All the members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in this part of Nigeria have the pleasure to thank you and the Latter-day Saints throughout the world for opening the door for the Gospel to come to our people in its fullness.
“We are happy for the many hours in the Upper Room of the Temple you spent praying to the Lord to bring us into the fold. We thank our Heavenly Father for hearing your prayers and ours and by revelation. He has confirmed the long promised day, and has granted the holy priesthood to us, with the power to exercise its divine authority and enjoy every blessing of the temple.
“There is no doubt that the Church here will grow and become a mighty center for the Saints and bring progress enough to the people of Nigeria as it is doing all over the world.”
I am blessed with a humble and loyal wife, with seven fine and beautiful children who are all members of the true church on earth. My children are all educated. My first daughter and my first son are certified teachers. Bonadventure has completed secondary class five, Angella is in secondary class four, Stella Ego is in secondary class two, and Anastasia is in secondary class one. The youngest boy in the family is entering college in September 1980.
The most important talk and love in my house is about “our church.” As Christ is guarding his true church, membership is increasing daily, and I testify that in the future, the membership of the Church will be as great as the sand on the seashore. God is great and performs wonders. No human power can withhold God’s work in this world.

When I was 17, about ready to graduate from high school as a very average student with some handicaps, as I thought, everything around us came apart one Sunday morning. The next day we were called to the high school auditorium. On the stage was a chair with a small radio. The principal switched on the radio. We then heard the voice of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt as he announced that Pearl Harbor had been bombed. The United States was at war with Japan.

Later that scene was repeated. Again the voice of President Roosevelt, this time announcing that our country was at war with Germany. World War II had exploded across the world.

All at once our future was uncertain. We did not know what was ahead. Would we live to get married and have a family?

By the time we graduated from high school, many of our classmates had marched away to war, some of them never to return. The rest of us were soon to enter the military. We did not know about our future. Would we survive the war? Would there be enough of the world left when we returned?

Against the certainty that I would be drafted, I joined the air force. Soon I was in Santa Ana, California, for preflight training.

I did not then have a firm testimony that the gospel was true, but I knew that my seminary teachers, Abel S. Rich and John P. Lillywhite, knew it was true. I had heard them testify, and I believed them. I thought to myself, “I will lean on their testimonies until I gain one of my own.” And so it was.

I had heard about patriarchal blessings but had not received one. In each stake there is an ordained patriarch who has the spirit of prophecy and the spirit of revelation. He is authorized to give personal and private blessings to those who come recommended by their bishops. I wrote to my bishop for a recommend.

J. Roland Sandstrom was the ordained patriarch living in the Santa Ana stake. He knew nothing about me and had never seen me before, but he gave me my blessing. In it I found answers and instruction.

While patriarchal blessings are very private, I will share a short quote from mine: “You shall be guided through the whisperings of the Holy Spirit and you shall be warned of dangers. If you heed those warnings, our Heavenly Father will bless you so that you might again be united with your loved ones.”

That word if, though small in print, loomed as big as the page. I would be blessed to return from the war if I kept the commandments and if I heeded the promptings of the Holy Ghost. Although that gift had been conferred upon me at baptism, I did not yet know what the Holy Ghost was or how the promptings work.

What I needed to know about the promptings I found in the Book of Mormon. I read that “angels speak by the power of the Holy Ghost; wherefore, they speak the words of Christ. Wherefore, … feast upon the words of Christ; for behold, the words of Christ will tell you all things what ye should do.”

Finally, let me tell you about a Hong Kong, China, couple and their love of the temple. They fell in love and wanted very much to be sealed in the temple but it appeared impossible. Non-member parents did not offer encouragement and were not willing to assist in financing the trip. Knowing that the closest temple was some distance away they felt helpless. They were in love. They desperately wanted to marry. They discussed all possibilities. All alternatives were considered and rejected. Their love of the temple was stronger than all of the obstacles. Ultimately, they came upon an idea. They decided to become engaged and begin saving their money. To hasten that day they adopted a plan. They would arrange for a date, but instead of going out they would each put the money they would have spent on the date and any other extra money they might have into their temple fund. They waited about five years before they finally were married in the temple. Yes, they loved the temple.

As a boy, Lorenzo loved to read. He later became a teacher and a community builder. He was chosen by President Brigham Young to lead fifty families to an area later known as Brigham City, Utah. His work was interrupted when he was called on a mission to the Hawaiian Islands.
After the ship’s arrival there, Lorenzo and his companions were going ashore in a smaller boat when suddenly their tiny craft capsized and washed them overboard. Lorenzo’s lifeless body was found and he was administered to. Lorenzo miraculously recovered from this terrifying experience, for the Lord had other important work for him to accomplish.

I had an experience that I would like to share with you. I was trying to make a decision that was very important, and it concerned more than just myself. I’d had many years of practice in going to the Lord with decisions. I fasted. I attended temple sessions. I prayed a great deal. I tried to be spiritually in tune. Then I made the decision and took it to the Lord for confirmation. In spite of all my spiritual preparations, I still felt unsettled with the final decision. Then I read Doctrine and Covenants 9:7, which says, “Behold, you have not understood; you have supposed that I would give it unto you, when you took no thought save it was to ask me.”

It became very clear to me that to be completely settled about my decision, I needed more than spiritual preparation. I needed to do some practical preparation.

I got up from my knees and went to work. I met with people. I gathered data. I analyzed it. I thought about it. I counseled with Church leaders. I counseled with family. I considered it thoughtfully and very prayerfully. I wrote things down. Using a pencil and paper is always useful to me in analyzing information. It clarifies my thinking. So I wrote lists of pros and cons and considered these very prayerfully—crossing things off, narrowing things down.

I didn’t hurry. I took time to let things settle in my mind. Then in due time I knew what I should do. Finally, the Lord blessed me with peace about the matter, just as promised in Doctrine and Covenants 6:23: “Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?” I learned that inspiration comes during this process. Can these same steps apply to you in major decisions you make? Surely it can.

In my eyes, Sunshine was about the most popular girl in sixth grade. She wore nice clothes and walked around with other popular girls, giggling and chattering. I always feared they were talking about me.
Imagine my horror when one day my mother told me that she would pick my brothers and me up after school and Sunshine would be riding home with us! My mom had agreed to tutor her in drawing as part of a program for gifted students.
I was terrified of Sunshine because she was so popular. The dreaded time came for the first drawing lesson, and my cheeks burned with embarrassment as Sunshine climbed into our very unglamorous old brown van. I imagined she was used to sleek sports cars. My mind raced the whole way home as I tried to think of what to say to someone so popular. But besides a forced “hello,” I could find no words for Sunshine. I was afraid she might think anything I said was stupid. When we arrived at my house, I quickly escaped into my room.
Years later, as seniors in high school, Sunshine and I ended up being co-editors of the school paper. This meant we had to spend some evenings together each month working on the layout of the paper. By this time, I had a little more confidence, and I actually enjoyed the time I spent with Sunshine. I found we had quite a bit in common. One day as we were talking, the subject of the sixth grade came up. I mentioned how glad I was to be done with that awkward stage of my life. “Me, too,” Sunshine said soberly. “I had no friends at all then.”
I was shocked. I remembered all the rides home when I thought she didn’t talk to me because she was stuck-up. Had she felt awkward and afraid to talk to me, too? Had she felt alone that year, as I had, even though she always seemed to be surrounded by people?
I wonder if Sunshine and I might have become friends back then if I had not been too worried about myself to think about how she was feeling. Since that conversation, I have tried to remember to follow the Savior’s example and reach out to everyone, not just to those who obviously need help. I have realized that no one is too popular for kindness.