Gospel Story Finder

My parents’ lives together began in an unusual way. It was 1936. They were dating seriously and were planning to marry, when my dad received a letter inviting him to serve as a full-time missionary in South Africa. The letter said that if he was worthy and willing to serve, he was to contact his bishop. You can quickly see that the process of being called as a missionary was very different in those days! Dad showed the letter to his sweetheart, Helen, and they determined without question he would serve.

For two weeks before he left, Mom met Dad each day for a picnic lunch in Memory Grove near downtown Salt Lake City. During one of their lunches, having sought direction through fasting and prayer, Mother told her dear Claron that if he still wanted to, she would marry him before he left. In the early days of the Church, men were sometimes called to missionary service and left wives and families at home. So it was with my mother and dad. With the approval of his priesthood leaders, they decided to be married before he departed for his mission.

In the Salt Lake Temple, Mother received her endowment, and then they were married for time and all eternity by President David O. McKay. Theirs was a humble beginning. There were no photographs, no beautiful wedding dress, no flowers, and no reception to celebrate the occasion. Their clear focus was on the temple and their covenants. For them, the covenants were everything. After only six days of marriage and with a tearful good-bye, my dad left for South Africa.

But their marriage was more than just the deep love they had for each other. They also had a love of the Lord and a desire to serve Him. The sacred temple covenants they had made gave them strength and power to carry them through the two years of separation. They had an eternal perspective of life’s purpose and of promised blessings that come to those who are faithful to their covenants. All these blessings transcended their short-term sacrifice and separation.

While it certainly wasn’t an easy way to begin married life, it proved to be an ideal way to lay a foundation for an eternal family. As children came along, we knew what mattered most to our parents. It was their love for the Lord and their unwavering commitment to keeping the covenants they had made. Though my parents have both passed away, their pattern of righteousness is blessing our family still.

The example of their lives is reflected in the words of Sister Linda K. Burton: “The best way to strengthen a home, current or future, is to keep covenants.”

Their season of hardship and trial was not over. Three years after Dad returned from his mission, World War II was raging, and like so many others, he enlisted in the military. He was away from home for another four years as he served in the navy aboard battleships in the Pacific.

It was a difficult time for my parents to be separated again. But for my mother, those days of loneliness, worry, and uncertainty were also marked by whisperings of the Spirit that spoke of eternal promises, of comfort and peace amid the storm.

Despite her challenges, my mother lived a rich life, full of happiness, joy, love, and service. Her love of the Savior was reflected in the way she lived her life. She had a remarkable connection to heaven and a gift and capacity to love and bless everyone around her. Her faith in God and hope in His promises are reflected in President Thomas S. Monson’s words about the temple when he said, “No sacrifice is too great, no price too heavy, no struggle too difficult in order to receive those blessings.”

In all the seasons of her life, Mother was strengthened and blessed by her love of the Lord and by the covenants she faithfully made and kept.

“Oh, I’m so glad you can come! I was afraid I might have to miss the program. I’m one of the angels in the choir.”
“Oh, we’ll all come. None of our children are in a Christmas program this year, so we’ll be happy to see yours.”
Later that evening the family sat together in the darkened auditorium, waiting for the program to begin. The curtains opened, and the program began with angels singing familiar Christmas carols. As she watched row after row of children from the audience around her go with their braces, crutches, or wheelchairs to perform on stage, Holly thought about how hard it must be for them to do things—and to do some of them in front of all these people too! She wasn’t at all surprised to see silent tears sliding down her mother’s face. Somehow after listening to Debbie all afternoon telling about her friends and the tricks they played and about how they got in trouble for racing down the hall in wheelchairs, Holly had nearly forgotten about their physical problems.
After the choir sang, a play about Santa Claus began. Santa had a bad case of gout, and he had to have physical therapy and treatment at the School for Crippled Children before he could go on his usual Christmas Eve rounds.
The part of the doctor was played by a handsome, humpbacked teenager who walked with a cane. Suddenly he lost his balance and went crashing to the floor. The audience gasped with concern. Holly felt Greg’s shoulder moving against hers, and she realized that he was struggling with the boy to stand up. Finally the boy got to his feet.
“Nurse, see that something is done about that floor!” the boy commanded, thumping the offending floor with his cane.
Waves of applause filled the auditorium along with relieved laughter. It was a Christmas program that none of them would ever forget.

Men turn from evil and yield to their better natures when mother is remembered. A famed officer from the Civil War period, Colonel Higginson, when asked to name the incident of the Civil War that he considered the most remarkable for bravery, said that there was in his regiment a man whom everybody liked, a man who was brave and noble, who was pure in his daily life, absolutely free from dissipations in which most of the other men indulged.

One night at a champagne supper, when many were becoming intoxicated, someone in jest called for a toast from this young man. Colonel Higginson said that he arose, pale but with perfect self-control, and declared: “Gentlemen, I will give you a toast which you may drink as you will, but which I will drink in water. The toast that I have to give is, ‘Our mothers.’”

Instantly a strange spell seemed to come over all the tipsy men. They drank the toast in silence. There was no more laughter, no more song, and one by one they left the room. The lamp of memory had begun to burn, and the name of Mother touched every man’s heart.

When I was 15 years old, my older brother, Joe, was trying to decide whether or not to serve a mission. Joe was an incredibly good example to me. He had planned on going to medical school, but when the opportunity came to serve a mission, he took the decision very seriously.

One evening we talked long into the night about the gospel and testimonies and missions. We reasoned that if the Church was just a good institution, he could help more people by attending medical school and becoming a doctor. On the other hand, if Joseph Smith was actually a prophet and the Book of Mormon was really true, going on a mission would be much more important.

That evening was one of the most important times in my life. After Joe and I finished talking, I went into another room and prayed about the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I got a very strong feeling that the things Joe and I had been talking about were true.

Joe chose to serve a mission, and a few years later, I followed in his footsteps, serving in the British Mission. My mission experiences greatly strengthened the testimony that had begun in Primary.

Sister Margaret Anderson of Centerville, Utah, is a wonderful example of a single sister who has lived an exemplary and fulfilling life in the service of others. For many years, she lovingly cared for her aged mother, her aunt, and her disabled sister. She guided and influenced hundreds of children as an elementary school teacher. Now retired, she continues to volunteer each week, helping children learn to read. Her acts of service have been a special blessing to the members of her ward. One young lady commented: “When I was little, Margaret would make me a birthday cake every year. She would decorate the frosting with the activities that I had done the previous year, such as dancing or playing soccer.” Not one missionary leaves from her ward without one of Margaret’s leatherwork wallets. She is a valuable resource as a gospel scholar, particularly in Relief Society. For her neighbors and friends, she has willingly run errands, and driven them to the temple. Margaret is a gracious hostess. She makes delicious candies and paints beautiful pictures, which she enjoys sharing with others. She truly has blessed the lives of countless individuals.

Because of the drought in the area, sometimes there wasn’t any water in the village we were serving in as missionaries.
Since the taps were dry on Sunday, my companion and I had to bring a bottle of water from our apartment for the sacrament.
Before preparing the sacrament, I prayed that the Spirit would be present as I prepared these emblems and throughout sacrament meeting. After placing the cups in the tray, I unscrewed the bottle’s lid to begin to fill them. Normally, we would just sweep the tray underneath the steady stream of water from a tap, filling multiple cups at a time. But this time our water was limited, so I had to change the way I filled the cups. I began to fill each cup one by one, doing my best to make sure there was enough in each individual cup. The process took longer and was more tedious, but I was taught a lesson.
When Jesus Christ suffered for our sins, He felt our pains and sins on a very individual and personal basis. He came to understand, know, and love each of us personally. He paid the price for the weaknesses and sins of each one of us, and He did this so we can come to understand, know, love, and even become like Him.
I felt so much joy right there in the back room of the chapel, and I feel it every time I think of Jesus Christ’s love for me.
Elder Brigham Jewkes, South Africa Durban Mission

The little girl’s black hair was as shiny as patent leather, and her bright ebony eyes seemed to hardly ever blink. She was always so busy examining something, turning it upside down or inside out, that blinking seemed a waste of time.
Lynette Wood was her name, but she preferred being called Ettenyl. People laughed and nodded tolerantly at one another. And her mother humored her when she remembered to, which wasn’t very often. “What’s that you said your name was?” she would ask. Why couldn’t they remember? Lynette wondered, then decided that there was nothing to be done except to answer to both names. Once in a while even Lynette forgot, especially when she was involved with turning something inside out.
“Lynette! Lynette! I’ve called you to supper five times! If I have to call again, I’m going to give your share to the dog!” her mother threatened.
“You didn’t call me by my name,” Ettenyl muttered, but she hurried inside, anyway.
The little girl was usually happy. Her mother let her take clocks apart, and she laughed when Ettenyl made sand buckets into hats. When she built towers that tottered on one small block with six across the top, her father said that she was smart. Every time she turned around to look, the shapes of things changed. If she walked backward and watched, the trees changed colors and got smaller.
When the leaves grew scarlet and her mother said, “Lynette, it’s time for you to go to school,” Ettenyl was excited and a little scared.
Her teacher, Miss Morris, had beautiful, flowing, golden hair. It fell across her eyes, and great blue circles peered through like discs on a magic screen. Ettenyl was so enchanted that she forgot to answer a question that the teacher had asked her. The teacher frowned and pushed away the golden curtain. Her voice slashed at the little girl. Ettenyl’s stomach tightened up and tried to run away inside her body. She caught her stomach and sat very still with her hands pressed against it.
The next day Ettenyl was determined to do better. She labored hard over the paper, printing her name. Try as she might, she could not get the pencil to make the lovely round circles. Finally she got all the letters copied. She was the last one to finish, but her last letter was the best circle that she had ever made.
“That’s very good, Lynette,” her teacher said, “but this last letter isn’t quite right. Your last name is Wood.” The teacher pointed to Ettenyl’s “perfect” little circle and said, “You have written Woob.” She corrected it with a big, red mark.
Ettenyl’s stomach revolted. She sat still and tight.
The teacher held out a pencil and said, “Please write the d correctly at the end of your name.”
Ettenyl couldn’t move; her hands were stiff from holding her stomach.
“Lynette, please take the pencil.”
She took the pencil and drew a straight line.
“Good. Now put the circle on it.”
Ettenyl bit her lip, and she managed to draw a squarish circle.
“No, Lynette. That’s a b. Your name ends with a d, like this.” The teacher demonstrated.
Ettenyl spent the rest of the week trying to do it right. But each time that she tried, Miss Morris looked so disappointed that Ettenyl started to cry, and the children teased her about it on the playground.
The following week Miss Morris asked Ettenyl’s mother to come to school for a conference after classes were over.
“Don’t look like that, Lynette,” her mother said. “I’m just going to talk with her. Lots of parents visit with their children’s teachers at school.”
Ettenyl went home and waited and waited. Just when she thought that she couldn’t stand it any longer, she noticed the rocket plane that she had made the day before. She had tossed it into the air to make it fly, and now it leaned at a rakish angle against the table leg. Suddenly she had an idea. If she removed the tips of the wings, turned the body on end, and stuck the wings on the bottom, it would be a robot. She was so engrossed with her project that she didn’t notice when her mother came home.
Every night after that, Ettenyl’s mother helped her read and write. Sometimes it took so long that her mother bit her lip angrily. Ettenyl’s stomach hurt, and she hated going to school. The letters floated like the noodles in her alphabet soup. She burst into tears.
“Lynette! Stop crying! You can’t do anything if you cry!” Her mother was cross. Ettenyl cried louder. “Why are you crying?”
“I can’t read. I’m stupid!” she blubbered soggily.
“Oh, Lynette, you’re not stupid. Reading is very hard work,” her mother comforted her.
“You’re mad at me.”
“I’m impatient. Being patient is hard work for me just like reading is hard work for you.”
Ettenyl had an idea. “If you have to help me read, then I can help you to be patient,” she offered.
“That’s a good idea!” her mother agreed.
They worked and worked and worked, and finally Ettenyl put the letters in the right order, even though she knew that there were other ways to see them. After reading, Ettenyl turned her toys inside out. She learned to make one toy into a helicopter, a boat, and even a funny-looking person.
“That’s wonderful!” her mother laughed. “What is it?”
“It’s a ‘twistup.’ I can twist it all up—see?”
As Ettenyl grew up, she invented more twistups, and she became a famous toy maker by turning things inside out and upside down for happy children. Grown-up Ettenyl called herself Lynette and almost forgot her old name. Eventually she married and had a fine son, Kevin, who had shiny black hair and bright eyes that almost never blinked. She read him stories and turned him upside down until he squealed with delight. One day she took Kevin river-rafting. They loved bouncing and swirling in the rushing water, but no matter how she tried, they always went through the biggest rapids backward.
“I can’t see where we’re going,” Kevin complained.
“That’s the way Ettenyl would do it,” his mother answered.
“Who?” he asked.
She just smiled mysteriously and said, “Wasn’t it fun that way? Hold on tight!”
They laughed together as they swooshed backward through another wall of foamy water.

Isabella walked into Grandmother’s nursing home with her rag doll tucked under her arms. She carried the doll almost everywhere she went, even though she was, maybe, too old for that now.
She and Mama walked down the long hall, holding hands. Isabella always felt nervous in this huge place full of old people, and she was glad to have her doll under one arm and Mama holding her other hand.
Sometimes the old people made strange noises or called out to them, asking questions. A woman with wispy hair asked, “Where is my baby? Has anyone seen my baby?” And a man stuck his cane out in front of Mama and Isabella one day and stopped them. “Who is feeding my hogs now?” he demanded.
Mama always smiled and nodded at the old people, but Isabella kept her head down. She was afraid of their long, skinny fingers pointing at her. She was afraid of their eyes, sunk deep in their lined faces. She was afraid of their questions, too, because she couldn’t answer them.
At last they were at Grandmother’s door. She sat, frail and alone, in her hard, straight-backed chair. Mama had brought in a softer, more comfortable rocker, but Grandmother never sat in it.
Isabella, however, loved the big plaid chair. She bounced up into it now, settling down with her doll while Grandmother and Mama talked.
At least, Mama talked. Grandmother just sat very still and stared out the window.
That was scary too. Grandmother had always chatted with them. She’d always listened to all their questions and ideas and told them what she thought. But now she might as well not have been in the room at all!
When Mama went out to talk to the nurse, Grandmother turned and looked at Isabella. “I had a doll like that,” she said.
She spoke so suddenly that Isabella jumped.
“I had a doll like that,” Grandmother said again.
Not knowing what to say, Isabella looked around for Mama.
“I had a doll like that,” Grandmother repeated, louder this time. Isabella saw tears running down her wrinkled cheeks.
What should I do? Isabella wondered. She looked around again, and this time she saw Mama coming. She jumped up and scurried over to her. “Mama,” she whispered, “Grandmother was talking about a doll.”
“That’s nice, honey.” Mama turned to Grandmother. “That’s nice, Mom, that you’re talking with Isabella.” Taking a hanky from her purse, Mama wiped Grandmother’s cheeks.
“I had a doll like that,” Grandmother whispered.
“Of course you did, Mom,” Mama said.
After lunch—gelatin and cottage cheese and boiled vegetables and milk in little cartons with straws—in the big old dining room with the high ceilings, Mama said that they had to go. She kissed Grandmother’s dry, wrinkly cheek.
When Isabella leaned over to kiss Grandmother, she heard a tiny whisper in her ear: “I had a doll like that.”
When Isabella turned to wave, she saw that Grandmother was holding the fringe of the shawl that was tossed across the bed, just as if she were holding the fingers of someone’s hand.
Outside, the air smelled fresh, the sun was high in the sky, and Isabella felt lighter than she had in the nursing home. Still, she kept thinking about what Grandmother had said about the doll. “Mama, why is Grandmother like that?”
Mama didn’t ask, “Like what?” She just said, “She has a disease that takes away her memory. She can’t think of things the way we do, anymore.”
“She kept talking about my doll.”
“Oh? What did she say?”
“She kept saying, ‘I had a doll like that.’” Suddenly Isabella’s throat ached. She wrapped her arms around her doll and stood still, crying for Grandmother, who couldn’t remember things, crying for Mama, who had to see her mother like this, and even crying for herself, because her laughing, cookie-baking, fun-loving Grandmother was gone. Now there was just this old woman with no life in her eyes, saying, “I had a doll like that.”
Finally she heard Mama talking gently to her. “Well, you know, Isabella, Grandmother made that doll for you.”
“She did?”
“Yes, years ago. You were too little then to be aware of it, but Grandmother made that doll and all its clothes.”
“Even the bonnet?”
“Yes.” Mama took the sweet-smelling hanky from her pocket and wiped Isabella’s cheeks.
“And she sewed the face on and everything? The eyes and everything?”
“Yes.”
Isabella looked at the face of her beloved doll with its black eyes and long lashes stitched on, and a little red bow mouth. “So that’s why she remembers this doll.”
“Probably.”
Isabella made up her mind. “Mama, let’s go back.”
“What?”
“To the home—let’s go back.” Isabella turned and ran, Mama behind her, all the way to the home, all the way down the long hall, all the way to Grandmother’s room. She stopped to catch her breath just inside the door.
Grandmother looked up at her and said, “I had a doll like that.”
“I know, Grandmother. And now you have her again.” She put the doll in Grandmother’s lap.
Grandmother folded her arms around the tiny body. “This is my doll?”
“Yes, Grandmother.”
Grandmother looked up, and this time her eyes were alive. The corners of her mouth went up in a smile. “Rock the dolly,” she said.
Mother and Isabella helped her up from the hard, straight-backed chair and into the big soft one. She held the doll close, and began to hum, rocking back and forth.
Mama and Isabella said good-bye again, but Grandmother did not look up from the doll.
As they walked slowly down the hall, Mama put her arm around Isabella’s shoulders.
“It was Grandmother’s doll, wasn’t it, Mama?” she said. “It always was, and she knew it.”
“I think maybe you’re right, Isabella.”

Wilnick Louis says witnessing his older brother Milsont’s baptism made a difference for him. The baptism was held on Sunday after regular meetings, so Wilnick decided to come to church first. “I’d been to activities, but that was the first time I’d come to church on Sunday,” he says. “During the meetings, and then at the baptism, I felt something good. When the missionaries asked me if I’d come again, I said, ‘Yeah, I’ll keep coming.’”

In February 1993 Lamjav Purevsuren became the first native Mongolian baptized in the country. Purevsuren grew up in western Mongolia in a round, felt-lined tent called a ger. His family’s major challenge was providing for their animals during Mongolia’s harsh winters, when temperatures regularly fall as low as 40 degrees below zero Fahrenheit. Several times during the year, the family would dismantle their ger and move elsewhere to find new grazing pastures.
Purevsuren met Elder Stanley Smith when he took Elder Smith’s marketing class at the Mongolian National University. “My classmate Tsendkhuu Bat-Ulzii and I were curious why this American professional would come to Mongolia,” Purevsuren recalls.
“Elder Smith told us about his church and invited us to attend, but he gave us an apartment address. We were very surprised!”
Purevsuren and Bat-Ulzii attended the small service with the missionary couples and agreed to hear the discussions. Both men joined the Church, and Bat-Ulzii was eventually called as president of the Ulaanbaatar Tuul Branch. Total membership in the nation now exceeds 550, with three branches in Ulaanbaatar, one branch in Erdenet, a city of 44,000 located northwest of the capital, and one branch in Darkhan, a city of 65,000 located north of Ulaanbaatar.

3. Temple Work and Family History One of the essential ways we can help the Lord bring about the eternal life of man is to be involved in temple work. Searching out our ancestors, who died without a knowledge of the gospel, and then performing vicarious temple ordinances in their behalf enables us to become “Saviors on Mount Zion.” Through our spiritual efforts in this great work, we directly assist the Lord in increasing His glory.
There are many examples of faithful Latter-day Saints who have made great sacrifices in order to visit a temple—sometimes traveling great distances with much difficulty from their homes.
A wonderful example of such sacrifice concerns the members of the Church in Manaus, Brazil. The city of Manaus is located in a remote region of northwestern Brazil near the confluence of the Rio Negro and Amazon Rivers.
Travel from their isolated area is primarily on these two rivers which can be terribly rough and dangerous. For over 20 years, thousands of these faithful saints have traveled for 15 days round trip to attend the distant temple in Sao Paulo. During their arduous journey they traveled over 6000 miles by both boat and bus. Their travel was both uncomfortable and dangerous, but they were determined to attend the temple and perform sacred ordinances on behalf of their departed ancestors. They truly deserve to be called Saviors on Mt. Zion.

Amberley likes to play cricket with Ben. She also enjoys shooting a netball outside her house. (Netball is something like basketball and is played with a soccer ball.) She is a good netball player and has been player of the month at her school three times. When she first started playing, she was having trouble catching the ball. But as she listened to her coaches and kept trying, she became a lot better at it.

I was born in the covenant to goodly parents who love me and provided for my physical, emotional, and spiritual needs. In these nurturing relationships I was able to develop healthy and adaptive core beliefs about both my spiritual and physical identity. I was taught from my early years that there is a God, and he loves me. I was taught those eternal truths. I was a very shy child, quiet, and kept mainly to a small and close group of friends. If left up to me, I probably would have stayed in the comfort of my bubble, but my parents pushed me beyond my comfort zones and encouraged me to join sports, do well in school, take leadership roles, and strive for lifelong learning. This wasn’t always easy and I failed many times, more times than I’d like to admit, but each time I failed my parents reminded me of my strengths, told me to do better, and encouraged me to try again. These healthy experiences in my formative years helped me to develop a core belief about myself- I’m stronger than I know, and I can do hard things. With this core belief I’m able to face challenges with optimism and even when I fail I’m a little kinder to myself.

I had 467 full-time missionaries given to me over a period of three years. What a glorious experience. I remember I hadn’t been in New England more than an hour when the telephone rang. On the line was an elder I hadn’t met yet, an elder who had been in the mission field just one week. He had some concerns, as sometimes missionaries do, and he wanted to go home. He didn’t just say, “I want to go home.” He announced he was going. He was a small young man in stature, quite good-looking, and a sharp athlete; but he was born with a handicap, and this was one of his barriers. He had only half a larynx. When he spoke he spoke with a harsh voice, and people often made fun of him. He announced on the phone, “President Dunn, I just called to tell you I’m going home tonight, so don’t try to stop me.”
I said, “Well, at least pay me the courtesy of coming over and getting acquainted and saying good-bye.”
“All right, I’ll come by on my way to the airport.”
He came over. In the meantime, I checked his file and found among other things one thing in my favor—he wanted to be an athlete. He was a good one. He wanted to make a career out of sports. I sat him down. He said, “Now, President, you’re not going to talk me into staying.”
I said, “Didn’t intend to. Tell me your problem.”
He said, “It’s very simple. I don’t have a testimony. I don’t believe in the Lord. Furthermore, and you’ll learn sometime, my home life hasn’t been what it ought to be. I hate my dad, I hate my mother, I hate this Church, I hate this mission, and I already hate you.”
I thought, “Well, this is a thrilling challenge; first day on your mission and you’ve got a young man thinking like this.” I said, “I don’t know what all the circumstances are, but let me tell you something. The Lord lives, and he loves you. Your parents, for reasons you can’t fully comprehend, love you. This Church loves you, this mission loves you, and I like you a little bit. Now,” I said, “you can walk out of this mission anytime you want; but I don’t think you’re going to and let me tell you why. You’re not a quitter. You may have a lot of hang-ups and problems, but you’re not a quitter. I noticed from your athletic record that you don’t quit. Let me tell you something you may not know. I played professional baseball for a number of years and found myself behind in early and middle innings of many a ball game. If you were my coach, and we were behind five to two in the seventh inning, and I came to you and said, ‘Coach, let’s get out of here while we can and save face,’ what would you say?”
He said, “We’ve got two more innings to catch up and win.”
I said, “Exactly, and a mission is no different!”
“Well,” he said, “that’s baseball.”
I said, “No, it isn’t. The game of life plays by the same rules and principles. I just don’t think you’re going to quit because you’re not that kind of player. There’s the door. You can go if you must, but I don’t think you will.”
“Well,” he said, “I’ll try it one more week.”
“Fine. One more week. You call me next week, and we’ll talk about it.”
He called me the next week, and he gave me the same dialogue. He didn’t even miss a line. He had it out again, and would you believe for the next 103 weeks. Every week, through the mail, in person, on the phone, “I’m going, President!”
“So long, Elder; but I don’t think you are.”
And then it happened, the 104th week. Another phone call and he said, “I’ve got to tell you. It happened. I got the spirit!” And he told me of some very special experiences he had had that week, how the Lord had answered his prayers and how he received a testimony. Through real hardship and prayers he got an answer.
The following Sunday he came into the mission home for his last evening prior to his departure home. We used to have a simple ceremony when a group departed; and when it came time for him to speak he said, “Can I say something, President?”
I said, “You haven’t hesitated up to now. What do you want to tell us?”
He said, “You know what I found out this week? I’ve found what a testimony is. I believe in the Lord. He lives, and I love him. I love my mom and dad. I love this Church. I love this mission, and I kind of like you.”

Many of these pioneers not only had walked away from comfortable homes and farms in Nauvoo and had buried babies in shallow graves on the plains, but they had also made other painful sacrifices because of the fire of faith and the commitment to their covenants that burned within their souls. One such was Catherine Spencer. When she joined the Church, her parents became embittered and angry, disowning her and refusing to allow her to ever return to their home or even to correspond with them. During the Saints’ final days in Nauvoo, Catherine became extremely ill. Fearing that she would not be able to survive the difficult journey west, her husband Orson Spencer wrote to her parents asking if they would not take her back into their home and nurse her back to health and care for her until Orson could establish a home in the west with the Church. No answer came to this heartfelt plea.

At last the time arrived for the Spencers to leave Nauvoo. A bed was made for Catherine in Orson’s wagon. As they traveled in the miserable conditions of March 1846, Catherine became sicker and increasingly weak. About five days out from Sugar Camp, they encountered a torrential freezing rainstorm that poured down through the canvas that covered their wagon. It was apparent that Catherine was failing fast. At this discouraging moment a messenger with the latest mail that had earlier arrived at Nauvoo found the couple. In his hand was a letter from Catherine’s parents. In the letter they expressed no interest in allowing her to come home or in caring for her unless, as they declared, she “renounce her degrading faith, and she can come back, but never until she does.” Without a murmur or complaint, the letter was folded up and put away, and Catherine asked Orson to get his Bible and read to her Ruth 1:16:

And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.

As Orson finished reading this passage, a calm, peaceful smile spread over Catherine’s face as she closed her eyes and lapsed into the quiet sleep of death.

SISTER JAGGI: A few years ago, my mother had some difficult health challenges. She had also been navigating the distressing ebb and flow of heartbreak over the unexpected passing of her beloved husband, my father, nearly 10 years earlier. For our family, this mountain of a challenge seemed like an impossible peak. On-going counseling as siblings, individual and collective prayer, study, and fasting brought forth the guidance to a support team of healthcare professionals. While they were very helpful, we could feel that more help was still needed.

One night, feeling broken, I remember a desperate, tearful, and pleading prayer on her behalf: “Heavenly Father, I don’t know how I can best help her. Please help me; teach me. I will do anything.” The Spirit simply whispered, “Bring her to me so I can heal her.” Over the next few days and weeks, I studied many of the ways that I could help her better access the healing power of Jesus Christ and His Atonement. Some of the ways she appeared to be accessing His power were through scripture study, prayer, the ordinance of the sacrament, and attending church. I was led to understand with clarity that this season of illness had eclipsed her once-regular temple attendance and interest and participation in family history work.

During that time, we had been enjoying a weekly Thursday ski date together. We decided to begin rotating our outing together with “temple Tuesday” dates. In time, this became our cherished weekly appointment together with the Lord. We protected this special time.

I will never forget our visit to the Ogden, Utah FamilySearch Center where we made an appointment to receive help as mom wanted to find ancestors on her father’s line. The very capable Sister Linda Dursteler serving there helped my mom find Minnie Coleman. We could feel her joy of being found. We cheered, and Mom thanked Sister Dursteler for helping her get back in the saddle. We took a picture to remember this experience. On that sweet day, we felt a parting of the veil. My mom took her angel ancestor Minnie to the temple that week with many more ancestors’ names to follow.

We cannot refute the healing that resulted by degrees, week after week, for both of us in mind, body, and spirit as we spent cherished time in the temple participating in the initiatory, endowment, and sealing ordinances in proxy for our ancestors. The Spirit prompted me each week to take a temple selfie with Mom along the way. This will be cherished one day. I had no idea that several months later, at the end of March 2020, our weekly temples dates would end as temples temporarily close due to the worldwide pandemic. My mother shared that weekly attendance at the temple helped her memorize the doctrine, beautiful words, and promises from the Lord given in each covenant and ordinance. The temple was truly going through her, bringing the Savior’s healing that is ongoing from the inside out. The temple selfies became happy memories we would turn to during the pandemic for remembering until we could once again be in the house of the Lord together.

A reporter from a leading Brazilian magazine studied the Church in preparation for a major news article.1 He examined our doctrine and visited the missionary training and humanitarian centers. He spoke with friends of the Church and with others who were not so friendly. In the interview with me, the reporter seemed honestly puzzled as he asked, “How could someone not consider you Christian?” I knew he was referring to the Church, but my mind somehow framed the question personally, and I found myself silently asking, “Does my life reflect the love and devotion I feel for the Savior?”
Jesus asked the Pharisees, “What think ye of Christ?”2 In the final assessment, our personal discipleship will not be judged by friends or foes. Rather, as Paul said, “We shall all stand before the judgment seat of Christ.”3 At that day the important question for each of us will be, “What thinks Christ of me?”
Even with His love for all mankind, Jesus reprovingly referred to some around Him as hypocrites,4 fools,5 and workers of iniquity.6 He approvingly called others children of the kingdom7 and the light of the world.8 He disapprovingly referred to some as blinded9 and unfruitful.10 He commended others as pure in heart11 and hungering after righteousness.12 He lamented that some were faithless13 and of the world,14 but others He esteemed as chosen,15 disciples,16 friends.17 And so we each ask, “What thinks Christ of me?”
President Thomas S. Monson has described our day as moving away “from that which is spiritual … [with] the winds of change [swirling] around us and the moral fiber of society [continuing] to disintegrate before our very eyes.”18 It is a time of growing disbelief in and disregard for Christ and His teachings.
In this turbulent environment, we rejoice in being disciples of Jesus Christ. We see the Lord’s hand all around us. Our destination is beautifully set before us. “This is life eternal,” Jesus prayed, “that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.”19 Being a disciple in these days of destiny will be a badge of honor throughout the eternities.
The messages we have heard during this conference are guideposts from the Lord on our journey of discipleship. As we have listened during the past two days, praying for spiritual guidance, and as we study and pray about these messages in the days ahead, the Lord blesses us with customized direction through the gift of the Holy Ghost. These feelings turn us even more toward God, repenting, obeying, believing, and trusting. The Savior responds to our acts of faith. “If a man [or woman] love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.”20
Jesus’s call “Come, follow me”21 is not only for those prepared to compete in a spiritual Olympics. In fact, discipleship is not a competition at all but an invitation to all. Our journey of discipleship is not a dash around the track, nor is it fully comparable to a lengthy marathon. In truth, it is a lifelong migration toward a more celestial world.
His invitation is a call to daily duty. Jesus said: “If ye love me, keep my commandments.”22 “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me.”23 We may not be at our very best every day, but if we are trying, Jesus’s bidding is full of encouragement and hope: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”24
Wherever you now find yourself on the road of discipleship, you are on the right road, the road toward eternal life. Together we can lift and strengthen one another in the great and important days ahead. Whatever the difficulties confronting us, the weaknesses confining us, or the impossibilities surrounding us, let us have faith in the Son of God, who declared, “All things are possible to him that believeth.”25
Let me share two examples of discipleship in action. The first is from the life of President Thomas S. Monson, demonstrating the power of simple kindness and Jesus’s teaching, “He that is greatest among you shall be your servant.”26
Nearly 20 years ago, President Monson spoke in general conference about a 12-year-old young woman suffering from cancer. He told of her courage and the kindness of her friends to carry her up Mount Timpanogos in central Utah.
A few years ago I met Jami Palmer Brinton and heard the story from a different perspective—the perspective of what President Monson had done for her.
Jami met President Monson in March 1993, a day after being told that a mass above her right knee was a fast-growing bone cancer. With her father assisting, President Monson administered a priesthood blessing, promising, “Jesus will be on your right side and on your left side to buoy you up.”
“Upon leaving his office that day,” Jami said, “I unfastened a balloon tied to my wheelchair and gave it to him. ‘You’re the Best!’ it announced in bright letters.”
Through her chemotherapy treatments and limb-saving surgery, President Monson did not forget her. Jami said, “President Monson exemplified what it means to be a true disciple of Christ. [He] lifted me from sorrow to great and abiding hope.” Three years after their first meeting, Jami again sat in President Monson’s office. At the end of the meeting, he did something that Jami will never forget. So typical of President Monson’s thoughtfulness, he surprised her with the very same balloon that she had given to him three years before. “You’re the Best!” the balloon proclaimed. He had saved it, knowing she would return to his office when she was cured of cancer. Fourteen years after first meeting Jami, President Monson performed her marriage to Jason Brinton in the Salt Lake Temple.27
We can learn so much from the discipleship of President Monson. He often reminds the General Authorities to remember this simple question: “What would Jesus do?”
Jesus told the leader of the synagogue, “Be not afraid, only believe.”28 Discipleship is believing Him in seasons of peace and believing Him in seasons of difficulty, when our pain and fear are calmed only by the conviction that He loves us and keeps His promises.
I recently met a family who is a beautiful example of how we believe Him. Olgan and Soline Saintelus, from Port-au-Prince, Haiti, told me their story.
On January 12, 2010, Olgan was at work and Soline was at the church when a devastating earthquake struck Haiti. Their three children—Gancci, age five, Angie, age three, and Gansly, age one—were at home in their apartment with a friend.
Massive devastation was everywhere. As you will remember, tens of thousands lost their lives that January in Haiti. Olgan and Soline ran as fast as they could to their apartment to find the children. The three-story apartment building where the Saintelus family lived had collapsed.
The children had not escaped. No rescue efforts would be devoted to a building that was so completely destroyed.
Olgan and Soline Saintelus had both served full-time missions and had been married in the temple. They believed in the Savior and in His promises to them. Yet their hearts were broken. They wept uncontrollably.
Olgan told me that in his darkest hour he began to pray. “Heavenly Father, if it be thy will, if there could be just one of my children alive, please, please help us.” Over and over he walked around the building, praying for inspiration. The neighbors tried to comfort him and help him accept the loss of his children. Olgan continued to walk around the rubble of the collapsed building, hoping, praying. Then something quite miraculous happened. Olgan heard the almost inaudible cry of a baby. It was the cry of his baby.
For hours the neighbors frantically dug into the rubble, risking their own lives. In the dark of the night, through the piercing sounds of hammers and chisels, the rescue workers heard another sound. They stopped their pounding and listened. They couldn’t believe what they were hearing. It was the sound of a little child—and he was singing. Five-year-old Gancci later said that he knew his father would hear him if he sang. Under the weight of crushing concrete that would later result in the amputation of his arm, Gancci was singing his favorite song, “I Am a Child of God.”29
As the hours passed amid the darkness, death, and despair of so many other precious sons and daughters of God in Haiti, the Saintelus family had a miracle. Gancci, Angie, and Gansly were discovered alive under the flattened building.30
Miracles are not always so immediate. At times we thoughtfully wonder why the miracle we have so earnestly prayed for does not happen here and now. But as we trust in the Savior, promised miracles will occur. Whether in this life or the next, all will be made right. The Savior declares: “Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”31 “In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”32
I testify that as you love Him, trust Him, believe Him, and follow Him, you will feel His love and approval. As you ask, “What thinks Christ of me?” you will know that you are His disciple; you are His friend. By His grace He will do for you what you cannot do for yourself.
We eagerly await the concluding remarks of our beloved prophet. President Thomas S. Monson was ordained an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ when I was 12 years old. For more than 48 years we have been blessed to hear him bear witness of Jesus Christ. I testify that he now stands as the Savior’s senior Apostle upon the earth.
With great love and admiration for the many disciples of Jesus Christ who are not members of this Church, we humbly declare that angels have returned to the earth in our day. The Church of Jesus Christ as He established it anciently has been restored, with the power, ordinances, and blessings of heaven. The Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ.
I witness that Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world. He suffered and died for our sins and rose the third day. He is resurrected. In a future day, every knee will bow and every tongue confess that He is the Christ.33 On that day, our concern will not be, “Do others consider me Christian?” At that time, our eyes will be fixed on Him, and our souls will be riveted on the question, “What thinks Christ of me?” He lives. I so testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Seventh, we have fear of responsibility. I remember just after I joined the Church, a great feeling of confidence came over me. I felt that since I had chosen the Lord’s side, he was on my side. Several remarkable things happened, of which I will recount but two.

Although I had never had the courage to stand on my feet and speak in debate, either at high school or college, I found myself asking my branch president if I might give a talk in sacrament meeting. I still have the notes of that very first talk. It was on faith and works.

A few months after my baptism, a golden opportunity presented itself at my place of work, where I was a management trainee. Again I had that strong feeling of self-assurance, and I received my first promotion, which set my feet on the management ladder. I found that through my Church membership and the faith it engendered, I overcame the fear of taking responsibility.

Many years ago, as a young and inexperienced branch president, I was asked by one of our branch members to participate in the blessing of his grievously ill wife. The man obviously wanted me to bless her with complete recovery from her illness. That indeed was my intention; both the husband and wife were much-needed pillars in our struggling branch.
The husband anointed his wife’s head with consecrated oil in the prescribed manner, and I proceeded to seal the anointing (see James 5:14). To my amazement, I found myself saying words I had not intended: the woman was “appointed unto death” (D&C 42:48). She would not recover from her illness but would slip away from us peacefully, cradled in the Savior’s loving arms.
The woman died the next day, and I presided at her funeral, a sadder but wiser man. I had learned a great lesson: when we administer to the sick, our maxim must be “not my will, but thine, be done” (Luke 22:42).

Born in England, Sister Lawson emigrated to Australia in 1966 at the age of 30. She suffers from acute arthritic and bronchial conditions, so her doctor had recommended a warmer climate.
First settling in Perth, a major city on the Indian Ocean shoreline of western Australia, Sister Lawson encountered Latter-day Saints in a local theater group. When she took on the job of stage manager, both the manager of the group and the leading male actor were Latter-day Saints.
Every time the group started or finished rehearsals, the manager called them together for prayer, Sister Lawson recalls. “Even though the rest of us were not members, it gave me a very warm feeling—I always used to quietly pray before I went on stage, and this seemed right, somehow.”
An invitation to attend Church meetings followed, and Sister Lawson was soon baptized. Naturally cheerful and enthusiastic, she served as ward and stake drama director in Perth and became thoroughly involved in the Church.
But her health continued to deteriorate. When she finally needed a cane to walk, her doctor told her she should go to the north of Australia, where the climate is distinctly warmer and much more humid. Ever since then, her home has been in Kununurra, where she works as a medical laboratory technician.
In order to maintain her commitment to the gospel and build her spirituality, Sister Lawson set some standards for herself when she moved to Kununurra that she has maintained ever since. She reads two or three chapters from the standard works daily, systematically working her way through each of them. She also reads every piece of Church literature she can get. “I subscribe to all the Church magazines,” she says.
Twice each month, she receives a phone call from the Relief Society president in the city of Darwin, 700 kilometers away—the center of Church activity in Australia’s vast Northern Territory. The phone calls are a welcome morale booster, as are the photocopies of lessons from the Relief Society and Sunday School manuals which are also sent.
Normally, Sister Lawson has an opportunity to take the sacrament only once every six months. When she can get the time off work, she travels to Darwin for district conference—a weekend trip that costs her an average of [U.S.] $350 for air fares. Occasionally, the mission president or another priesthood holder travels through the town, and Sister Lawson often takes that opportunity to ask for a blessing.
Sometimes, because employees in the mining industry tend to be mobile, other members will take up temporary residence in Kununurra. Even one more member is enough for Sister Lawson to consider it a “branch.”
Her advice to people in isolated circumstances is to “make a friend of Heavenly Father.
“You have to study regularly, talk to him as if he is a real friend, and then try to make a friend of others around you. You don’t have to change your standards just because you associate with nonmembers who feel and behave differently.”
Sister Lawson says it’s especially important to become involved in the community. She is president of the local theater group, treasurer of the local Progress Association, and vice-president of the town’s Cultural Coordinating Committee.
Endowed in the London Temple while on leave, Sister Lawson is 3,200 kilometers from the Sydney Temple—too far to travel regularly. However, she recently established Kununurra’s only genealogical society. Her eventual aim: to serve a temple mission in one of the tropical-climate temples.