Gospel Story Finder

I remember the story of one of our LDS chaplains, a man of great faith, devotion, and courage. For a year or more he had been in the central highlands of South Vietnam during the war there. …
He was not always a member of this Church. As a boy in the southern U.S. he grew up in a religious home where the Bible was read and where the family attended the little church of the community. He desired the gift of the Holy Ghost of which he had read in the scriptures but was told that it was not available. The desire never left him. He grew to manhood. He served in the U.S. Army. He searched but never found the thing he most wanted. Between military enlistments, he became a prison guard. While sitting in the gun tower of a California prison, he meditated on his own deficiencies and prayed to the Lord that he might receive the Holy Ghost and satisfy the hunger which he felt in his soul. That hunger had not been fully satisfied with sermons to which he had listened.
One day two young men knocked at his door. His wife invited them to return when her husband would be at home. These two young men taught that family by the Holy Spirit and they were baptized. I have heard this man testify to the effect that as he was taught by the power of the Holy Spirit, he was edified and rejoiced with those who taught him. Out of that marvelous beginning, with the gift of the Holy Ghost, came a shedding forth of light and truth that gave peace to the dying, comfort to the bereaved, blessings to the wounded, courage to the timid, and faith to those who had scoffed.1

This story happened in Finland.
Jonas laughed as he raced his brothers to the living room for home evening. He could still smell the yummy roasted lamb from Easter dinner. And he could still taste the sweet pasha, their traditional Easter dessert.
After the family was sitting quietly, Jonas’s older brother Tristan stood up.
“Happy Easter!” Tristan said. He started their home evening with a song and prayer. Then it was time for their special music program. Everyone had prepared a song about Jesus Christ to share.
Tristan played the guitar, strumming each string carefully. Then his brother Einar played the piano. His fingers moved across the keys. Mom, Dad, and Jonas’s other brothers also played songs. Jonas loved hearing his family’s music.
At last it was Jonas’s turn. He took a deep breath and started to sing.
“At times I am tempted to make a wrong choice, but I try to listen as the still small voice whispers, ‘Love one another as Jesus loves you.’”
As Jonas sang, his heart filled with love. His eyes filled with happy tears. It felt like the Holy Ghost was telling Jonas that Heavenly Father and Jesus loved him.
“Thank you all for sharing your talents,” Dad said. He held up a picture. It showed Jesus Christ kneeling and praying next to a tree. “Who knows what’s happening in this picture?”
Jonas raised his hand. “That’s Jesus praying in Gethsemane.”
Dad nodded. “Yes. That’s where He felt all of our hurt and sadness.”
“He went to the Garden of Gethsemane before He died,” Mom said. “After He died, He lived again. This is all part of His Atonement. Jesus did all of this because He loves us.”
Mom turned on a video about the first Easter. When the video ended, everyone was quiet for a minute. Jonas felt Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ’s love again.
“Now is it time for our activity?” Jonas asked.
Mom stood from the couch and went to the cabinet. “Yes! Jonas, will you help me?”
Jonas and Mom got out glue, scissors, and a pile of Church magazines. They spread them out on the floor. Then Mom gave everyone their special Easter journals. “Let’s make picture art of Jesus Christ in our journals for Easter.”
Jonas sat on the floor and opened his notebook.
Dad picked up a pen to write in his journal. “Next to your pictures, you can write down what you will do to follow Heavenly Father and Jesus so you can become more like Them.”
Jonas turned the pages of one of the magazines. He found a picture of Jesus Christ smiling.
Jonas cut out the picture and glued it in the center of his journal page. He thought about all the love he had felt from the Savior that day. Then he wrote, “I will follow Heavenly Father and Jesus by listening to Dad and Mom and helping with chores. I will love my brothers more.” He held it up to show Mom. She read what he had written and smiled.
Jonas would remember this Easter for a long time. He felt Jesus Christ’s love when he sang and learned about Him. And he felt Jesus’s love when he tried to be like Him.
Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ really did love Jonas. And Jonas loved Them too.
Pasha is a sweet custard dessert. Do you have an Easter treat you eat each year?
Illustrations by Steliyana Doneva

Before leaving Nauvoo in the winter of 1846, President Brigham Young had a dream in which he saw an angel standing on a cone-shaped hill somewhere in the West pointing to a valley below. When he entered the Salt Lake Valley some 18 months later, he saw just above the location where we are now gathered the same hillside prominence he had seen in vision.
As has often been told from this pulpit, Brother Brigham led a handful of leaders to the summit of that hill and proclaimed it Ensign Peak, a name filled with religious meaning for these modern Israelites. Twenty-five hundred years earlier the prophet Isaiah had declared that in the last days “the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established in the top of the mountains,” and there “he shall set up an ensign for the nations.”
Seeing their moment in history as partial fulfillment of that prophecy, the Brethren wished to fly a banner of some kind to make the idea of “an ensign for the nations” literal. Elder Heber C. Kimball produced a yellow bandana. Brother Brigham tied it to a walking stick carried by Elder Willard Richards and then planted the makeshift flag, declaring the valley of the Great Salt Lake and the mountains surrounding it as that prophesied place from which the word of the Lord would go forth in the latter days.

1833. Jackson County, Missouri, USA. Mobs forced the Saints living there to leave their homes.
Joseph Smith wondered what to do. Soon a revelation came. Joseph was told to recruit men to travel to Missouri and help the Saints regain their homes.
Joseph left for Missouri with a group of volunteers. The group later became known as Zion’s Camp.
The journey was hard at times, but many enjoyed it.
After a month of marching, the camp stopped near a river.
They heard that men on the other side were waiting to attack them.
What will we do?
Stand still …
… and see the salvation of God.
Soon a storm came.
God is in this storm!
The rain caused the river to rise so much that the camp’s enemies couldn’t cross it.
After a few days, Joseph received a revelation that it was time to return home, even though they hadn’t helped the Missouri Saints return to their homes.
The Lord has accepted our efforts.
We have been brought this far for a trial of our faith. (See Doctrine and Covenants 105:19.)
Some thought the journey was a failure.
We came all this way for nothing!
Why are we going home before helping the Saints here?
Most saw it as a privilege to be with the Prophet and to learn from him.
Zion’s Camp helped prepare future leaders of the Church. Eight men who marched with Zion’s Camp were called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

“Jessie,” Mother called, “are you OK? You’ve been in the bathroom for a long time.”
“I’m getting my family home evening lesson ready,” Jessie called back.
“In the bathroom?”
“I can’t part the Red Sea in the living room,” Jessie replied.
“That’s true,” said Mother.
Jessie had a little water in the bathtub. She put in several drops of red food coloring, just for effect. Her father had carefully installed a rotating fan on a shelf above the tub for her, and if she stopped the fan from moving back and forth, turned it on high, and used only a little water in the tub, she could part the Red Sea.
But this only solved part of her problem. She couldn’t turn the fan off to drown Pharaoh and the Egyptians while she was still getting Moses and the Israelites to the other side of the bathtub. And how was she going to get Pharaoh into the sea to begin with? There was also the cloud that separated the Israelites and the Egyptians. She could use cotton for that, but someone else would have to hold up the cloud.
David came into the bathroom to comb his hair. “David,” asked Jessie, “would you turn this fan off and on for me when I ask you to?”
“If it won’t mess up my hair,” said David.
“It won’t, I promise.”
Just then their sister Ruth came into the bathroom to get some nail polish. “Playing in the water I see, David,” Ruth teased.
“Be quiet,” said David. “I’m helping Jessie part the Red Sea.”
“Ruth,” said Jessie, “I need you to get the Egyptians into the Red Sea so that David can drown them.”
“Clever!” Ruth exclaimed, picking up the small figures. “They’re plastic cowboys and horses dressed up in Egyptian capes.”
Jessie’s little brother, Jared, came into the bathroom to see what was going on. He picked up the cotton. “Soft,” he said.
“Jared,” Jessie asked, “Can you hold that cotton cloud right here to protect the Israelites?”
“Me water,” said Jared leaning over the bathtub and swishing the water with one hand and swinging the cloud with the other.
Dad came into the bathroom to brush his teeth. “Well, it looks like we’re having a meeting in here,” he said.
“We’re parting the Red Sea,” said Ruth.
“Tonight’s lesson?” asked Dad. “So that’s why you wanted the fan set up in here, Jessie.”
“Yes,” Jessie replied. “Will you please help me get Moses through the Red Sea? I can’t move all these Israelites by myself.”
“The robes on these army men of yours look great,” said Dad. “They make good Israelites.”
“Thanks, Dad,” said Jessie.
Mother poked her head into the room. “What on earth is going on in here?”
“Oh, Mom,” Jessie answered, “we’re ready for my part of the family-home-evening lesson. Will you sit on the clothes hamper and watch? We need a watcher.”
“I’d love to,” said Mom.
“Ready, begin,” announced Jessie.
David turned the fan on. The Red Sea parted. Jessie and Dad led the Israelites through the bathtub. Jared held the cotton cloud and swished his hands in the red water. Ruth rode the caped Egyptians into the tub on their horses. David turned off the fan, and the Egyptian soldiers and Pharaoh drowned. Mom clapped and cheered.
“Whew,” said Jessie, wiping her forehead, “that was quite a job.”
“A great family effort,” said Dad.
“Jessie, I’ve made your favorite red sugar cookies,” Mom said, “in honor of your parting the Red Sea.”
“Boy, I’m luckier than Moses,” said Jessie.
“Why’s that?” asked Dad.
“I’ll bet Moses didn’t get red sugar cookies after he parted the Red Sea.”

Of course, everyone makes mistakes. But let me tell you about a lovely young lady who visited in my office. She was discouraged, almost depressed. She enjoyed her profession of teaching yet felt that her life was not going anywhere. To complicate the problem she was feeling, her testimony had waned, and she was lacking the spark that all who had known her acknowledged was part of her vibrant personality.
“I am going to ask you a question,” I said, “but I do not want details. Are you living the commandments?”
She whispered, “No.”
We talked about her going to her bishop. We also talked about testimony and about how when one lives the commandments, that individual is endowed with blessings of the Spirit that can come in no other way.
She left, seemingly as discouraged as she had entered my office. But in a while, perhaps a month later, my telephone rang. She reported that all was well.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, I went to my bishop. I am living the commandments now, and, yes, I know the gospel is true. I did it on my own,” she reported.
“No one else could have done it for you,” I replied.

Some years ago I coached a high school basketball team through a rather unusual season. The season began with a number of disappointing losses. Some of the fans and townspeople didn’t make a secret of their unhappiness over the team’s failures. There was considerable public comment, and it was a challenging time for members of the team. Several of them finally became discouraged and withdrew from the team. Those who remained didn’t lose faith in themselves or in their coach. The rough going seemed to be an incentive for them to try even harder.

At mid-season the team began to win their games. They qualified for the district tournament and surprised everyone there by winning a place in the state play-offs. To the amazement of everyone, they went on to win the state championship—the first ever to be won by that school!

Following the celebration and the awarding of trophies after the championship game, I drove several of the team members back to our city. There was silence during much of the ride as we each reflected on the incredible outcome of our season’s efforts. Finally, one of the young men spoke. (He had been honored for being one of the outstanding players in the tournament.) “Coach,” he said, “I think we were supposed to win tonight.”

I was curious to know what had prompted this conclusion. “Why do you think we were supposed to win?” I asked.

His response was simple and direct—and I will never forget its impact. “Because we paid the price,” he said.

Indeed they had, and I am sure the lessons learned by those young men during that eventful year have been valuable to them throughout their lives.

The highlight of our mission was the visit from the first members in Ukraine. We had prepared ourselves. The mission president’s wife spoke Russian, and even I learned part of one of the ordinances in Russian. These members had such a reverence for the house of the Lord. As they came and left, they bowed in humility. They were so happy they could receive their endowments, and many cried for joy and didn’t want to leave the temple.

My mother’s father, Grandfather Thomas Condie, also taught me a powerful lesson which involved this same Old Bob, who came into our lives in an interesting way. He was a widower in his 80s when the house in which he rented a room was to be demolished. I heard him tell my grandfather his plight as the three of us sat on the old front-porch swing of my grandfather. With a plaintive voice, he said to Grandfather, “Mr. Condie, I don’t know what to do. I have no family. I have no place to go. I have little money.” I wondered how Grandfather would answer.

We just kept rocking the swing. Then Grandfather reached into his pocket and took from it an old leather purse from which, in response to my hounding, he had produced many a penny or nickel for a special treat. This time he removed a key and handed it to Old Bob.

Tenderly he said, “Bob, here is the key to that house I own next door. Take it. Move your things in. Stay as long as you like. There will be no rent to pay, and nobody will ever put you out again.”

Tears welled up in the eyes of Old Bob, coursed down his cheeks, then disappeared in his long, white beard. Grandfather’s eyes were also moist. I spoke no word, but that day my grandfather stood 10 feet tall. I was proud to bear his given name. Though I was but a boy, that lesson has had a powerful influence on my life.

Hmong (pronounced “mong”) don’t know how to eat with chopsticks, but then neither do I. When I go to Kou Moua’s home for dinner, I like to make white, sticky rice balls with my hands like Kou showed me. She has lots of cousins for us to play with, but no brothers or sisters. After many days of walking and hiding from the enemy in the jungle, Kou’s family, like many Hmong families who came from Laos, escaped from their country to freedom in America.
Utah mountains have no tigers or pythons, but the Hmong were still very afraid when they first came here. They couldn’t speak English, and no one else could speak Hmong, but it wasn’t as hard as some people might think.
Our whole family worked as stake missionaries to the Salt Lake Stake Hmong Branch, and I taught Neng and Shoua and the other children how to fold their arms to pray, how to look at the pictures in Book of Mormon Stories, how to sing “I Am a Child of God.” They taught us how to say hello in Hmong—nyob zoo (knee-ah shong)—and we taught them all kinds of things, like how to turn on a light, use a pencil, or buy a chicken with money. At Christmastime generous people gave the Hmong some clothes, toys, fruit, candy, nuts, and cookies. They ate the oranges and nuts, but they threw away the candy and cookies!
The Hmong had never seen snow before, and they were really excited to learn how to tie quilts. Celebrating the New Year’s holiday with the Hmong is the most fun of all because everyone eats all the rice he wants, and they talk and play games. Chou’s and Neng’s moms made an honorary Hmong costume for me to wear for the New Year’s party. It is black with a bright blue collar and hot pink and lime green sashes, and it has a lot of embroidery, beads, and shiny decorations that tinkle when I walk.
They gave my mom some colorful cloth needlework squares called paj ntaub (pa ndao), which means flower cloth in Hmong. The squares symbolize some ancient Hmong religious beliefs. Kalu’s Grandma is teaching her how to sew the tiny cross-stitches and snail appliqués that form the flowerlike designs, and I want to learn too. Sometimes I practice tracing a design on paper or making up one and coloring it to look like a real piece of paj ntaub. The Hmong are some of my favorite friends, so I try to make my designs using their favorite colors—purple, red, blue, yellow gold, and green.

One of these intrepid souls was Emma Batchelor, a young English girl traveling without family. She started out with the Willie Handcart Company, but by the time they reached Fort Laramie, they were ordered to lighten their loads. Emma was directed to leave the copper kettle in which she carried her belongings. She refused to do this and set it by the side of the road and sat down on it, knowing that the Martin Company was only a few days behind. When the Martin Company caught up, she joined the Paul Gourley family. A young son wrote many years later: “Here we were joined by Sister Emma Batchelor. We were glad to have her because she was young and strong and meant more flour for our mess.” At this time, Sister Gourley gave birth to a child, and Emma acted as the midwife and for two days loaded the mother and the child into the cart, which Emma helped pull.
Those who died traveling with the Martin Company were mercifully relieved of suffering from frozen feet, ears, noses, or fingers, which maimed others for the rest of their lives. Emma, age 21, however, was a fortunate one—she came through the ordeal whole.
When a year later she met President Brigham Young, who was surprised that she was not maimed, she told him: “Brother Brigham I had no one to care for me or to look out for me, so I decided I must look out for myself. I was the one who called out when Brother Savage warned us [not to go]. I was at fault in that, but I tried to make up for it. I pulled my full share at the cart every day. When we came to a stream, I stopped and took off my shoes and stockings and outer skirt and put them on top of the cart. Then, after I got the cart across, I came back and carried little Paul over on my back. Then I sat down and scrubbed my feet hard with my woollen neckerchief and put on dry shoes and stockings.”

Ryan* came through the door and placed his schoolbag on a peg in the hallway. His mother called to him, “Be sure to check out the bathtub. You won’t believe this.”
His curiosity aroused, Ryan walked directly to the bathroom. He didn’t know what to expect, but what he saw made him shudder. In the bottom of the tub were five hairy tarantulas. Each was half the size of a man’s hand.
As Ryan peered tentatively over the edge of the tub, his mom touched him on the shoulder. “I can’t even look,” she said nervously. “The girls promised me that those things couldn’t get out of the tub. I’ll have nightmares for a week over this.”
“Who brought them?”
“One of those things has a tag tied to its leg. That will answer your questions,” his mom said as she turned away.
Getting the tag off the tarantula’s leg took half an hour and occasioned the gathering of several of Ryan’s friends, who thought this was the coolest dance invitation they had seen yet. The house was in an uproar. On one side, the tag read: “Hey, big guy! How about going to the girl’s dance with me? Kim.” On the other: “Don’t hurt the spiders. They’re rented.”
When the last of the visitors had drifted away, Mom said to Ryan, “You don’t seem that excited about the invitation. Is Kim somebody you want to go with?”
Ryan replied after a pause, “Yeah, I guess.”
“She’s certainly a gorgeous girl. I was impressed by her poise and self-confidence,” his mom continued.
“Uh huh.”
“And her friends were very classy. I’ll bet they don’t have any trouble dating the boys they want to.”
“Not much.”
“Is she the person you hoped would ask you?”
“Not really,” said Ryan.
“Tell me about her,” his mom pressed.
Ryan was starting to feel impatient with the conversation. He ended it more abruptly than he meant to by saying, “I don’t think it would be a good thing for me to go out with her. She and her friends are making some bad choices.”
That’s what Ryan did. He just didn’t feel right about accepting an invitation from Kim, no matter how cleverly it was presented. In the end, he chose to do what was right. I hope and pray that you will be faithful in developing the ability to do the same.

“Hooray!” Andrew yelled when he saw the batch of cookie dough that his mother was putting into the refrigerator. “That means tomorrow is ‘Cookie Sunday!’”
“Yes,” replied his mother. “Do you remember what you must do to earn these cookies?”
“I remember. I just need to tell you one thing that I learned in sacrament meeting. That’s easy.”
“You’re right, Andrew. It’s too easy for a big boy like you. This time I want you to tell me three things that you learned.”
“Three!” Andrew took a closer look at the cookie dough. “Is it chocolate chip?”
His mother nodded. “You know, Andrew, listening longer will help you be reverent longer too.”
When the bishop stood up at church after the sacrament had been passed the next day, Andrew forgot to listen. He was busy looking at his favorite book about Jesus. He especially liked the picture of Jesus with the children. He liked to imagine that he was one of those children and that Jesus was smiling at him.
Mother tapped Andrew on the arm as the first speaker stood up. It was Samuel Jenkins, a friend of Andrew’s big brother. Andrew liked Samuel because he sometimes let Andrew play with his basketball. He gave Samuel a big smile, and Samuel smiled back! Then he started his talk. Andrew listened hard. Samuel said that he was saving his money to go on a mission. I’m saving my money, too, Andrew thought. He had a special box that had a place for his tithing, his missionary savings, and his spending money. He was saving his spending money to buy a red toy truck just like the one Toby had. Where is Toby today? he wondered. Andrew saw Toby’s father and baby brother sitting in front of them, but Toby wasn’t there. Toby was his best friend, and he had taught Andrew how to tie his shoes. Andrew was leaning down to see if his shoes needed tying, when his mother tapped him on the back. Oh-oh, thought Andrew, I’m not listening any more.
Andrew looked up just in time to see Samuel sit down and another man take his place. The man’s name was Jethro Williams. He and his family had just moved into the ward. Andrew thought that Brother Williams had kind eyes. Brother Williams was introducing his family, so Andrew turned around to locate them in the congregation. He didn’t see any boys his age in the family, but there was a little girl. Andrew also looked around for Toby, but he didn’t see him. He did see his friend Jacob, though, and gave him a little wave. Andrew felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder, so he quietly turned around and saw Brother Williams opening his scriptures.
One day I’ll have my own scriptures too, Andrew thought. My scriptures will have a black cover like Dad’s, with pages that make a whispering sound when you turn them. He leaned over and saw that a lot of words in Dad’s scriptures had red-pencil lines under them. That meant that the words were extra special.
Brother Williams was reading something about the Lamanites, so Andrew opened his Book of Mormon Storybook and turned to his favorite story about Samuel the Lamanite. He was still busy looking at the pictures when he heard the organ start to play. Is the meeting over already? Andrew wondered. No, it’s just a rest hymn, he decided as the congregation sang “The Spirit of God.” Andrew sang especially loud on the chorus. In Primary the music leader had said that when the children sang the chorus, they sounded like angels.
After the song, Sister Williams stood up. She had a soft voice that reminded Andrew of his Primary teacher. His Primary teacher often said, “Bless your heart.” Andrew listened hard to hear if Sister Williams would say that, too, but she didn’t. Instead, she said another word a lot. She said, “thankful.” Andrew listened, and he counted on his fingers that she said it five times!
She really is thankful, Andrew thought.
Then Sister Williams began to cry a little. Andrew used to feel funny when grown-ups cried in church, but his mother told him that people sometimes cry when they feel very happy inside because of their blessings. Andrew decided to count his own blessings. He thought of his new bicycle that he was learning to ride and of his pet gerbil, Blacky. Then he thought of Amanda, his baby sister, who was asleep on Dad’s lap. Andrew was reaching over to pat Amanda’s curly head when the organ began to play again. The meeting was almost over! This time it was a hymn that Andrew didn’t know, but he helped hold the book for his mother and hummed softly.
After dinner that afternoon, Andrew’s mother got out the bowl of cookie dough. “Well, Andrew,” she said, “tell me what you learned today.”
Andrew thought hard. “Samuel Jenkins talked about saving for his mission. He told me that when he goes on his mission, he’ll give me his basketball! Isn’t that great?”
Mother nodded. “Yes, that’s great. And I’m glad that you were listening when he talked about being a missionary. What else did you learn?”
“I learned that we have a new girl named Sarah Williams in our Primary class. Her father had her stand up in sacrament meeting. In Primary I found out that she likes chocolate chip cookies, just like me!”
Mother smiled. “OK, Andrew. That counts. Shall we take her some cookies to share with her family today?”
“OK, Mom.” Andrew’s eyes lit up. “And could we take some to Toby too? He wasn’t at church today because he’s sick.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Mother. “But first you need to tell me one more thing that you learned today.”
Andrew spoke slowly, “Well, Sister Williams was thankful for five things, and in church I could only think of three things that I was thankful for. But now I’ve thought of two more.”
“What are they?”
“I’m thankful for all my friends and for chocolate chip cookies to share with them!”

“Unity Among All His People” declares the sign carried by the Young Women of the Bismarck North Dakota Ward. Dressed in their Native American “fancy shawls,” they are marching in the International Powwow and Bismarck Folkfest Parade ahead of a grand float, complete with a large headdress. The Bismarck Young Women have become a fixture in the parade over the last several years, and their float has won multiple first-prize honors. Much of this success is thanks to the guidance and inspiration of Sister Marilyn One Feather, who started the unity float.
Sister One Feather wanted the float project to promote unity. She invited the Young Women to be involved in building and decorating the float, which encouraged a spirit of friendship among the girls. Speaking of the experience, Mia Maid Barbara Gietzen said, “It builds faith. It takes a lot of faith to get these things together.”
During the parade, Mia Maids Jenna Byzewski and Mindy Bowen, who both have Native American ancestry, participated in traditional dances alongside the float with several other Native American youth from the community. This kind of collaboration and interaction will, Sister One Feather hopes, foster a greater spirit of fellowship within the community at large.
The float brought the Young Women together as a group and taught them the value of unity—within the Church and the community. “Having unity in your life is really important,” says Beehive Becky Gietzen. “Everybody—not just the people you hang around with, but everybody—should be a part of the group. You try not to leave anybody out.”

Brothers and sisters, I have learned a painful lesson since I last occupied this pulpit in October of 2022. That lesson is: if you don’t give an acceptable talk, you can be banned for the next several conferences. You can see I am assigned early in the first session of this one. What you can’t see is that I am positioned on a trapdoor with a very delicate latch. If this talk doesn’t go well, I won’t see you for another few conferences.
In the spirit of that beautiful hymn with this beautiful choir, I have learned some lessons recently that, with the Lord’s help, I wish to share with you today. That will make this a very personal talk.
The most personal and painful of all these recent experiences has been the passing of my beloved wife, Pat. She was the greatest woman I have ever known—a perfect wife and mother, to say nothing of her purity, her gift of expression, her spirituality. She gave a talk once titled “Fulfilling the Measure of Your Creation.” It seems to me that she fulfilled the measure of her creation more successfully than anyone could have dreamed possible. She was a complete daughter of God, an exemplary woman of Christ. I was the most fortunate of men to spend 60 years of my life with her. Should I prove worthy, our sealing means I can spend eternity with her.
Another experience began 48 hours after my wife’s burial. At that time, I was rushed to the hospital in an acute medical crisis. I then spent the first four weeks of a six-week stay in and out of intensive care and in and out of consciousness.
Virtually all my experience in the hospital during that first period is lost to my memory. What is not lost is my memory of a journey outside the hospital, out to what seemed the edge of eternity. I cannot speak fully of that experience here, but I can say that part of what I received was an admonition to return to my ministry with more urgency, more consecration, more focus on the Savior, more faith in His word.
I couldn’t help but feel I was receiving my own personal version of a revelation given to the Twelve nearly 200 years ago:
“Thou shalt bear record of my name … [and] send forth my word unto the ends of the earth. …
“… Morning by morning; and day by day let thy warning voice go forth; and when the night cometh let not the inhabitants of the earth slumber, because of thy speech. …
“Arise[,] … take up your cross, [and] follow me.”
My beloved sisters and brothers, since that experience, I have tried to take up my cross more earnestly, with more resolve to find where I can raise an apostolic voice of both warmth and warning in the morning, during the day, and into the night.
That leads me to a third truth that came in those months of loss, illness, and distress. It was a renewed witness of and endless gratitude for the resolute prayers of this Church—your prayers—of which I have been the beneficiary. I will be eternally grateful for the supplication of thousands of people who, like the importuning widow, repeatedly sought heaven’s intervention in my behalf. I received priesthood blessings, and I saw my high school class fast for me, as did several random wards across the Church. And my name must have been on the prayer roll of virtually every temple in the Church.
In my profound gratitude for all this, I join G. K. Chesterton, who said once “that thanks are the highest form of thought; and … gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder.” With my own “happiness doubled by wonder,” I thank all of you and thank my Father in Heaven, who heard your prayers and blessed my life.

But then my husband passed away. Besides dealing with grief, I was pregnant and worried about how I would provide for my children. Yet I knew the Lord would continue to help me.
One of the ways He helped was to comfort me. While in the temple, I came to know that my husband was fine, that there was a reason he had to leave the earth, and that he would be helping us from the other side of the veil. I also felt strongly that I needed to return to the temple soon. I wanted very much to return in three months, but I knew that finding both time and money to return would be difficult. I attend the Bern Switzerland Temple, which is a long way from my home in Italy.
As I was walking out of the hostel near the temple, a member of the Church stopped me. He handed me an envelope and said, “This is for you.”
I opened the envelope and found money inside. “I can’t take this,” I said.
“Please take it,” he told me. “While I was in the temple, I felt the Spirit prompting me to give this to you.”
When I counted the money, I found that it was what I needed to cover the cost of driving from Italy to the temple and back. Three months later I returned to the temple.

Tony Williams, 13, is the only LDS student in his junior high school, so he took advantage of the situation. During the school’s social science fair he set up a display telling the residents of Kennett, Missouri, about the Church, and he walked away with first prize.
Tony’s display included three panels. One part told of the apostasy and restoration while another explained the Church’s First Presidency, Council of the Twelve, Articles of Faith, and the standard works. Details of the pioneer trek from Nauvoo to Salt Lake City was on another panel.
After winning first place in his school’s fair, Tony’s display won third place in the district social science fair held at Cape Girardeau, Missouri.
Active in the Hayti Ward (Memphis, Tennessee), Tony serves on the bishop’s youth committee and is president of his deacons quorum.

Then I walk around the lake by myself. I see the eagle snatching another fish. “That’s my grandpa’s fish!” I yell, and realize my heart is beating rapidly just at the sight of the diving eagle. I look up at the sky. It looks bigger than I’ve ever seen it before, and there are pink clouds on the horizon. I say “Thank you” aloud to my grandfather for all he’s taught me.
And I thank my Heavenly Father, for the pink clouds, the eagle, one cousin named Erin, and the big sky that’s whispering “eternity” to me personally. I speak to my grandfather. “You’re right. Computers have pause buttons because you can’t pause life. I should know. I’ve been trying to pause mine.”
My heart is full of so many things, and they all translate to love. I pick some tiny flowers on my way back up the hill. I see Adam on the front deck examining the telescope.
“Think you could find Venus tonight?” I ask.
“I’m gonna try.”
“Let me know if you do.”
Erin looks at me curiously. I hand her the flowers, and she holds them close to her nose. She seems to be pondering deep thoughts for a long time. Then she raises her head and says, “Grandma said I can make chocolate chip cookies for dessert tonight. You wanna help me?”
“Sure.” She holds my hand in one of her small hands, the flowers in the other, and she escorts me to the kitchen, squealing enthusiastically, “Grandma, look at these beautifullest flowers!”
I don’t even flinch.

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

One convert, Special Constable Frankie Png, joined the Church a little over a year ago. He says, “At first, my associates tried to make me feel uncomfortable. But I always try to be patient and encourage them to live better lives. I also encourage my Muslim friends to live their religion more fully. Most respect my beliefs now.” Because of his fine example, his mother and brother were recently baptized.