Gospel Story Finder

When William later hurt his back lifting a quarter beef, he took a laborer’s job in the dockyards at the same pay. Harbor activities intrigued him, and he carefully noticed the daily comings and goings of the many ships using the docks. One day he heard that a British naval vessel, the His Majesty’s Ship Eurotas, soon would sail for the South Pacific, and he immediately formulated a plan for reaching Zion. He enlisted in the British navy and joined the Eurotas’ crew as a butcher, hoping one day to go ashore in California and travel from there to Utah.
But once the “old twenty-eight gun sailing frigate, converted into a screw propellor ship” cleared port, his immigration hopes vanished. At a surprise meeting the commanding officer opened secret orders and announced to the crew: “My men, we are going to the Crimea, the seat of war!”
Because the ship operated with but half a crew, William soon learned various sailing skills. As he later wrote: “I not only had my work to perform as a butcher, but after it was done, I then had to assist the gunners’ crew in whatever they were doing. The gunners are almost invariably excellent seamen … I was therefore under very practical men and learned to do considerable sailor’s work which I have always found useful to me even in Utah.”
Lisbon, Portugal. Gibraltar. Algiers. Malta. Constantinople, Turkey. At each stop William went ashore to obtain meat for the crew. And all along the way they received “dreadful” war reports from the Crimea.
After cruising off the Crimean peninsula, the Eurotas docked near Sebastopol [Sevastopol], a city from which British and allied troops had driven Russian units at terrible cost to both sides. To William’s great joy he found that among the thousands of British servicemen camped in the area were enough Latter-day Saints for a “field church” (Church meetings conducted at the place where an army is camped rather than a church building) to be established. He eagerly participated.

My brother Bill was six years older than I was. He was my ideal, I wanted to be just like him. I would follow him and his friends around and, although I am sure he sometimes thought of me as a little pest, he was good to me and allowed me to tag along.
When Bill was in high school, he had saved enough money to buy himself a car. I remember well the day he drove his very first car home. It was his pride and joy, and he spent many hours shining it up. One day as we were coming home, he stopped at the bottom of the lane that led to our barn and asked me if I would like to drive his car up the lane, which was permissible in those days on a farm. Of course I would! I couldn’t believe that he would trust me to drive his new car—I knew how much it meant to him.
I ran around and jumped into the driver’s seat. He showed me where the key was, how to shift gears, and where the gas pedal was. My foot just barely reached the pedal. I knew everything I needed to know to start the car, and off we went. It was great! It was only when we reached the top of the hill that I realized he hadn’t shown me how to stop the car, and we ran right into the side of the barn. I felt so bad! I was sure that Bill would never trust me to drive his car again. However, a few days later he asked me again if I wanted to drive his car up the lane—but this time he showed me where the brake was! I was so grateful that he understood that running into the barn had just been an accident and that it hadn’t destroyed his trust in me.

Many years ago Elder Marion D. Hanks, while an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, spoke of the power of making the most of our opportunities to learn. Elder Hanks told a story about Louis Agassiz, a distinguished naturalist, who was approached by an obscure spinster woman who insisted that she had never had a chance to learn. In response, Dr. Agassiz asked her to consider the chances for learning that she already had:
“ ‘What do you do?’ he asked.
“ ‘I skin potatoes and chop onions.’
“He said, ‘Madame, where do you sit during these interesting but homely duties?’
“ ‘On the bottom step of the kitchen stairs.’
“ ‘Where do your feet rest?’
“ ‘On the glazed brick.’
“ ‘What is glazed brick?’
“ ‘I don’t know, sir.’
“He said, ‘How long have you been sitting there?’
“She said, ‘Fifteen years.’
“ ‘Madam, here is my personal card,’ said Dr. Agassiz. ‘Would you kindly write me a letter concerning the nature of a glazed brick?’ ”
The woman took the challenge seriously. She read all she could find about brick and tile and then sent Dr. Agassiz a 36-page paper on the subject.
Elder Hanks continued:
“Back came the letter from Dr. Agassiz: ‘Dear Madam, this is the best article I have ever seen on the subject. If you will kindly change the three words marked with asterisks, I will have it published and pay you for it.’
“ ‘A short time later there came a letter that brought $250, and penciled on the bottom of this letter was this query: ‘What was under those bricks?’ She had learned the value of time and answered with a single word: ‘Ants.’ He wrote back and said, ‘Tell me about the ants.’ …
“After wide reading, much microscopic work, and deep study, the spinster sat down and wrote Dr. Agassiz 360 pages on the subject. He published the book and sent her the money, and she went to visit all the lands of her dreams on the proceeds of her work.”6
Now there’s something very fundamental about that, to invite diligent learning and not be content with mediocrity.

Soon after the end of the cross-country season, Doug was called to serve a mission in El Salvador. His track career was a little shaky at best, and he had no particular reason to think that a two-year absence would improve it much, but his desire to follow the counsel of the General Authorities was strong. As he served the people of El Salvador through his calling, he began to change in many ways. He began to have a different perspective on sports and life in general.
“When you look at a high school athlete, he grows up with sports. He eats it and drinks it. That’s his life—everything. As you grow up a little more, you find out there’s a little more to life, and then you go on a mission and find out you don’t have to run and compete to be successful and to feel important as a person. Then your emphasis changes, and running isn’t necessary anymore. Many times sports are a means by which individuals can gain self-confidence and self-esteem. Many people go through an identity crisis. How important are they as an individual? As you go on a mission you realize that the Lord loves you and cares about you and is concerned with your being a good person regardless of how you are athletically. You come to realize that your relationship with people, school, your church callings, a number of things—all are important, not just athletics. You become a little more aware of life.
“I was always very small in high school and had little self-confidence, but now my confidence is in the Lord.”
The two years in El Salvador proved to be a blessing athletically. Even though Doug had little opportunity to run in the mission field, his body had a chance to mature. He returned stronger and faster than when he left. He was the 23rd American finisher in the NCAA cross-country championships that year, earning all-American honors. He was also part of a distance medley team that took second in the nation.

Tina and Troy are twins. Today they are watching general conference with Grandma. “I have a surprise for you,” Grandma says. She gives them crayons and notebooks. “When you hear a special word, draw it in your notebooks,” she says. So Tina and Troy listen. Troy draws a temple white and tall. Tina draws a heart full of love. They hear the prophet talk about Jesus, so they draw Jesus too! “You filled your notebooks with so many good words,” Grandma said. “I’m happy we could listen to general conference.”

Katie Lewis is my neighbor. Her older brother, Jimmie, is battling leukemia. But like the faithful Latter-day Saints they are, the Lewises turned to God with urgency and with faith and with hope. They fasted and prayed, prayed and fasted. And they went again and again to the temple.
One day Sister Lewis came home from a temple session weary and worried. As she entered her home, four-year-old Katie ran up to her with love in her eyes and a crumpled sheaf [stack] of papers in her hand. Holding the papers out to her mother, she said enthusiastically, “Mommy, do you know what these are?”
Sister Lewis smiled through her sorrow and said, “No, Katie. I don’t know what they are. Please tell me.”
“They are the scriptures,” Katie beamed back, “and do you know what they say?”
Sister Lewis knelt down to her level and said, “Tell me, Katie. What do the scriptures say?”
“They say, ‘Trust Jesus.’”
Sister Lewis said that as she stood back up, she felt arms of peace encircle her weary soul and a divine stillness calm her troubled heart.

As a young man just returning from military service, I anxiously looked forward to attending BYU, completing my degree, beginning my life’s work, and getting married. I had been away nearly two years and saw many of my friends getting married and doing the things I wanted to do. While in the service I had saved my money, worked an extra job on the army base several evenings and weekends, and begun my college training by taking several classes at the local college. I was really enthused about the prospects for the future and, now that I had completed my military commitment, I could move forward without further interruptions.
On returning, I purchased the car I had worked and saved for and entered BYU. Life was good. I was living at home among friends of many years, and the prospects for the future were excellent. At BYU I became involved as a cheerleader, joined several service agencies, worked part-time, and became totally immersed in the Church. My life was full to overflowing.
Then, one day several months later, my bishop tapped me on the shoulder and asked me in for an interview. What did he want, I wondered. I had just recently come home, and I was already teaching Sunday School and serving as president of the M-Man class. And then I learned: he wanted me to accept a call to serve a mission. Oh yes, the thought had crossed my mind several times, but very few young men went on missions in those days following the end of World War II because of years away from home and also because of age and a desire to settle down and complete their education.
My first thoughts were, I don’t have time now; there is so much to do, so many years of education ahead. Then I remembered several things. First, my patriarchal blessing said that I would be a missionary; and second, I had been taught by parents that the Lord would bless me as I accepted any calling that came to me. I must admit today that those were anxious moments for me, being pulled in one direction by the life I enjoyed so much and contemplating leaving all that to serve a mission. I enjoyed every day and awakened with enthusiasm for the many things that lay ahead that day and week. And yet, there I was with a patriarchal blessing—“your own personal plan of salvation,” as President Harold B. Lee used to say—and a request from a bishop to go and serve the Lord.
I thought that two and a half years would cause me to forfeit many of the goals that were important to me, all of which I thought were creditable and acceptable to the Lord. I would be behind so many of my friends, some of whom were already married. But the Spirit of the Lord continued to work upon me, and after much supplication unto the Lord I knew, by the Spirit, what I must do and began to develop an anxiousness to serve the Lord in the mission field.
I would be the first, the very first Paramore ever to serve a full-time mission and would be setting the example for others of our family to follow. It would be little repayment indeed for the blessings that had come to our families—the Paramores from England, the Nielsens from Denmark, the Maxwells and Lamonts from Scotland—because of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the eternal sealings that had been done for our families and the principles of truth which had come to be ours. I would go and take these blessings to others, first, because I was asked to go, and then, because I wanted to share these blessings with others.
The weeks passed and finally an interview (in those days this was always done by a General Authority) with Elder Marion G. Romney, who was then a member of the Council of the Twelve. And finally that special day arrived when my call came to serve the Lord in the French mission. That day will always live in my mind, and, as I have reflected hundreds of times since in my life, it was one of the most important days and one of the most important calls to ever come to me to serve here upon the earth. I have thought many times, suppose I hadn’t served? There would have been some testimony I would not have received, people I would never have known and helped to love the gospel and receive its blessings.
That time in the mission field was one of the most dramatically important experiences of my life. It gave me hundreds of witnesses that the gospel is true, that it was established by the Lord Jesus Christ upon the earth, and that it brings joy, health, peace, progress, and eternal blessings to every person who fully embraces it. I would have the witness in my life forever, and it would propel me to serve the Lord all the days of my life. What a foundation for the future, for my family, to know from missionary service what the gospel can do for all who are involved.
How did I know then how the Lord would use me in the future? What were his plans for me here upon the earth? The mission was the first crossroad that I had to walk through, and since then it has been easier when faced with important decisions to ask, “What would the Lord have me do?”

When we place Jesus first in our lives, He will guide our decisions and give us the strength to avoid temptations. One day I received a phone call from my grandson Joel, who will soon be a deacon. He was having a difficult time making a decision. He had been invited to go with a group of students from his school to Sea Camp in San Diego, California. It sounded very exciting to a young boy! There would be behind-the-scene experiences at Sea World—watching the trainers and helping to feed the sea animals. His dilemma was that the camp would be on a weekend, with scuba diving and beach exploring on Sunday.

His parents had discouraged him in going but had allowed him to make his own choice, believing he would choose what was right. He had assured them that although he couldn’t attend church on Sunday, he would not swim. He said, “I can sit on the beach and be surrounded by God’s creations. Heavenly Father couldn’t feel bad about that, could He?”

Joel wanted to know what Grandpa Rex thought he should do. I answered with the question, “Joel, what do you think Jesus would want you to do?” His voice was a little choked up as he answered, “Grandpa, I don’t think He would be very happy with me if I do that on Sunday. Do you?”

It hadn’t been an easy decision to make, but it was the right one. We all have many difficult choices to make each day. There are many enticements that, if followed, will lead us away from Christ. The movies and videos we choose to watch, the entertainment we seek, the music we listen to, the styles we wear, and the language we speak are all influenced by the strength of our desire to follow Christ. In making these decisions, we may feel it is too hard to be left out or to miss out on what the world thinks is okay. Yes, “it is difficult to be a Christian and follow Christ in word and deed.” When we do follow Him, however, we will feel the peace and assurance that come from making right choices. He will provide the courage necessary for those times when we have to stand alone.

I used to keep all my money in my sock drawer. It was really simple to budget: when I ran out, well, I ran out. But managing my money from my dresser drawer forever just wasn’t realistic. I found that out when I got my first job and then again when I went away to college. My expenses seemed to skyrocket, and keeping track of my money was no longer an easy task. I wanted to be better at managing my money, but setting up a budget at that point appeared overwhelming. If only I had known how easy and important it is.

I want to tell you about my little brother, Hans. When he was born, he didn’t seem to like being here on earth. He would wake up in the night, and when he saw that he was still here, he would start crying. He would only stop when Mom fed him. After he got older, he seemed to feel better about being here.
We slept in the same room, and at bedtime we always played games. He would never just go to sleep. After Mom kissed us goodnight and shut the door, Hans would jump up, hold onto the rail of his crib, and begin to bounce. He would wave and yell at me until we both were laughing hard. I really liked sharing a bedroom with him, even if he was a baby.
Some people think that babies are a bother, but Hans wasn’t. He was good. He would watch us, then try to do everything we did. He used to go around the house picking up little pieces of rubbish that no one else saw. Then he would run to the wastebasket and throw them in. He always tried to help everybody. He was smart about it too. One day he decided to help Mom. He climbed up onto the stove when he was alone in the kitchen. Later we found him sitting beside the burners stirring a pot full of cold water. When we came in, he clapped his hands and said, “Oh, see!”
Hans was very adventurous. He wasn’t afraid of anything. His best trick was to climb up our big bookcase. He could get nearly to the ceiling. Mom always lifted him down, but I thought that he was better than a mountain climber.
Once I did something terrible to him without meaning to. He was coming up the stairs, steadying himself with his hand on the wall. When he got to the door at the top, his hand poked through where the door hinge is. I didn’t see him, and I slammed the door on his finger. He screamed and screamed. Mom and Dad rushed him to the hospital because the end of his finger was badly cut and he needed stitches. I felt awful. But when he came back home, he gave me a hug, so I knew that he still loved me. He was really brave and hardly ever cried about his finger, and he wasn’t even two years old! I felt awfully proud of him.
When the weather was nice, we used to go for walks together down the street. He really liked to play in the vacant field, running on his little legs along the paths. He liked the flowers and bugs and birds too.
I guess that we had the most fun one day when Mom went visiting teaching. She left Daddy to take care of us. He was busy in his study, so we looked for something fun to do until Mom got home. Hans opened a cupboard and took out a big can of flour. He took off the lid and showed it to me. It looked like something fun to play with, so we took it into the living room, where he poured it all onto the carpet. Then we rubbed it in big circles. If felt soft and nice. Hans rubbed a white circle around one of his eyes. He looked so funny! Mom came home right after that, and she couldn’t get mad when she saw how funny he looked. She just got her camera and took a picture of us.
Now I’m really glad that she took the picture. It helps me to look at it. It helps me to tell you about Hans too. You see, he got really sick last month—Mom said it was meningitis. Even though the doctor and the bishop came to help, he died, and I don’t ever want to forget him.
We all cried when Hans died. Mom and Dad hugged each other and cried. They hugged me too. Our neighbors and friends came over, and they cried. I’m glad that our friends were there. Mom and Dad had to be gone sometimes, getting things ready to bury Hans. It helped to talk to my friends. It helped to just sit on the porch with them beside me.
Mom decided to make a little white suit for Hans to wear for his funeral. She got the pants made, but when she had trouble with the jacket, one of her friends took it and finished sewing it. She and Dad went to the mortuary to put the suit on Hans.
After Mom and Dad came back, we all dressed in our Sunday clothes. My grandmas and grandpas were there too. We went together to the mortuary to see Hans. The stake president, who is also the mortician, was there, and he put his arm around me. That helped me feel better.
I never saw anyone dead before. I knew that Hans would be different, that he wouldn’t be able to talk to me. I wondered how I would feel when I saw him.
Mom held my hand, and we went into a beautiful room with lots of flowers. There was quiet music playing. The room was just for our family so that we could be alone with Hans.
Hans was lying in a casket. It looked like a little white bed. His eyes were closed. He looked different, but he looked nice.
Hans’s funeral was in the morning. All my cousins and aunts and uncles came. Our friends and neighbors were there, too, and we sang “I Know My Father Lives.” Mom and Dad played a song for Hans on the piano and then talked a lot about Jesus.
Hans is buried near a little pine tree. I like that tree. Dad says that we can watch it grow. It will remind us that Hans is really alive, too, only with Jesus.
I know that Hans will always be my brother because Mom and Dad were married in the temple. I didn’t know how important that was until Hans died. Now I do.
Sometimes we go to the cemetery to put flowers on Hans’s grave. I told Mom that it’s kind of like the park where we had our family reunion. She hugged me tightly and told me that when Resurrection Day comes, the good people who have been buried will meet with everybody that they love, and it will be the biggest family reunion that you ever saw. I can hardly wait to hug Hans when he is resurrected. I miss him a lot, but I know that he is happy because he lives with Heavenly Father and Jesus.
When I die, I won’t be afraid, because I will see Jesus, and I will be with Hans again. I am going to try to be as good as Hans was so that we can live together some day.
When I take the sacrament, I think about how Jesus was resurrected so that we can be too. I love Jesus for doing that. Even though Hans is dead, because of Jesus I can feel happy.

For Damien, serving others was a natural part of growing up. He enjoyed going with his dad to help others move. “Service is what I am meant to do,” Damien says. He has often looked for ways to serve others—for instance, landscaping or sharing his technical abilities. So when he was asked to help with the Just Serve Club at his high school, Damien was ready to make it happen.
Damien had been a member of the Just Serve Club before. But when the previous leaders graduated, he was mostly on his own. Damien began the process of rebuilding the club.
It took a lot of work to recruit new members. During the week at the beginning of the school year when students promote the school clubs, Damien worked every day inviting people.
One young woman, Abby R., was excited to join. “I always wanted to be in the Just Serve Club,” she says. Her older sister had been president of the club a few years before.
She loves doing simple acts of service like opening a door or bringing treats for a friend. But the Just Serve Club provided a way to serve in bigger ways. “I went to every service activity I could,” Abby says.
At club meetings, members work together to write encouraging notes in cards for people in the local hospital or gather supplies for boxes to go to disadvantaged children. “It felt good to serve and help others during their struggles,” Abby says. “And service is a great way to connect with your peers.”
Damien says, “Watching students come together talking and laughing while they make cards helps me feel the Spirit.”
Damien and Abby have both found that service gives you an opportunity to think more about others and not just yourself. “You can get caught up in yourself and what you need to do for school,” Abby says. “Taking time to think about others and what’s going on in their lives helps you think about the Savior. It brings you peace and makes you happy.”
Abby has found that service brings her closer to the Lord as she is doing what He would want her to do. Damien has discovered serving and giving back is a way he can follow the Savior’s example. “The pure love of Christ is charity,” Damien says. “I try to embody charity, and it has helped me to grow so close to Christ.”
“Anywhere there is a need, you can make a difference,” Damien says. “That’s what Christ’s work is all about.”

Shortly thereafter I contacted another friend in Utah, Dennis Hill, with whom I had worked. I told him I was now attending his church. He said he was going to send me a book, even though I tried to convince him that I was attending only because I liked the people.
The book, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder by LeGrand Richards, came after our second visit to the little church. I set it aside to read “sometime later.”
The third Sunday we decided we were too tired to go to church. No one called to ask “Where were you?” and we were disappointed.
But Monday night the telephone rang. It was the missionaries!
“We missed you at church Sunday.”
“Yes, but you know how it is.”
“Yes, we do.” A pause. “We promised you six lessons; we would like to begin them soon.”
“Fine! How about tomorrow night and every Tuesday thereafter?”
That was the beginning of a very fine friendship. The children loved these two young men who exuded faith and happiness.
I cooperated with their attempts to use psychology on me because I felt they needed the practice; however, I had to set the limit when they invited me to offer prayer at the opening and close of these meetings. I was happy to have them or anyone else offer the prayer, but I would have felt hypocritical praying to a God whose existence I wasn’t sure of.
The next Sunday was stake conference in Jacksonville, Florida, and the speaker was to be none other than Elder LeGrand Richards. I grabbed my book and started reading. (If I’m going to listen to a speaker, I want to know as much about him as possible.) When the day came, I managed to sit way up in the balcony where I could hear and see well. This man’s keen mind impressed me; but I was even more moved by his sincerity, conviction, and faith.
The missionary lessons continued, and we began to acquire a better comprehension of what the gospel was all about. About the fourth lesson we began to realize that these missionaries were planning to finish this by inviting us to be baptized.
I won’t do that! I told my wife. “I don’t even trust myself in a thing so simple as prayer. I’m not going to do all of that.” She agreed.
The missionaries finally mentioned it by telling us that a date had been selected for baptism. Would we like to go? “No,” I told them. “I don’t feel the urge.”
“Well,” they continued, “this Friday we are going to baptize two others. Would you like to come and observe?”
“Where?”
“A block from here—in the ocean.”
“The ocean!” gasped my wife. “That’s too cold this time of year.”
“Yes, we know.” Missionaries always seem to be undisturbed.
We went. After the baptismal service, the missionaries asked us, “Doesn’t that make you want to be baptized next time?”
“No!” I answered. And I meant it.
All of this time the elders had been teaching another family, a beautiful young couple by the name of John and Louise Hatch.
We had met the Hatches only briefly at Church, but were impressed by their vibrance and sincerity. At the time of our sixth and final lesson, the elders told us that John and Louise had elected to be baptized the following Friday, which happened to be Good Friday. The thought occurred to me that that would certainly be the ideal time to be baptized, that it would be a kind of “thank you” to Christ to commemorate that particular day with one’s own baptism. Nonetheless, I felt no urge to do so. I was still looking for that burning bush.
But as the elders prepared to leave following our sixth lesson, they asked, as was their custom, if I would like to offer the prayer. To my amazement, I heard myself agree; after my benediction, two somewhat astonished missionaries congratulated me. I was deep in thought when that beautiful evening ended.
The next day before I left for work, I gathered my courage, took a deep breath, and told my wife I had decided to be baptized on Friday and wanted her to join me. She would have been just as surprised if the roof had blown off or if Florida had begun to slip slowly into the sea.
“You can’t do this to me!” she said.
“Why not?”
“The ocean is too cold!”
“I know, but I’ve decided. With or without you, I’m going to do it. Think about it and let me know tonight because I’m going to call the missionaries tomorrow and tell them so they can get me some special clothing.”
I kissed her and left her standing in the doorway. But I couldn’t leave her in suspense all day, so I called her later.
“Have you decided?”
“I’m not going to let you do it without me!”
“Fine. I’ll call the missionaries tonight. Ask the kids if they want to join in, and let me know after work.”
The two older boys elected to join us. (The two younger children were still too young.) We were baptized on Friday; and I have not doubted since coming up from the water that I made the right decision.
Why did I suddenly decide to be baptized? Because I realized the night of the sixth lesson that a burning bush was not the right thing to look for. I realized that by looking for a burning bush I was missing something just as important. Perhaps the answer lay in the simple things that had been happening to me.
I thought back to the week before we had decided to be baptized. We had once again arrived late to Church. To dispel the awkwardness of the situation, a very young man, Eddie Markle, had welcomed us with a simple handshake. At that moment I sensed in him a faith so strong that I was deeply impressed. It was the kind of faith spoken of by Jesus to Thomas: “Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed; blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.” (John 20:29.) I decided I wanted that kind of faith.
I realized my previous experiences had impressed me in a similar way, but, because of my desire for a miraculous conversion, I had failed to recognize the promptings of the Spirit. My encounters with members of the Church had not been spectacular, but yet they had been very significant.
Each person had—in his own way—displayed a strong yet simple faith: Dick Reisner had planted the seed; Dennis Hill had sent the book; the missionaries had knocked on my door; President Pressler had waited for us that first Sunday; Elder Richards had delivered an inspiring message; Eddie Markle had eased an awkward moment with a handshake. Each person—through his example—had let the powerful light of his testimony shine forth. And to me, having been in darkness, each example was as “the bright shining of a candle” (Luke 11:36), bringing me to a testimony of the truth.
The Mormons love their families and I love them for that. As a religious group they are, in fact, a family themselves—with all the love and learning that implies. Yet through it all one fact never changes: they have the gospel of Jesus Christ. A burning bush is not the answer. We have free choice—we can choose a darkness devoid of faith or we can light it brilliantly and forever with our belief. The Mormons believe! And so do I.

One evening Anthony Obinna dreamed of a beautiful building he had never seen before. Several years later, while confined to his home during the Nigerian Civil War, Obinna read an old issue of the Reader’s Digest. He was stunned to see the building from his dream in an article about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“From the time I finished reading the story,” Obinna recalled, “I had no rest of mind any longer.” He immediately told his family about his discovery, but more than a year passed before the political situation in Nigeria allowed Obinna to contact Church headquarters. In 1971 LaMar S. Williams of the Church’s Missionary Department sent him a copy of the Book of Mormon and other Church literature but informed him there were not yet plans to organize the Church in Nigeria.
Despite his disappointment, Obinna continued the correspondence and shared the gospel with friends and neighbors. In 1975 he became a member of Ime Eduok’s committee to coordinate unofficial Latter-day Saint congregations in Nigeria. Within a few years, 71 people were regularly attending the meetings Obinna held. The group built a small church, which they called the LDS Missionary Home, and posted a sign on the roof announcing it as the home of the “Nigerian Latter-day Saints.”
In November 1978, soon after the Church announced the revelation extending the priesthood to all worthy male members, Rendell N. and Rachel Mabey and Edwin Q. and Janath Cannon became the first missionaries sent to West Africa. Almost immediately, they sought Obinna and soon met him at the Missionary Home. “It has been a long, difficult wait,” Obinna said, “but that doesn’t matter now. You have come at last.”
Elder Mabey told Obinna that the other congregations needed to be visited and estimated it would be six weeks before they could return to baptize his group. Obinna protested. “No. Please,” he quietly implored. “Please, if it is humanly possible—go ahead with the baptisms now!” Mabey agreed, and on November 21, 1978, 19 converts were baptized in the Ekeonumiri River. Anthony Obinna was the first.
Anthony Obinna was called to preside over the newly organized Aboh Branch with his brothers Francis and Raymond as his counselors. Obinna’s wife, Fidelia, was called as Relief Society president.
“We are happy for the many hours in the Upper Room of the Temple you spent supplicating the Lord to bring us into the fold,” the Obinna brothers wrote to Church leaders after the branch was established. “We thank our Heavenly Father for hearing your prayers and ours,” they added, expressing gratitude that “revelation 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.”

I was the oldest in a family of five children, and I tried to set a good example for my younger brothers and sisters. But occasionally we got into trouble. One time, when I was about twelve or thirteen years old, my brothers and sisters and I were doing something our parents had told us not to do: play with matches. We were lighting long rye grass stems and holding them over the creek while we watched them burn. It was great fun—until some burning embers dropped on the other side of the creek and set the grass on fire. The fire burned about forty acres on our own and our neighbors’ farms. Hundreds of neighbors came to help put out the fire when they saw the clouds of smoke.
Late that night, after the fire was out, my father came home. He thanked the neighbors, and they all drove away, leaving us there alone—Dad, Mom, us children, and the blackened hillside as evidence of our folly. Dad didn’t yell at us. Instead, he invited us into the kitchen, got out the five-gallon washtub, filled it with water, set five chairs around it, and put a full box of matches on each chair.
“You like to start fires?” he said. “All right. I want you to light each match in your box, one by one. Let it burn down, and then drop it into the tub. I want you to get your fill of lighting matches.”
We sat there virtually all night, lighting matches and dropping them into the tub. From then on, I could never again see a fire on a farm or in the forest without a pain in the pit of my stomach. I gained a great respect for fire—and for my father—that day.

In December 2004, Kumar was taking a tour of southern Sri Lanka with a client from Germany. Unexpectedly, the man changed his plans and told him to drop him at his hotel by the beach. He told Kumar he would call him in a few days to continue his tour. Kumar could have stayed to enjoy the beach but decided to call his tour partners for another assignment. They asked him to take a client to Kandy, a mountain area in Sri Lanka. While in Kandy, he heard on the news that a terrible tsunami had hit southern Sri Lanka exactly where he was earlier that day. His client from Germany never called him back, as the hotel where he dropped him off was destroyed. Sri Lankan authorities reported over 31,000 confirmed dead with several thousand others missing, nearly 0.2 percent of the population of Sri Lanka.

Avoiding the tsunami reinforced Kumar’s commitment to pray. He thanked God for saving his life that day and continues to thank God in prayer daily.

“Stephen became friends with people because he took time to notice them. I remember one day at the shopping center he said to me, ‘Hey, Mom, let’s go over there, I want to speak to that guy.’ He went over, and he congratulated the man on his promotion and asked what his new duties entailed. The man explained, and they chatted away. Later, I asked Stephen how he knew the man had had a promotion. ‘If you look at the sleeves of their uniforms, you’ll see they have some gold braid on the cuffs. That guy only had one stripe on last week, and this week he has two, so I figured it must mean a promotion.’”

We learned a third lesson as the missionaries were in our home teaching Jack, a colleague of Clayton’s. One elder was newly arrived on his mission, and his senior companion from Argentina was still struggling with English. As a result, when questions arose, Jack would instinctively ask Clayton, who answered—confident that he could answer more clearly and convincingly than these elders could. We got into a rhythm in which the elders would teach a concept, Jack would ask a question, Clayton would answer it, and then the elders would teach the next concept. Jack then asked a difficult question for which Clayton had no ready answer. And as Clayton paused, the Argentine elder offered a profound answer, given by the Spirit. When Jack asked the next question, Clayton waited to see if this elder could do it again—and he did. We learned an important lesson about sharing the gospel. Despite their inexperience, we can trust the missionaries to teach the gospel well, because whom the Lord calls, He qualifies.

Ernest Sibanda met two Mormon missionaries on bicycles—Elder Black and Elder Kaelin—in December 1978. They left a Book of Mormon with him. Before their visit, Ernest had already spent many years studying religion. In fact, he had been a teacher for his church for nine years and a pastor for three years.
The night Ernest received his copy of the Book of Mormon he stayed up until 2:00 in the morning reading enthusiastically. He couldn’t wait to meet the missionaries the following day. Ernest told them that he had learned more from Joseph Smith about Jesus Christ than all the ministers he had ever met. Ernest was baptized shortly thereafter, followed by his wife and children a few weeks later.
Of his baptism day, he wrote, “I felt very free. I felt released from every evil. I found there was love in me for my family. I found there was love within me for the Church.”2
Ernest Sibanda proved to be a great strength to the Church. He served as Sunday School president, branch clerk, and second counselor in a branch presidency. He also fulfilled an assignment from the South Africa mission president to translate hymns from English to Shona.

The first lesson was learned when we were newly married and had very little money. I was in the air force, and we had missed Christmas together. I was on assignment overseas. When I got home, I saw a beautiful dress in a store window and suggested to my wife that if she liked it, we would buy it. Mary went into the dressing room of the store. After a moment the salesclerk came out, brushed by me, and returned the dress to its place in the store window. As we left the store, I asked, “What happened?” She replied, “It was a beautiful dress, but we can’t afford it!” Those words went straight to my heart. I have learned that the three most loving words are “I love you,” and the four most caring words for those we love are “We can’t afford it.”

Bri-i-ing! went the alarm clock, breaking into the stillness of the dark room. Brad groaned and, pulling his pillow over his head to shut out the noise, burrowed deeper under the covers of his nice warm bed. It was much too early to get up. The sun wasn’t even up yet.
Suddenly Brad sat up. Today was going to be an important day for his big brother, Andy. He was going to the Missionary Training Center (MTC) in Provo, Utah.
What a wonderful time this was for the family! Just last night everyone had gathered in the living room, and Dad had given Andy a father’s blessing. Brad was glad that Dad honored his priesthood. Many times he had laid his hands on Brad’s head and asked Heavenly Father to guide him or to protect him or to bless him with health. Last night he had blessed Andy with those same great blessings for his mission.
Brad dressed in his Sunday clothes and hurried downstairs. The rest of the family was already in the brightly lit, cozy kitchen. Dad was making pancakes, and Andy was looking tall and a little awkward in his new dark blue suit. When Dad saw Brad, he shut off the stove, and the family knelt around the table for prayer. As they seated themselves, Brad felt sad for a moment because this would be the last meal they would all have together for a long time.
Andy reached over and ruffled Brad’s hair. “C’mon, Brad, smile. I don’t want to remember you all full of frowns. Shall I help you smile like Dad does?”
Just thinking about Dad’s way to get smiles brought grins to the entire family. Dad would turn a frowning child upside down and hold him by his ankles if he wouldn’t smile. When he was little, Brad would frown, suppressing a giggle, just to get Dad to turn him upside down.
“I’m much too big for that anymore,” said Brad.
“You’re certainly growing fast, all right,” Dad remarked. “By the time Andy gets home, you’ll probably be able to turn me upside down. You’d better hurry and finish your breakfast now, though. The bishop and Brother Terry will be here soon, and Grandma and Grandpa are on their way.”
A moment later the doorbell rang, and Bishop Maxwell and Brother Terry, their home teacher, were at the door, stomping the snow off their feet. As Brad started to close the door behind them, he saw another car pull into the driveway—and another one pulled in right behind that one. “It’s Grandma and Grandpa!” shouted Brad as he ran to greet them.
Between hugs and introductions, the group entered the house. President Cox, the stake president, was in the third car. He had come to set Andy apart for his mission.
President Cox began by talking to us about Andy’s mission and about how important it was to support him with prayers and letters. Then he laid his hands on Andy’s head and set Andy—no, Elder Andrew Spencer Brown—apart as a missionary to the New Zealand Christchurch Mission. Andy was now an official fulltime missionary!
The bishop, Brother Terry, and President Cox all shock hands with Andy and clapped him on the back. Then they had to leave to go to work.
Looking at the clock, Dad urged everyone to hurry: “Andy has to be at the MTC by 8:30.”
Finally everything and everybody was jammed into the car, and off they went. Andy looked back over his shoulder until the house was long out of sight.
As Dad pulled into the parking lot of the long, low brick Mission Training Center, the Provo Temple up the street shone in the early morning light. Mom and Dad had gone with Andy to the temple the week before. Andy had come home different somehow, a little more serious and more determined to be the best missionary he could be.
Entering the large lounge area of the MTC, they were met by a smiling brother who directed them to put Andy’s luggage in a room that had the appearance of a baggage terminal. Suitcases and garment bags were everywhere. What a large group of missionaries must be arriving!
Andy’s name was checked off a list, and they were directed to a room filled with young men and women, mothers, fathers, and other family members and friends. Most missionaries seemed to be in the middle of a group, hugging someone. Brad thought he’d never seen so many hugs in his life. He’d settle for a handshake!
A tall distinguished brother entered the room and asked everyone to be seated. He introduced himself as President Bishop, the president of the MTC, and told them a little about the MTC and missionary life.
Brad had thought that while Andy was on his mission, his brother would only knock on doors and teach discussions all day. But President Bishop explained that letter writing, journal writing, laundry, and exercise were part of the program too. A large gym at the MTC provided a place for exercise for the missionaries while they were there. They needed to keep in good shape for the hours of missionary work.
President Bishop talked to the missionaries about living within their budgets. And he hoped that all of them had learned to cook and to mend and wash their clothes. Brad knew that Andy had learned to cook—a little, anyway. The night that he’d baked a casserole with tomatoes, cabbage, and macaroni, Brad had managed to wangle an invitation to a friend’s house. But Andy did make pretty good omelets and hamburgers.
Andy had also learned how to mend his clothes and to sort, wash, and dry them. Mother had been giving them all lessons in housekeeping since they were little. She said that they didn’t have time to learn those things in the mission field.
After President Bishop finished his talk, they saw a film about the MTC. When the film was over, the missionaries were to say good-bye to their families and friends; then they were to leave through a door at the front of the room. Andy shook Brad’s hand and told him to take good care of things while he was gone. Brad blinked rapidly as he watched Andy walk up the aisle. It would be eighteen long months before he would see him again!
Forgetting that he was too big for hugging and stuff, Brad ran down the aisle and threw his arms around his brother. “Be the best missionary ever, Andy—at least till it’s my turn.”
“I’ll do my best, Brad. Don’t grow too much while I’m away. I want to be able to recognize you when I get back.” Turning, Andy quickly walked to the door, gave a last wave, and was gone.