Gospel Story Finder

Another time, Joseph was having difficulty going to bed. He wasn’t cooperating and was irritable. I asked him to tell me some of “The Living Christ.” As he began, I could feel the Spirit come into the room. He calmed down and changed back into his normal, happy self. Some time later, on another night when he was restless, I tried it again. This time his reply was very different: “No! I don’t want to be happy!” Our young son had learned what remembering Jesus Christ could do. Indeed, the Savior had become more real to all of us.

“My family, and especially my father, was very strict in disciplining the children in our home,” Elder Kikuchi recalls. “Those on my father’s side of the family are from the Samurai, and the Samurai way is very strict. In ancient Japan, the Samurai were the rulers and in those days they fought with swords.

“Every morning when I would get up, I had to dress—even when I was very small—and come before my father on the tatami [mat]. Then I would bow and say, ‘Good morning, Father, I will be a good boy.’ After that greeting I could go to breakfast. I remember one particular morning when I was four years old that I got up and forgot to say those words to my father. He became angry and scolded me. And I was very surprised when he opened the door and threw me outside into the snow. We lived in the northern part of Japan, and there is plenty of snow there in the wintertime. I remember that day so clearly when Father threw me into the snow just because I didn’t say, ‘Good morning, Father, I will be a good boy.’”

Elder Kikuchi recollected further that he ran to his uncle’s house that morning to stay for a while.

“But I have to say about my father,” Elder Kikuchi continued, “that every morning after I bowed and told him I would be a good boy, he held me to his bosom and said, ‘I love you.’ I remember that his beard scratched me when he did this, but I always knew he loved me.”

I really wanted to play the flute. I thought it was so feminine and romantic, like something you might play while sitting on a rock in a field of flowers. But my parents couldn’t afford any kind of instrument at that time, and I wanted to be in the junior high beginning band, mostly because my best friend, Lisa, was in it, playing the snare drum. The school owned some instruments that it loaned out, and Mr. North, the grumpy old band teacher, assigned me an old, dented French horn in a beat-up black case.
I really hated that thing. If it wasn’t enough to have my backpack full of books to carry home every night, I also had to carry that heavy French horn up the hill almost a mile to my house. It really embarrassed me to carry that big old black case. I kept thinking of the flute, and how the case would have fit right in my backpack.
Our family of eight lives on an old quiet street, and the neighbors take a lot of interest in us. Brother Legarde, two doors down, is our home teacher and a musician himself, so he was delighted the first time he saw me coming by with the French horn. He put down his leaf rake and came right over, full of questions.
“Erika, my dear,” he said. “Is that a French horn I see?”
I set it down on the sidewalk. You really can’t just walk on when Brother Legarde stops you.
“Yeah,” I said without enthusiasm.
“You’re playing it? You’re taking lessons?” he asked, his eyes shining.
“School band is all. And I’m still working on making a decent sound come out of it. It mostly screams in pain when I blow into it.”
He laughed. “It’s all in the lips. They have to get strong and firm, and that takes time. School band is nice. What chair are you?”
“Third.”
“And how many chairs?”
“Three.”
He smiled gently. “It takes time,” he said again. “I’ll be listening to you practice, waiting to hear a sound that’s not painful.”
I smiled, picked up the heavy beast, and trudged home.
I hated that horn a lot, and I can’t explain exactly why I didn’t just quit and transfer into cooking or something. But it’s like some unwritten rule in our family that once you start something, you have to see it through. So I practiced pretty regularly, and after a while, I could at least play most of the notes.
Brother Legarde always called out words of encouragement when I passed. “Keep working, Erika. It’s sounding better. I heard you practicing yesterday.” Things like that.
I especially hated cleaning the horn and its old brassy smell. But Mr. North inspected our instruments once a week, and if they weren’t clean, he docked our grades. And believe me, I needed all the points I could get. Mr. North glared at me a lot when my horn squeaked, and I don’t think he thought I had much talent, and he was right. I would kind of dump the horn into the case and buckle it up and watch with envy as the two flute players dismantled their shiny silver instruments and tucked them neatly into their velvet-lined cases.
On a Friday in October, Mr. North decided we should go outside with our instruments and practice marching in preparation for the Veterans’ Day parade in November. Our band met on the stage of the auditorium, so I picked up my horn, leaving the case by my chair, and walked along the edge of the stage, swinging my horn in what I see now was a very careless way, when suddenly it slipped out of my hand and fell all the way off the stage to the auditorium floor, landing with a loud, tinny bang.
The whole class, including Mr. North, stopped and looked at me. I jumped down off the stage, picked up the horn, and looked up into Mr. North’s stern face. “Let me see it,” he said. I handed the horn to him. “You’ve dented it.” I see now that this was a real mistake, but I started to laugh. The horn had so many dents in it you wouldn’t believe it. I climbed back up on the stage, and he handed the horn back to me.
“You’ll be responsible for getting this repaired,” he said. “And unless you do, you’ll receive a failing grade in band.”
Suddenly, I wasn’t laughing any more. In our family, nobody has ever come home with a failing grade. I walked out kind of soberly and tried to march and play at the same time, which wasn’t easy.
Afterwards, Lisa came over to me. “What are you going to do?” she said.
“Do I have a choice?” I said. “After school, I’m going to carry this beast over to Midtown Music and see if they can fix it.”
“Couldn’t you get your mom to take you?”
I strapped the horn in and snapped the case shut. “‘If you create the problem, you solve the problem.’ That’s what my mom always says. I think I’ll just take it over there myself. I’ll be paying for it out of my baby-sitting money, too.”
Lisa shook her head. “Your parents are so strict.”
“They’re really into character development, that’s all.”
At the music store, I stood looking around at flutes and recorders and thinking about that rock in the field of flowers while the man examined the horn. “I would have to remove all the dents leading up to your dent,” he said, running his knobby fingers along the bumpy horn. I couldn’t bypass all these other dents.”
“How much?”
“Sixty dollars.”
I gasped, told him I’d have to think about it, picked up the horn, put it in its case, and left.
For the rest of the week, I practiced playing and marching as best I could. And really, the dent didn’t hurt anything. But on Friday, Mr. North nailed me with his cold eyes and asked, “What about the instrument repair?” I told him I’d see what I could do over the weekend.
Friday night was Halloween, and Lisa and I had decided to go trick-or-treating one more time before leaving our childhood behind, just for a little while before we went over to the stake Mutual party.
At the Legardes’, Brother Legarde opened the door and pretended he didn’t know who we were, even though it was perfectly obvious. But instead of putting candy in my sack, he put a flat, wrapped thing that looked like a cassette tape. Sure enough, when I got home and opened it, it was a tape of Mozart’s Four Horn Concerti. I was pretty touched that Brother Legarde would give it to me. After the Mutual party I listened to it and could hear how nice a French horn could sound.
The next morning, Saturday, I thought about the little music store over on Redwood Road, kind of a dumpy place that’s been there forever. I lugged the horn off the bus and into Mozzie’s Music Store. Mr. Mozzie, grizzled and unkempt looking, smiled at me as I got the horn out and put it up on the counter. I explained how I just wanted the one dent removed. He looked at it for some time, turning it this way and that, pushing the valves up and down.
“It’s not a bad old horn,” he said. “It could be fixed up. But sure, if you want one dent out, we’ll take one dent out.”
“How much?”
“Four dollars and fifty cents.”
I felt so relieved when he said that, but something made me hesitate. “How much would you charge if you took out all the dents?” I asked.
He picked up the horn again, squinting at it and fingering the dents. “I could smooth this horn and shine it up and oil the valves for $35.”
“I’m going to think about it,” I said, and don’t ask me why, but I packed that thing up and got back on the bus and went home.
I lay on my bed and listened to the “Four Horn Concerti” again, and I began to see myself in that field of flowers. Not sitting on a rock, but marching around, under a radiant blue sky with wonderful haunting music coming out of a shining French horn.
Then I went over to the Legardes’ and knocked on the door. Brother Legarde answered as usual.
“Thank you for the tape,” I said. “I’ve listened to it quite a few times, and it’s really beautiful.”
“Good. You’re training your ear as well as your lips. The French horn is a beautiful instrument, played by many angels I’m sure. It suits you. Will you come in?”
“No thanks,” I said. “I wondered if I could rake your leaves and do a little cleaning up in the yard for five dollars. I need to get my horn repaired.”
“It’s broken?”
“Well, I dropped it and dented it.”
“Oh, by all means,” he said, coming out onto the porch. “Your instrument must be in the best possible condition. It needs to be treated with special care.”
I felt kind of shoddy and careless when he said that. So much for good character. But I did my best in his yard, even turned his compost pile a little after I put the leaves on it, which is not a pleasant job. He gave me ten dollars.
On Monday, I went right up to Mr. North. “I have two estimates on the horn. I’ll get it fixed this week.” He nodded and looked at me with almost friendliness, with a little respect anyway.
I told Mr. Mozzie that I guessed if a job was worth doing, it was worth doing right. He did a good job. It was shinier and better looking, and the valves didn’t stick. I cleaned the inside of the case with an old toothbrush, wiped off the outside, and carefully taped the corners. Mr. North warmed up a little, and by the time I was in the ninth grade and was first chair, he had even started smiling at me occasionally.
Now I play French horn in the high school marching band. I hold my head up high and get those notes out loud and clear, and the sun glints off the beautiful horn I got for Christmas last year. I keep it shined and clean at all times. I try to do the same for my character.

Let me recall for you the story of Mary Ann Baker. Her beloved and only brother suffered from the same respiratory disease that had taken their parents’ lives, and he left their home in Chicago to find a warmer climate in the southern part of the United States.
For a time he seemed to be improving, but then a sudden turn in his health came and he died almost immediately. Mary Ann and her sister were heartbroken. It only added to their deep grief that neither their own health nor their personal finances allowed them to claim their brother’s body or to finance its return to Chicago for burial.
The Baker family had been raised as faithful Christians, but Mary’s trust in a loving God broke under the strain of her brother’s death and her own diminished circumstances. “God does not care for me or mine,” said Mary Ann. “This particular manifestation of what they call ‘divine providence’ is unworthy of a God of love.” Does that sound at all familiar?
“I have always tried to believe on Christ and give the Master a consecrated life,” she said, “but this is more than I can bear. What have I done to deserve this? What have I left undone that God should wreak His vengeance upon me in this way?” (Ernest K. Emurian, Living Stories of Famous Hymns, Boston: W. A Widdle Co., 1955, pp. 83–85.)
I suppose we have all had occasion, individually or collectively, to cry out on some stormy sea, “Master, carest thou not that we perish?” And so cried Mary Ann Baker.
But as the days and the weeks went by, the God of life and love began to calm the winds and the waves of what this sweet young woman called “her unsanctified heart.” Her faith not only returned but it flourished, and like Job of old, she learned new things, things “too wonderful” to have known before her despair. On the Sea of Galilee, the stirring of the disciples’ faith was ultimately more important than the stilling of the sea, and so it was with her.
Later, as something of a personal testimonial and caring very much for the faith of others who would be tried by personal despair, she wrote the words of the hymn we have all sung, “Master, the Tempest Is Raging.” May I share it with you?
Master, the tempest is raging!
The billows are tossing high!
The sky is o’ershadowed with blackness.
No shelter or help is nigh.
Carest thou not that we perish?
How canst thou lie asleep
When each moment so madly is threatening
A grave in the angry deep?
Master, with anguish of spirit
I bow in my grief today.
The depths of my sad heart are troubled.
Oh, waken and save, I pray!
Torrents of sin and of anguish
Sweep o’er my sinking soul,
And I perish! I perish! dear Master.
Oh, hasten and take control!
Then this beautiful, moving refrain:
The winds and the waves shall obey my will;
Peace, be still! Peace, be still!
Whether the wrath of the storm-tossed sea
Or demons or men or whatever it be,
No waters can swallow the ship where lies
The Master of ocean and earth and skies.
They all shall sweetly obey my will.
Peace, be still! Peace, be still!
They all shall sweetly obey my will.
Peace, peace, be still!
Too often, I fear, both in the living of life and in the singing of this hymn, we fail to emphasize the sweet peace of this concluding verse:
Master, the terror is over.
The elements sweetly rest.
Earth’s sun in the calm lake is mirrored,
And heaven’s within my breast.
Linger, Oh, blessed Redeemer!
Leave me alone no more,
And with joy I shall make the blest harbor
And rest on the blissful shore.
(Hymns, no. 106.)

I remember going fishing on a boat many years ago with my husband and his friend when we had first gotten married. Both were experienced fisherman. At one point in the trip I had to use the bathroom. I leaned over to my husband who was driving the boat and told him, “hey, I gotta go pee.” He said, “go!” I told him, “what right here?” He said go to the back of the boat. His friend was sitting there and I was like, “um, no thank you, can’t I just jump into the water?” He said no, just go in the back of the boat and we will wash it off! I was like “um, no, can’t I just go in the water?” Like what’s the big deal? He still said no. I think we went back and forth for a good 10 minutes. Finally, he turned to me, obviously irritated, and said, “are you for real?” I said yes, I don’t want to pee in the boat! He was like whatever but you need to hold on to this rope! No matter what don’t let go of the rope! I was like, “ok, whatever’s hurry up I gottah go!” He handed me the rope and in my haste to go, as I jumped out of the boat… I let go of the rope! I didn’t even think it was a big deal at first as I was busy relieving myself. But as I watched his face he quickly began to panic! And if you know my husband he does not panic quickly! He and his friend began feverishly throwing things off the boat! I began to worry like what the heck are they doing? I started to notice how quickly the boat was moving away from me and how the items they threw off the boat began to drift quickly as well. I too began to panic and I began to swim to the boat. My husband yelled for me to stop and to swim to the life ring he had previously thrown in the water and wait. He and his friend worked to turned the boat around, and my husband kept his eye on me while his friend continued to drive the boat towards me. I could see the panic in his face begin to subside as the boat neared. He quietly pulled me into the boat and did not say a word as his friend tried to lighten the situation by cracking a few jokes. I knew that my husband was not happy. I was grateful he did not scold me in front of his friend. Now that I was safe, we went about gathering all the items they had thrown off the boat. I finally asked, “why did you throw all that in the water?” He turned to me and said: if you just look at the ocean the way it is right now, it looks clam and peaceful. However, beneath the surface there are currents and riptides that flow beneath. They can be strong and swift, they can go left or right, drag you down or they can be still. We threw the items in the water to mark the currents in the water, in case we lost sight of you, we would be able to follow the things we had thrown in and hopefully find you.

I did not see the danger that was beneath the surface of the water. I did not realize what could happen. I thought I knew what I was doing. Things turned out ok for me that day but sometimes we are not so lucky and can get lost in the deep blue sea of life. There are so many things that we juggle each day from work, school, family, friends. Some lead us in the same direction and others in the opposite direction and some just keep us in the same place. If we are not careful and lose focus on what we are trying to accomplish we can really lose our way. It’s important to hold on to the iron rod – or the rope in this case - that we might not drift too far from the boat. When we let go, we take the risk of getting lost. I did not want to listen to the more experienced watermen, I wanted to do it my way. I didn’t pay attention to the advice and I’m lucky that I wasn’t lost at sea.

My new friend Paul testifies of this truth. Paul grew up in a home that was sometimes abusive and always intolerant of religion. While attending school on a military base in Germany, he noticed two sisters who seemed to have a spiritual light. Asking why they were different brought the answer that they belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Soon Paul began meeting with missionaries and was invited to church. The next Sunday, as he got off the bus, he noticed two men dressed in white shirts and ties. He asked them if they were elders of the Church. They answered yes, so Paul followed them.

During the service, a preacher pointed to people in the congregation and invited them to testify. At the end of each testimony, a drummer gave a drum salute and the congregation called out, “Amen.”

When the preacher pointed to Paul, he stood up and said, “I know Joseph Smith was a prophet and the Book of Mormon is true.” There was no drum salute or amens. Paul eventually realized he had gone to the wrong church. Soon, Paul found his way to the right place and was baptized.

On the day of Paul’s baptism, a member he didn’t know told him, “You saved my life.” A few weeks earlier, this man had decided to look for another church and attended a service with drums and amens. When the man heard Paul bear his testimony of Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon, he realized that God knew him, recognized his struggles, and had a plan for him. For both Paul and the man, “it fell on a day,” indeed!

President Stuart and Sister Sheryl McReynolds led the England Manchester Mission from July 2017 to July 2020.
President McReynolds grew up in Leicestershire and Sister McReynolds was born in North Wales. Later, Sister McReynolds lived on the Isle of Man for a short time but spent most of her growing up years in London. At the time of their call, it had been 20 years since they lived permanently in the United Kingdom.
Sister McReynolds hadn’t served a full-time mission when she was young, so the prospect of serving as a mission president’s wife was a bit daunting, and she felt inadequate in many ways. “Yet, I knew I wouldn’t be transferred, or get a new companion, so I hoped we would get on all right,” she said light-heartedly. “But the opportunity to be together, that was a real privilege – just wonderful.”
“When I didn’t know what to do, or I thought I couldn’t do something that needed to be done, I realised that the Lord carries you when you do His work,” she said. “I think intellectually I knew this, but I’ve seen it so much more on a day-to-day basis than I ever had in the past.”
One highlight for the McReynolds was seeing the strength and personal growth of more than 550 missionaries from all over the world, giving their best to share a message about hope in Jesus Christ. They were from over 60 countries including: Madagascar, Eswatini, Lithuania, Curaçao, Japan and others.
When compared with the mission he served as a young man, President McReynolds was pleased to see a substantial increase in the number of sister missionaries serving. Nearly half of the missionaries in the Manchester mission were women. He said this created a balance of perspective and leadership in the mission, including new positions for sister-trainer leaders. Both were also amazed at how quickly they would come to love each elder and sister.
“We had been told that we would have instant and deep love for them,” she said. “But it was when we had been there just nine days, and about 24 missionaries were leaving for home, I realised how strong this love would be. It nearly broke my heart to say goodbye. Perhaps this is a blessing of the calling and comes when you are set apart – your capacity to love is expanded.”
“We have found that this love doesn’t really leave you,” President McReynolds said. “While we have only been back at home a short time, we still think about them, talk about them, worry about them and wonder how we can help them.”
The McReynolds saw quiet miracles take place in the mission. During one transfer, a missionary from South Africa who spoke Zulu, was sent to an area in the mission where a family of five from Africa would be taught the gospel. “It wasn’t that the family couldn’t speak English, but they saw it as a miracle—getting their very own Zulu-speaking missionary,” President McReynolds said.
They also witnessed tender mercies in the lives of the missionaries themselves. “It was lovely to see a missionary, who had the gospel all of their life; allow the gospel into their life,” Sister McReynolds said. “Suddenly it starts to click and come together on their mission and then you see them change and progress as they learn to rely more on the Saviour and on Heavenly Father more than on themselves or their parents.”
At a production of “Our Story Goes On,” they were also able to see awareness of the Church grow with civic leaders. She recalled meeting a local mayor and his wife at the event. “Afterward, when the musical had finished, he and his wife, especially him, were in floods of tears. He said, ‘I’ve never felt anything like this.’ It was as if he had a better understanding of gospel principles and indirectly, the plan of salvation. Perhaps in the future, this could lead to an increase in positive support.”
The restrictions surrounding COVID-19 changed the way missionary work could be done. “The pandemic was a considerable challenge for us as mission leaders, and as missionaries. Staying at home, staying in place, and adjusting everything that we did,” President McReynolds said. “It created a need to rethink how missionary work could continue virtually. We had always done everything face to face, yet we all know how powerful technology and social media tools can be. Online missionary work became a massive pivot for the mission. I think we made good progress, as we were able to find people, continue to teach and later baptise.”
In March, everything was being cancelled including the mission’s upcoming ‘Why I Believe’ devotional, featuring the conversion stories of new members of the Church. It was decided to take a leap of faith and hold it online. This was a big undertaking to make sure that the programme would be uplifting and inspirational, without the distractions online meetings sometimes have when technology fails.
“We saw the Lord’s hand in that first one,” said Sister McReynolds. “Because of COVID-19, we were all in separate locations, and it honestly shouldn’t have come together as nicely as it did.”
Typically, the in-person monthly devotional saw an attendance of anywhere from 250 to 550 people, depending on the location. With the move to online, an estimated 4,000 people have tuned in each month.
“While we did the devotional together as a mission, the missionaries were likewise adapting their own sphere of responsibility,” said President McReynolds. Asking questions like, “How do I adapt finding? How do I adapt my teaching? How do I adapt working with members, by using all these online tools?”
The mission also began using Zoom-conference calls, to reach out to individual missionaries for interviews, and for training and mission-wide calls which typically took place three times a week. “I really think it united the mission in a way that we hadn’t had before,” said Sister McReynolds. “They were interacting with others in breakout rooms, meeting fellow missionaries that they had never met before. It was a huge blessing and created a feeling that we were all in this together.”
The McReynolds’ aim was that all the missionaries would: first, be leaders and govern themselves; second, immerse themselves in Preach My Gospel, the guide to missionary service; and third, become Christlike missionaries. “We felt that becoming a Preach My Gospel Missionary or a Christlike missionary would not come until they really understood that they were agents to act, and truly govern themselves,” President McReynolds said. “Our dearest hope was that their conversion to the gospel of Jesus Christ, and [to] Jesus Christ Himself would become deeper and deeper.”
President McReynolds shared a scripture in the Book of Mormon that summarised his and Sister McReynolds’ experience in the mission field as it relates to each other and the missionaries of the England Manchester Mission: “Nevertheless they did fast and pray oft, and did wax stronger and stronger in their humility, and firmer and firmer in the faith of Christ, unto the filling their souls with joy and consolation, yea, even to the purifying and the sanctification of their hearts, which sanctification cometh because of their yielding their hearts unto God. (Helaman 3:35)
“Humility is not something the world ever puts in the same sentence as strength, and in these assignments, you learn that, number one, they’re just humbling and in that humility, there is strength,” he said. President McReynolds attested that he and his wife had themselves become “firmer and firmer in the faith” as they served in this assignment. For them, it was indeed a case of, “Filling their souls and our souls with joy—lots of joy.”
“Yeah, been an amazing three years,” Sister McReynolds said. “I don’t think we’ll ever be the same again.”

Lloyd Newell shared this insight from one of my favorite stories, Les Miserables. "The main character, Jean Valjean, steals some food for his hungry family in a moment of desperation and is thrown into prison and forced into almost twenty years of hard labor. This experience leaves him hardened and bitter, and though a bishop treats him well after his release, Jean 'repays' his kindness by stealing the bishop's silver. It does not take long for the police to capture him, find him in possession of the bishop's silver, and haul him back to the bishop's home to confess his thievery. With Jean Valjean fully expecting to be severely punished and subjected to another even longer prison term, the police bring him before the bishop, with the silver in his hand. The bishop looks at the silver, smiles, and treats the traitor like a friend. He explains to the police that he gave the silver to Jean Valjean, and then he dumbfounds the prisoner by 'reminding' him that he forgot to take the silver candlesticks as well. He says that they were also intended for him. This act of forgiveness and charity deeply moves Jean Valjean, melting away his bitterness and causing him to literally transform his life"

The family eventually moved to Melbourne, where they connected with other members of the Church. It was a haven for them to be around like-minded people. Elizabeth was especially touched by the warm welcome they received from the sisters, who opened their homes for Sunday meetings and generously provided meals.

Although they were not organised as part of the official Relief Society organisation yet, the sisters worked together to cook, sew, and coordinate fundraising efforts for a new chapel. Elizabeth felt a companionship with these women that she had never known before.

Meanwhile, World War I broke out. To help connect women with each other during that challenging time, the Church published its Relief Society Magazine, which became an important resource for the sisters in Melbourne. They discussed its articles, poetry and stories as they gathered to knit socks and prepare parcels for soldiers in Europe and the Middle East.

Elizabeth’s two grandsons had enlisted to serve in the war. Her son Horace also enlisted and was sent to the Middle East as part of Australia’s Light Horse regiments.

Church attendance dwindled as more brethren were called to military duty. Soon, it was up to the women—Elizabeth and her friends—to keep their small branch together. The sisters looked forward to their weekly meetings for spiritual renewal and social and personal upliftment.

By the end of the war, almost every family in their area had lost a brother, a husband, a son or grandson. For Elizabeth, it was her grandson William Wallace Cameron Butler who died in the Battle of Fromelles. The bond amongst the sisters in the branch grew even stronger as they supported each other through the heartbreak. Then they began rebuilding their lives.

President Arnold Miller was called to lead the Victorian Conference—what we would now call a district. One of his first objectives was to support the official organisation of Australia’s Relief Society, under priesthood direction.

The first Relief Society meeting in Australia was held in Victoria on 15 July 1921. By 1923, Elizabeth was amongst the 22 sisters enrolled in the Melbourne Branch Relief Society. These were happy times where sisters could strengthen and feel strengthened.

In later life, Elizabeth hesitated to talk to her children about her childhood—her story was too sad to tell, she would say. Yet, the seed of faith that she allowed to be planted in her heart had grown beyond measure. In her wake, descendants for whom Elizabeth set the example, have been stalwarts in wards and stakes, faithfully building the Church wherever they live.

Through the lens of this humble lady’s life, we can look back at the beginnings of the Relief Society organisation in Australia and see through her legacy its true purpose: to prepare women for the blessings of eternal life, to strengthen individuals and families and to unite to help those in need.

Many other leaders helped me throughout my life. One of my Primary teachers gave me extra help to finish my requirements to graduate from Primary. She also taught my class the Articles of Faith, and she taught us about the lives of the members of the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. Little did my teacher know that one day she would be my mother-in-law—I married her youngest daughter!

I returned from the mission field with many hopes regarding employment. Even though I had worked before, I had no qualifications, so I did what I could to find work, but I was never satisfied and could not see any progress in my future.
I always wanted to study, but I could not pay for schooling, and my family was not in a position to help me.
When the Perpetual Education Fund was started, I saw an opportunity to change my future. I relied upon my Heavenly Father to help me, and thus I chose a course of study with His inspiration.
I chose to study nursing. My schooling required a lot of study and dedication. But I became impassioned with nursing. Three months after graduating, I was able to find employment at one of the best hospitals in Alagoas, Brazil.
I have many plans for the future. I plan to take advanced studies in nursing, and I have started to pay back my loan so others can partake of the opportunity of receiving an education and the blessings that come with it.

While serving a mission in Bolivia, I was confronted for the first time by extreme poverty. As I saw the difficult circumstances of the people that I taught, I began to wonder how God could demand tithing and needed Sunday work-time from his children. Many of them worked twelve hour days, seven days a week, and still couldn’t pay their bills. I often felt bewildered as I taught the Ten Commandments and the law of tithing. How could they be expected to feed their families on 90 percent of their income, working six days a week instead of seven?
For four and a half months, my questions went unanswered. Then came a transfer to the tropical city of Santa Cruz and, with it, a new companion. Sister Hurtado had dark skin, short black hair, bright eyes, and was well under five feet tall. She had been a missionary for less than a week, and I felt I would need to teach her a lot about missionary work.
During our first week together we taught a family the discussion on the Ten Commandments. Both husband and wife and one son worked in the family store on Sundays. I had previously encouraged them to attend Sunday meetings, and they were sending the son who was not tending the store. They felt they could afford to send only one family member to church.
When we asked them to commit to keeping the Ten Commandments, they began making the familiar excuses. I knew the struggle they had to pay for necessities. How could I explain that some blessings could not be seen or calculated into the month’s budget? I felt confused. Then, humbly, my new companion began to tell the story of her own family’s decision to obey the commandments.
As the weeks went by, my companion repeated her story many times. Gradually, I began to understand why God would require so much of his children. As we exercise the necessary faith to obey the commandments, we actually put ourselves in a position where we can receive God’s blessings. His blessings are not always tangible, but he does help us overcome our problems.

Not long after his baptism, Junior was visiting another ward’s fast and testimony meeting with his father. He felt impressed to bear his testimony for the first time in public. “I wanted to see if I could bear my testimony in front of everyone. I couldn’t. Then Dad stood up and helped me, and I could.” Junior’s testimony is simple and strong. “I know that God lives. I know that Joseph Smith was a true prophet.”

“You’re unusually quiet,” Mark’s mother observed on the drive home from Church. “Is anything wrong?”
Mark found tears stinging the corners of his eyes. “Today in Primary our teacher talked about testimonies and challenged us to bear ours. I really wanted to do it in fast and testimony meeting today, but I just couldn’t. When I thought about standing up in front of all those people, I got scared. Besides, I couldn’t think of anything to say. I guess I don’t have a testimony, after all.”
“It is frightening to stand up in front of all those people, especially if you don’t know what you’re going to say,” Mark’s mother agreed with him. “But it doesn’t mean that you don’t have a testimony. Do you know what it means to ‘bear a testimony’?”
“My teacher said it means to stand as a witness for something, like at a trial.”
“That’s one meaning. But another meaning of bear is ‘carry it with you.’ Our testimonies show in what we say and do every day of the week, not just on Sundays. Do you want to know if you have a testimony?”
“Yes.”
“Pay attention to how you live your life this month. I think you’ll discover that you are bearing your testimony all the time.”
Mark hoped that what his mother said was right. He thought that he had a testimony, but he wasn’t sure. He decided that each Sunday he would write in his journal about anything that happened to him that week involving his testimony.
The first week he wrote about something his friend, Jay, had said to him. He and Jay shared a paper route after school and split their paycheck. That week Jay had said to him, “I can’t understand why you always have more money than I do—we get paid the same amount.”
“You always spend yours right away on little things,” Mark pointed out.
“I know,” Jay said. “But a lot of yours goes to your church for—what do you call it again?”
“Tithing.”
“Yeah, tithing. And into your mission savings. But you still have more left than I do.”
Mark had never thought about it before, but it was true. He did seem to have more spending money than Jay. He guessed that he was just more careful with what he had left after tithing and savings.
The next week he didn’t know what he’d write about in his journal until Saturday night. That night his friends came over and invited him to go to the movies with them. He was excited until he heard the name of the movie. “I can’t see that movie,” he told his friends.
They were surprised. “Why not? It’s a really funny movie.”
“Because the rating tells me that it has something in it that we shouldn’t see.”
“It’s just a movie,” his friends tried to persuade him.
Mark thought about a lesson his family had had at a family home evening. He knew that the prophets had warned about watching bad things on TV and in movies, or looking at bad things in magazines or books. It was almost impossible to erase those bad images from your mind.
“I’d rather not see it,” he said, and his friends went without him.
The third week, Mark knew what he was going to write about in his journal long before Sunday. It was Monday morning, in fact, when one of his friends, Rob, had come to school looking very tired.
“What’s wrong,” Mark asked him. “Are you sick?”
“No.” Rob yawned. “I didn’t sleep much last night. I ate too much candy, and my stomach was upset for a long time.”
“Too much candy isn’t good for you,” Mark said. “It’s better to snack on fruit or eat a cheese sandwich or something.”
“I know that now,” Rob said as he put his head down on his desk.
The last week of the month, Mark wrote about a very frightening thing that had happened to him. He had been out delivering his papers in the rain and was almost hit by a car. Later he remembered that in their family prayers that morning, his little sister had prayed that they would all be safe in the rain.
When fast Sunday came again, Mark was prepared. His family sat close to the front of the chapel so that he could be first to the podium when it was time for bearing testimonies. During the meeting, he offered a prayer in his heart that he would know what to say.
When it was time, he stood and walked up to the microphone. At first, he was nervous at seeing all the people looking back at him, but most of them were smiling, and he knew that they were his friends.
“I have a testimony of the law of tithing,” he began, “and of the Word of Wisdom. I know we have a living prophet today, and I know Heavenly Father answers our prayers.” Mark ended his testimony and sat down. His mom patted him on the knee.
He still felt a bit shaky, but mostly he had a really good feeling, like he was glowing from head to toe. He was glad that he had a testimony and that he could bear it every single day.

In the Philippines, I visited a little branch in a lonely outpost. The members met in a tiny house elevated off the ground on stilts. An older woman indicated she was the mother and grandmother of most of those present in that little classroom.

Propped on a table and leaning against the wall was a blackboard on which she had neatly printed the main points of the lesson. Afterward, she told me the greatest thing she could do for her family and others was to teach. Over and over, she said to me, “I love my family. I teach them.”

Working in my father’s blacksmith shop as a young boy, I was given a small steel bar drilled with three holes to use as a pattern. Carefully I began drilling the three holes in several blank bars. Anxious to please my father, I drilled each hole with exactness. He came over to inspect my work, measuring the holes. Looking at me a bit puzzled, he said, “Son, these holes are not as accurate as they should be. Show me what you are doing.” Picking up a blank bar of steel, I placed it under another bar in which I had already drilled three holes, matching the edges precisely. At that moment my father said, “Son, I know where the problem is. You must always drill through the original pattern I gave you.”
Even being as careful as possible, unless I used the original pattern given to me by my father, the holes became a little more distorted each time a different pattern was used.

I was having doubts about what I should study at the university. Most people spoke badly about the course that I wanted to take, so I prayed to the Lord to see if He agreed with my decision.
My answer came the following day while I was reading a general conference talk in the Liahona. I felt as though Heavenly Father was telling me He couldn’t choose for me—this was a decision that I would have to make alone. I knew that no matter what I chose, I would have to work hard to be successful.
I know that my prayer was answered. The confirmation of the Holy Ghost helped me make a decision. I’ve learned to give my best efforts and know that Heavenly Father will help me.

Then in February a new convert named Keith moved into our small branch. He had been a member for five months and had the enthusiasm of four new missionaries in one. When the college we attended announced a foster grandparent program involving a local rest home, Keith suggested that we, the only LDS students on campus, should join and be good examples. We talked about visiting two branch members who lived in the rest home, but we took no action.
Then one Sunday President Harrison gave a talk on faith. He said faith was putting your words and beliefs in action. That afternoon Keith and I decided to visit the sisters in the rest home.
Our first visit was a disaster. We visited each sister alone, and we didn’t really get beyond “How are you?” “Fine.” As we left we knew to things: first, they needed us; second, we could do better. And even though we spent much of the next Sunday afternoon driving the 150 miles home from district conference, Keith and I convinced Les Harrison, his sister LeAnn, and Portia (a nursing student) to visit the women with us.
We wheeled both sisters into a quiet corner. Keith read an article from a Church magazine, Les read a scripture, and Portia offered a beautiful prayer. We felt good about the experience, and the next Sunday we came with seven Young Adults and youth. With President Harrison’s permission, Les and Keith blessed the sacrament and passed it to the sisters. We then wheeled them into a small chapel in the rest home and sang a hymn. We took turns reading an article from the Church magazines, then a poem and a scripture. We had a closing hymn and prayer.
It was three o’clock before we left, and since we were all hungry, Les invited us to his house for soup and crackers. So that Sunday afternoon I was again in the branch president’s home—but this time it was very different from the Sunday I went there looking for someone to play ice hockey. During the week the seven of us were scattered about the town, and many of us were without families in the Church. But for two hours that Sunday afternoon, we sat around the table and talked with each other and Les’s parents, sharing jokes, stories, and the problems of being lone Latter-day Saints out in the mission field. It was truly an inspiring experience.
When I finally returned home at ten o’clock after several other meetings, I had no time left to work on my genealogy or write a letter to a missionary as I had planned. As I knelt for prayer that night, I realized there were more “dos” for the Sabbath than I could ever fit into one short day. I thanked my Heavenly Father for the special day he had set apart to bless us.

Several years ago while my wife and I were serving in Venezuela, our youngest son left the comfort of his high school to join with us. He did not complain, but it was obvious that he struggled as he went to this country where everything was new to him; but in an amazing turn of events, the experience went from one of trial to a huge blessing in his life. He accomplished this by changing his own attitude and developing a determination to succeed.

In the early spring mornings as the sun took a first peek over the mountains, Jan and I started walking together. As newly assigned visiting teaching partners, we were both young mothers with growing families and busy, demanding schedules.
Jan and her family were recent move-ins to our ward, and I wasn’t sure what we would talk about. Struggling, out of breath, up and down the inclines of a nearby mountain road, we walked and talked day after day.
In the beginning, our conversations were lighthearted chatter about our husbands and children, their interests, and the schools in the area. Little by little we opened our hearts to one another, processing spiritual ideas and delving into our experiences to find the kernels of truth. It seemed as we worked to get our bodies in shape, we began to get our souls in shape. I loved this wonderful exertion.
I learned two unforgettable lessons from my journey with Jan that continue to enlighten my mind and fill my soul with joy. The first is that whatever the circumstances in your life, if you are spiritually prepared, there is no need to fear (see D&C 38:30).
Long after we began our walks together, I discovered that years earlier Jan had made choices which took her step-by-step away from the Church and down a path she now regretted. About the time our lives intersected, she had determined to put her life in order. The longing in her heart was to prepare herself so that she could be sealed to her husband and children in the temple. Hers was a single-minded yearning, as Nephi phrased it, “[to] be reconciled unto Christ, and enter into the narrow gate, and walk in the strait path which leads to life, and continue in the path until the end of the day of probation” (2 Ne. 33:9).
You might expect that once Jan had determined as earnestly as Lamoni’s father in the Book of Mormon to “give away all [her] sins to know [the Lord]” (Alma 22:18), her journey would be smoothed. Such was not the case. She was faced with some of life’s most soul-wrenching trials. Jan was diagnosed with a brain tumor, her husband lost his job, then the family lost their home and their car.
Yet Jan’s faith in Jesus Christ grew steadier as her way grew harder. As we trudged along together on our morning walks, I learned so much from Jan about how her faith in the Lord and daily spiritual preparation helped her conquer fear. She seemed to understand perfectly what President Gordon B. Hinckley has taught: “We would be wise to kneel before our God in supplication. He will help us. He will bless us. He will comfort and sustain us” (Standing for Something [2000], 178).
Although she was in the midst of terrible trials, it was obvious to me that Jan knew our prophet’s words are true. She never stopped her personal spiritual preparation as she moved forward fearlessly a day at a time with a radiant sense of calmness in her life. Over the course of those early hours together, I literally watched “the morning [break], the shadows flee … [and] the dawning of a brighter day” (“The Morning Breaks,” Hymns, no. 1) as Jan’s repentance brought her a release from sins and then a deeply personal spiritual enlightenment.
I asked Jan how she had come to feel peace when her life was in such turmoil and things were collapsing all around her. I believe the words of a hymn capture best what she felt and subsequently shared with me about the power of the Atonement in her life:
The Lord is my light; the Lord is my strength.
I know in his might I’ll conquer at length.
My weakness in mercy he covers with pow’r,
And, walking by faith, I am blest ev’ry hour.
(“The Lord Is My Light,” Hymns, no. 89)
Because of her abiding faith, the Lord’s Atonement brought daily renewal to Jan. She submitted her will to the Lord one prayer, one scripture, and one act of service at a time.
Shortly before her death while she was in her 30s, I was among those gathered in the temple quietly rejoicing as she, her husband, and their children knelt at the altar and were sealed together for eternity.