Lately I have been pondering on a seemingly unimportant question. What would I be willing to sacrifice for my membership in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints? I say this seems an unimportant question because I have always felt that I have not had to sacrifice much of anything for this.

I live in a country where I am free to practice my chosen religion. My family supports me in my membership because -- well, they introduced me to it. My husband shares my faith. I have always been blessed with friends who love me for who I am and respect what I believe. My church building is only a ten-minute drive away, and I even have a temple within a twenty minute drive.

This is not to say that I have not felt the stings of willful or ignorant persecution on the basis of my belief -- for myself or the church as a whole. And as I have never had much desire to do things that the church asks me not to, my obedience has never felt like a sacrifice. Waking up at 5:30 every weekday is perhaps a sacrifice, but the blessings of rejoicing in Christ each morning far outweigh the loss of one to two hours sleep.

And so, this question may seem unimportant: what would I be willing to sacrifice for my membership in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints? And yet, I find myself pondering it. I find myself wondering why I attend this church at all. Not because I don't want to. Not because I am experiencing any personal crisis of faith. The questions are just there. Perhaps because I've never felt compelled to think on them before.

I find myself thinking of my great-grandmother Alice. Alice lived in New Zealand around the turn of the 20th century. She and her husband were the children and/or grandchildren of some of the first European settlers in New Zealand. When LDS missionaries first came to those islands, they found that for the most part, it was the Maori people who wanted to hear their message, not the Europeans. My great-grandparents were among the first Europeans in New Zealand to be baptized as members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I do not know much about what they experienced as a result of that decision. I can only say that when my great-grandfather unexpectedly died from an illness leaving Alice a pregnant widow with several small children, he was buried in the non-conformist section of the Auckland cemetery in an unmarked plot his wife couldn't afford to buy. I have seen the photograph that shows Alice and her barefoot children about a year or so after her husband's death. The story I have been told is that Alice's family urged her to leave this new Mormon church so that they could help take care of her and her children. Rather than give up the faith she and her late husband had found together, Alice, with the help of that Mormon church, took her children and boarded a ship bound for America. She eventually took her family to Idaho, Cache Valley to be precise, where she raised her children. Life was definitely not perfect. They were poor. They were looked down upon by many for their immigrant status and their poverty. But Alice's children grew up with an incredible knowledge of the value of hard work, faith, and sacrifice.

I think of my grandfather, born to the widowed Alice. He went on to live up to the legacy his mother left him, living a life equally full of hard work and sacrifice. I think of the night he was ill-treated by a bishop, a person in a trusted position of leadership in his local congregation. That night my grandfather could have set aside his membership in the church because of the offense of this bishop and others. Instead, he gathered his many children around him and told them words that will live on for generations -- that you cannot and should not give up your faith based on what others do to you. He showed his children by example that his membership in the LDS church, and his testimony of Christ, meant more to him than the fallacies of men.

I think of the many who gave up families, parents, siblings, possessions, homes, and livelihoods, to join the early church from New York to Ohio, Missouri, Illinois, and eventually Salt Lake. I think of the many who gave up their lives for their belief and membership in this church. I think of my great-great-grandfather who as a 14-year-old orphan led his younger siblings across the plains to follow the saints' journey. I think of my beloved Linford ancestor who had taken his wife and children from their home in England, only to die on route in a handcart company stranded by an early blizzard in Wyoming. As his wife nursed him before he died, she asked if all they had done was worth it. He solemnly expressed to her that if she and their boys made it to Salt Lake, and if they and their posterity stayed true to the faith, then he would not have died in vain.

And I think of the countless others who still today give up their homes, their families, and in some cases, their own countries, for their membership in this church and their testimony of Christ. I think of those who save up for years, sometimes lifetimes, to be able to visit a temple once in their life.

After much contemplation, reflection, and the joyous experience of listening to the repeated witnesses of apostles and prophets this very day in a broadcast from Salt Lake, I rejoice to be able to say without a doubt that I am willing and ready to sacrifice anything for my faith, for my membership in this Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, for my testimony of the resurrected Redeemer of the world. And I echo the words of Paul: I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ. I know that Christ is the author of this work. Neither the actions of men nor the subtleties of the adversary can take this testimony from me. As the examples of my ancestors and living family and dear friends have taught me, the Lord is ever with us.