Gospel Story Finder

In the early days of his mission in Great Britain, a young Elder Gordon B. Hinckley felt considerable discouragement. President Hinckley’s biographer, Sheri Dew, has written:
“After he had taken as much as he felt he could, Elder Hinckley wrote his father that he wasn’t getting anywhere with missionary work, and that he couldn’t see the point in wasting his time and his father’s money. Responding as both father and stake president, Bryant Hinckley sent a reply that was brief and to the point: ‘Dear Gordon, I have your recent letter. I have only one suggestion: forget yourself and go to work.’
“Earlier that day [Elder Hinckley] and his companion had studied the promise recorded in the Gospels: ‘For whosoever will save his life shall lose it; but whosoever shall lose his life for my sake and the gospel’s, the same shall save it’ (Mark 8:35).
“That scripture, combined with his father’s counsel, seared his soul. With the letter in hand, he went into his upstairs bedroom at 15 Wadham Road and got on his knees. As he poured out his heart to the Lord, he promised that he would try to forget himself and lose himself in the Lord’s service. Many years later [President Hinckley] indicated the significance of that series of events: ‘That July day in 1933 was my day of decision. A new light came into my life and a new joy into my heart. The fog of England seemed to lift, and I saw the sunlight. Everything good that has happened to me since then I can trace back to the decision I made that day in Preston’” (Go Forward with Faith, 64).
Elder Gordon B. Hinckley, had “decided to decide.”

When I arrived in my third area in the Philippines Bacolod Mission, the rainy season had already started. I was assigned to a small, lovely city surrounded by farms in northwest Negros, an island in the south.
In December 2014, Typhoon Ruby hit the province. The devastation was not so severe in our area, but the dirt roads became muddy and slippery. Despite the unfavorable weather conditions, we continued to work.
One of our most promising areas was a little community in the outskirts of the city. All of those we taught and the recent converts there were farmers. Because they worked in sugarcane fields during the day, we taught in the afternoon and evening.
To get to the community, we had to walk through muddy fields, wary of dogs, frogs, snakes, and mosquitoes. We always brought flashlights and umbrellas. Church members accompanied us home after dark.
At times, I felt like giving up. I wasn’t sure if I could walk through muddy sugarcane fields every day, so I prayed for help. The answer came: “Buy rain boots!”
My companion and I each bought a pair. I was thrilled to have boots, but my excitement soon faded because they were so heavy and uncomfortable. They made my feet sweat and prevented me from walking fast.
After our lessons one evening, we went home and changed into our regular proselyting shoes. Then we set out for another appointment in the city. As I was walking, I felt light. I was happy to wear my plastic shoes again. I wondered why I suddenly felt grateful for shoes I had worn my whole mission.
The answer came as a thought: “The rain boots made the difference.” Until then, I hadn’t realized how much comfort my plastic shoes had given me.
Suddenly, my mission hardships and challenges flashed through my mind. My plastic shoes had been an everyday, unappreciated friend. While trying to understand my mixed emotions, I felt a voice saying, “You go through trials and difficulties in life so that you can learn how to recognize blessings and be grateful for them.”
I realized that I had to experience hardships so I could appreciate Heavenly Father’s blessings. Through my trials, I recognized my blessings and became grateful for them.

Shortly after completing his missionary service in England and returning home, Brother Durrant was drafted into the Army and sent to Korea where he served for a year and a half. In this time, he rose to the rank of PFC, or Private First Class, a level just above the lowest level of enlisted personnel. I mention this not because being a PFC is a bad thing, but because it played a role in this story.

While he was there, Brother Durrant said he grew to love the Korean people, even though he did not speak their language. Since he did not speak Korean and the Korean people spoke very little English, they came up with a middle language that allowed them to communicate with each other. For example, if there was a Jeep that was running really well he might say to his Korean colleague, “this a number one Jeep” and he would say, “Ah, number one.” And if the Jeep were sputtering and not performing well, he might say, “this a number ten Jeep” and he would reply, “oh, number ten Jeep.” So they had a scale on which they ranked things: they ranked Jeeps, and men, and all sorts of things. And if something was number one, then it was the very best.

During this time of war, the Korean people would come onto the Army grounds to perform work that the Army personnel did not like to do and which the Koreans were happy to do because they were paid for it and so it worked out well for everyone. As they would come onto the grounds, there were no sidewalks to walk upon, only pathways that went from one building to another. As they would walk down these dirt paths, they often became narrow and on either side of the paths were the grass and the weeds and the rocks. Often as you approached someone coming the other direction, someone had to get off the path and stand in the weeds while the other person passed by on the path. After he had been there just a few weeks, he observed that it was the Koreans who always got off the path and the U.S. soldiers walked passed them on the path. Brother Durrant felt that this was wrong and said he made a point to get off the path and let them pass by while he stood in the weeds. It was a little thing, but he felt good in doing it and he had to be quick to get off the path or they would beat him to it. As he did this, he would smile and say a simple Korean greeting as they passed by him. When he did this, they would look at him, smile, repeat the greeting he had given them, and then look again at him as they were walking away. Though it was not a big deal, they seemed to be impressed with his efforts to get off the path and to let them stay out of the weeds.

During the time of the Korean War, Christianity had only recently been introduced to the people of Korea. Sometimes the people would become confused with what the Bible said and the way the Christian soldiers conducted themselves. Their actions and behaviors did not clearly reflect the teachings from the Bible.

The heart of this story was an experience that Brother Durrant had one evening when he had been in Korea for just over a year. On this particular night, he went to get dinner and he was one of the last soldiers to arrive. In the Army, when you go to the mess-hall for your meals you stand in a line with the other soldiers to get your food and if you are the last person to get in line, you could have a very long wait. Since the line was very long and he knew it would be quite a while before he could get his dinner, he decided to go sit with five of his friends, who already had their food, and visit with them while he waited for the line to go down. Had he been a higher rank than PFC, a Korean waiter would have gone through the line for him and brought him his food and he could have avoided the lines altogether. But since he was a Private First Class, this did not happen for him and so he sat and visited with his friends and waited. While he was seated and talking with his friends, not aware of what was going on around him, he suddenly felt someone standing at his side. He looked up and there was a Korean man, about 30 years old, working as a waiter in the mess-hall, standing next to him with a beautiful tray of food. The waiter was about to put the tray down in front of him and Brother Durrant attempted to stop him, feeling that the waiter had made an obvious mistake. But the man gently pushed the tray in front of him and said as he looked down at him, “I serve you, you a number one Christian.” Brother Durrant said nothing at that moment, but said that he always remembered this as the greatest compliment that anyone ever paid to him: “I serve you, you a number one Christian.”

When Daniel was very young, he already had a great sense of humor. He learned to tell hilarious jokes that would make my wife and me laugh. He also often said things that inspired us. Shortly after hearing President Thomas S. Monson announce the change in age requirements for young men and young women preparing to serve missions,1 we were driving in the car. Daniel announced that he would start preparing himself right then, at age six, so he would have 12 years of preparation. Then he said with a smile, “Dad, can I change the song from ‘I Hope They Call Me on a Mission’ to ‘I AM Going on a Mission’?” It was awesome.

by Karen Blaisdell
In the rugged terrain of the coal fields of southern West Virginia, a small branch of the Church rests snugly against the side of a mountain. The Welch Branch of the Bluefield Virginia Stake has set standards of excellence in several areas. One in particular is the writing, producing, and performing of winning road shows.
Branch President Albert Chappell said, “That first year we lost miserably because we didn’t know what a road show was. However, we learned quickly and we came home and went to work. There was so much love and excitement you could feel it. The members wanted to do their best and have fun trying. Everyone did his part, from children to parents to the elderly, all working toward a common goal of excellence.”
If not acting or working backstage, members helped by making costumes or working with scenery. We have developed our talents in this area and have been tremendously blessed from our experience. Our shows serve as an excellent missionary tool and fill a great need for fellowship among our branch members. This year makes the fourth consecutive year the Welch Branch has won the Bluefield Virginia Stake road show competition.

My father touched me on the shoulder.
“Mrs. Gleaves was my Sunday School teacher,” he said. Mrs. Gleaves laughed.
“That was a long time ago. Your wife was in the class too. She wasn’t your wife then, was she though?”
My father was silent. He kept eating like he hadn’t heard her.
“She had a temper, didn’t she? I remember we were building models of the city of Bethlehem out of Epsom salts one Sunday. I don’t remember what you did, but she got mad at you and dumped the whole bucket of salt on you right there in church.”

Of particular value to me personally was the chance to visit the Temple. I recognize that it can be difficult for some to visit the temple when struggling with depression or other conditions that make it difficult to feel the spirit, and I have felt that, but at other times, the House of the Lord has been a true refuge to me and a place where the Lord could heal my heart, gradually, over time. It is the sort of place where we can not only get a glimpse of what is ahead of us, but also, in the Lord’s time, a broad view of the expanse of eternity, however short lived that can sometimes be. I have seen miracles in the temple that have let me know the Lord was there and cared for me at times when I most needed to know those two things. I believe that attending the temple when we can is a way of showing faith that can, when the Lord is ready, produce miracles. And this brings me to a last and important point that I want to make. While we all go through trials and we all face darkness, there are sometimes trials that need special care. It was in the Temple that I first got confirmation that one of the helps for me would be medication that could help me through the physical elements attached to my spiritual and emotional trials. I was very reluctant to approach that kind of help. I knew that darkness was something I would meet in my life, but I thought real faith should get me through it without other help. Even when the Lord confirmed to me in the temple that it would help, it was difficult for me to accept, though without that confirmation it would perhaps never have happened. Afterwards, this was more difficult because I didn’t find the medication that would help me the first time. Everyone is a bit different. Some of you may have difficulties thinking of talking to a counselor or even talking to a bishop about such things. There are many resources available for us in this time that have not been available in all times to combat some of the afflictions we might have to endure. Not all of them are for everyone. For some, only a good friend is needed to talk to, or a bishop, for others counselors or medication can help. As a good bishop once told me, whatever leads us towards the light is right. Let the Lord lead you where he will.

When the time came, I shared some of my history and what I had learned: I was born in Monrovia, Liberia, in 1996, during the civil war. My father was a soldier, steadfast and determined, navigating a world torn by the Monrovian conflict. He was deeply cherished as the only son of his mother. Tragically, both of my parents passed away two weeks after my birth; they were victims of the brutal conflict that engulfed our country. With their loss, I was taken back to my mother’s roots in Guinea, where I spent my childhood alternating between Guinea and Ivory Coast. I grew up hearing stories about our family’s origins and the incredible legacy left by our ancestors. I learned that our great-grandparents began their journey in Sudan over 200 years ago.
One of the most remarkable stories is about my great-grandfather, who was Liberia’s first doctor. His mission was to bring healing and hope to those in need. He was later transferred to the deep forests of what is now the Nimba region, where he was granted vast lands to establish his medical mission.
This land became the foundation for a legacy of service and family. My great-grandfather had 24 wives and many children, and from generation to generation, his family grew. My grandfather, Samuel J. Mentee, was among them, and he continued the family legacy. By the time of his passing, he left behind an incredible record of 170 grandchildren, of which I am one.
Beyond my family story, I want to share my testimony of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. A pivotal moment in my spiritual journey came when I received the Book of Mormon in French from a friend while working as a hotel security supervisor. Reading its pages filled me with hope and a sense of belonging I had never known. Its introduction, which humbly acknowledges human imperfections, inspired a profound exploration of its truths. Life’s trials have tested my faith and resilience. Loneliness, loss, and the struggle to find a place to call home have been persistent challenges. Yet these very hardships have refined me, teaching me to lean on the Lord and trust His timing. Quiet moments of reflection have brought clarity and strength, allowing me to feel the guiding influence of the Holy Ghost. Each trial reminds me that God’s hand is always at work, shaping me for a greater purpose.
Following those promptings, I eventually found my way to Tema, Ghana. It was here that I began committed lessons with the missionaries. I owe a heartfelt thank you to them, especially Elder Young, whose dedication and spirit inspired me to grow closer to the Savior.
On a beautiful Sunday morning, December 22, 2024, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. From the moment I joined, I have felt the love and care among the members. The Church has brought light and joy into my life, and I am forever grateful for the blessings it has provided.
I want to express my deepest gratitude to my best friend, Sister Betsy Thornton, who has been a pillar of support and encouragement in my journey. Her kindness, wisdom, and love have left a lasting impact on my heart.
Each step of this journey has deepened my appreciation for family history and the Church. Family history has shown me the power of connection, the importance of understanding where we come from, and the joy of sharing these stories with others.
Wherever you are, if you are reading this, consider this as your personal invitation. Embrace FamilySearch and begin preserving your legacy for generations to come. How will your descendants learn about you 100 years from now?
I, Alias, am calling. And the Lord is also calling for the betterment of our shared tomorrow. Do not let history fade away with us—let it be recorded in FamilySearch. Wherever you are from, but especially to my beloved brothers and sisters from Africa, hear this call.
I am grateful for the opportunity to tell this story and to inspire others to embark on their own family history journeys. The past is not just history: it is the foundation upon which we build our present and future.

I recently was able to do one of my most favorite things: hold a new grandchild. I love it because that is something I know how to do, and I do it so well. I visited our youngest child, Tricia, her husband, Jeff, and their first child, Emily. It was so exciting to see this new mother and father discover the wonder of their creation. It never ceases to amaze me that it takes four years of schooling to be able to teach children in elementary school, eight years to put your fingers in someone’s mouth to fill a tooth, but to be a mother or a father—the most important responsibility you will ever have in this earth life and in the eternities—it takes nine months, with no classes. Make a plan for your future family.

I made a plan. I decided that when I had children and put them to bed at night, my children would stay in their beds and not continually get up; and that is exactly what happened. What a pathetic plan. I hope you will make a better plan than I did. Decide what you will teach your children and how you will love them. Then commit to your plan with all of your heart, might, mind, and soul.

We have a good many people who have been in the ministry join this church. I had a call last week from a minister who lives in Los Angeles, who served, as he told me, for 20 years as a Baptist minister. Then he met the Mormon elders and they taught him the gospel as it has been restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith, and he gave up his ministry and became a member of the Church. He is now working in the temple there, and he called me to thank me for writing the missionary book that helped him to understand what the Lord has done in restoring his truth to the earth in this dispensation.

My freshman year at university, I was sitting in Relief Society when someone shared an experience where she felt impressed to write down how she thought God felt about her.
This struck me.
When I got home, I felt impressed to do the same thing. But after 10 minutes of sitting there with nothing written down, I burst into tears. I felt like a fraud. So much of my testimony was based on God and His perfect love for us. And yet I couldn’t even write anything down.
I knew that God loves all His children, but for some reason I felt like the exception.
How could that be?
When I began attending therapy the following year, I was able to start working through my thoughts. My therapist pointed out that I had a tendency to be an all-or-nothing type of person. I believed that either I had to be perfect at keeping the commandments or I wasn’t strong enough. And I realized I had decided that because I couldn’t feel God in my life, He didn’t exist. But looking back on my life, I knew that couldn’t be true. And so I realized the issue was me, not God.
Ever since I was little, I had engraved into my mind this idea that if I wasn’t perfect, I would never be good enough. Of course, because no one is perfect, I found myself swimming in a sea of insecurities. I was uncomfortable with the idea that I could be worth something. It was because of this that I always felt like I didn’t measure up and didn’t deserve anyone’s love—including God’s.
For a while, I had tried to combat my loneliness and feelings of inadequacy by trying to be everything. I busied myself with every activity I could find to keep my mind off the real issues in my life. And I spent an excessive amount of time considering others’ needs as a way to avoid having to focus on my own. I tutored, played tennis, baked for all my friends and neighbors, and became a teaching assistant. I also worked part-time, took a lot of classes, and was the president of multiple clubs and groups on campus.
To those looking from the outside, I was the girl who had it all together. What they couldn’t see was that inside, I was desperately searching for something to make me feel good enough. But always trying to do more and more only brought added confusion into my life as to who I was and who I wanted to be.
Toward the end of my freshman year I realized how badly paralyzed I had become by my feelings of worthlessness. I had allowed myself to be so overwhelmingly insecure that I denied myself all the amazing things life offered and was becoming numb to my own life.
I stepped back and wondered why, despite doing so much, I still felt nothing. This sent me into a dark depression. What do you do when you feel absolutely abandoned by God?
Anxious to move forward but feeling empty as I wondered how God really felt about me, I realized that something inside of me needed to change. This realization started me on the path to feeling God’s love for me.
At first, I didn’t know how to start; that task alone felt daunting. But over the next year, I relied on the Lord and His infinite goodness to get me through each day. I found so much strength and peace of mind in reading the messages of prophets, pondering the temple covenants I had made, setting even just 10 minutes aside each night to read the scriptures, and communing with Heavenly Father in prayer throughout the day.
As I did these things, I began to see His hand in my life. I didn’t know who I was or what path in life to choose. I didn’t know what path could ever make me feel good enough. But I soon realized that what I really needed was to know who I was to God.
I am now in my last semester at university. Among all the stresses of being a student, employee, daughter, sister, and friend, I have realized that knowing my worth and understanding how God feels about me are vital to my success in all that I do.
There are still many unknowns about my future, and that’s OK.
For me, knowing that I don’t have to be perfect right now helps get me through each day. I know that God is aware of me. I also know that even when I can’t feel His love, He still is patiently working with me.
Over the past few years of this struggle, God has helped me discover qualities and talents in myself that I would have never noticed before. Most importantly, in time, through personal revelation and daily efforts to understand God’s will for me, I’ve learned how He feels about me. I’ve been able to draw liberally on the Savior’s power and the blessings of His Atonement in my life. This has helped me to feel God’s love and know that I am His beloved daughter.
In reading the messages of the prophets, I was touched when I read these words from President Russell M. Nelson: “Feelings of worth come when a woman follows the example of the Master. Her sense of infinite worth comes from her own Christlike yearning to reach out with love, as He does.”
He also noted, “[A woman’s] self-esteem is earned by individual righteousness and a close relationship with God.”1 From this, I have come to understand that who I am is more than the combination of the things I do or say. I am an eternal being with an extraordinary calling to lead with love and compassion, just as the Savior did. And that understanding transcends anything my depression may try to tell me.
Even now, I still find myself sometimes forgetting what God’s love feels like and what lasting joys there are in the smallest and most ordinary moments of life. But the miracle of Christ’s Atonement is that it is not only for repentance; His grace also enables us to get through each day and to love ourselves. I forget that fact a lot, but it is still true.
There is no escaping that we are prone to human nature and that these moments of divine clarity and inspiration may not always feel so true. So to help us, we can write down and look back on the times when we have felt God’s love. We can keep trying to seek ways to feel that love. Our daily worship and continued efforts to deepen our personal holiness will not only strengthen our relationship with our Heavenly Father but also increase our personal happiness and self-esteem. Christ can magnify these efforts to help us become who our Father in Heaven wants us to be.
I am determined to keep trying because I have hope in Christ. I know that life will continue to get better and that I will grow as I rely on Him. Once I discovered how infinite God’s love for me was, I was able to find greater strength each day to push past heartbreaks and overcome my feelings of inadequacy and my need for perfection.
When I find myself falling back into my insecurities, I remember that God thinks that I am funny, kind, giving, and beautiful. Most of all, I remember that He sees me trying.
President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) declared: “God’s love is there for you whether or not you feel you deserve [it]. It is simply always there.”2 I am so grateful for this truth. In our deepest struggles, we can see God’s glory in helping us move forward. He is always cheering us on.

Brother José de Souza Marques was the type of leader who truly understood the principle taught by the Savior: “And if any man among you be strong in the Spirit, let him take with him him that is weak, that he may be edified in all meekness, that he may become strong also” (D&C 84:106).
As a member of the branch presidency in Fortaleza, Brazil, Brother Marques, with the other priesthood leaders, developed a plan to reactivate those who were less active in his branch. One of those who was less active was a young man by the name of Fernando Araujo. Recently I spoke to Fernando, and he told me of his experience:
“I became involved in surfing competitions on Sunday mornings and stopped going to my Church meetings. One Sunday morning Brother Marques knocked on my door and asked my nonmember mother if he could talk to me. When she told him I was sleeping, he asked permission to wake me. He said to me, ‘Fernando, you are late for church!’ Not listening to my excuses, he took me to church.
“The next Sunday the same thing happened, so on the third Sunday I decided to leave early to avoid him. As I opened the gate I found him sitting on his car, reading the scriptures. When he saw me he said, ‘Good! You are up early. Today we will go and find another young man!’ I appealed to my agency, but he said, ‘We can talk about that later.’
“After eight Sundays I could not get rid of him, so I decided to sleep at a friend’s house. I was at the beach the next morning when I saw a man dressed in a suit and tie walking toward me. When I saw that it was Brother Marques, I ran into the water. All of a sudden I felt someone’s hand on my shoulder. It was Brother Marques, in water up to his chest! He took me by the hand and said, ‘You are late! Let’s go.’ When I argued that I didn’t have any clothes to wear, he replied, ‘They are in the car.’
“That day as we walked out of the ocean, I was touched by Brother Marques’s sincere love and worry for me. He truly understood the Savior’s words: ‘I will seek that which was lost, and bring again that which was driven away, and will bind up that which was broken, and will strengthen that which was sick’ (Ezekiel 34:16). Brother Marques didn’t just give me a ride to church—the quorum made sure I remained active. They planned activities that made me feel needed and wanted, I received a calling, and the quorum members became my friends.”
Following his reactivation, Brother Araujo went on a full-time mission and has served as bishop, stake president, mission president, and regional representative. His widowed mother, three sisters, and several cousins have also entered the waters of baptism.

In our ward we have had some success with two boys who had been completely inactive. We made friends with them. We took them out for pizza. We planned activities around their special interests. When we told them how much the program had to offer and showed them we really wanted them with us, they decided to give us a try.

Last week they both came to activity night. If we can care enough to make good on our campaign promises and really deliver the good program we’ve promised, and still care about them just as much, we’ll keep these boys, and they will have a chance to work out their salvation.

Growing up in a small village in Kenya, we were basically peasants. My father had a job in agriculture on the lowest rung of the government. He worked in the fields with farmers. And so at home, he always asked my brother and me to join him on our small farm as he worked to provide food for our family. When he was away, he assigned us each a portion of the field to plant, or weed, or harvest, depending on the season.
I learned a lot of lessons working with my dad. I remember admiring how well he weeded his patch. He was so thorough in removing the weeds. He would carefully remove the weeds and all their roots. The plot he weeded was always so clean, while my plot was often messy with weeds that I hadn’t completely removed. He never lectured me while we weeded, but his example taught me a lot. And I applied it to other areas in my life.
Because of his example, when I did school homework, I was careful and thorough. Because of him, today I don’t leave details unattended. I don’t leave “weeds.” When I help people, I try and get at the root of their problems. That came from spending time with my father on our small farm in the early years of my life.

Lynne Hoet, co-founder of The Stables with her husband, Pastor Sonny, shared the history and mission of the centre with the volunteers.
The couple saw a need to provide a facility that would bring people together to develop strong families through skill training programs aimed at breaking the cycle of poverty.
They purchased the 37-acre property in 1993, renovated the horse stables, and held church for six years in the building. The current building opened in 2000. After Sonny’s stroke in 2016, running the property and programs has become more and more difficult.
“We appreciate that your Church has joined us in this clean-up,” Lynne said, “as the work is quite extensive. We are well on the way to restoring the site so that we can invite families, vulnerable people and people with disabilities to enjoy our unique property that we see as the Lord’s place and a place of blessing.”

“Should we turn back or move ahead?” This was the question that dominated the thoughts of the pioneer company on the night of 3 December 1879. Church President John Taylor had called this group of pioneers to settle the San Juan Mission, in the southeastern part of what is now the state of Utah. But at this point in the trek, there seemed to be no clear answer on how to proceed.
The pioneers were camped at 40-Mile Spring, located on a high plateau. Silas S. Smith, the president of the company, realized how serious their situation was. Camped in some 80 wagons were nearly 250 men, women, and children. Hundreds of cattle were also part of the caravan. Winter was upon them, and they had too few supplies and other resources to remain at this encampment until spring.
President Smith sat in his tent and deliberated with other leaders. Turning back seemed impossible. Behind them, to the west, heavy snows had buried the road through the Escalante Mountains, as well as any foliage the livestock could eat. Besides, the pioneers took seriously the calling President Taylor had given them to settle the San Juan Mission, which was part of President Brigham Young’s original plan to establish settlements throughout much of the West. Who among them would refuse such a call?
Ahead of the pioneers, to the east, lay more than 300 kilometers of rough terrain with no road and little water. A decision to go forward would force them to travel through Hole-in-the-Rock—a crevice in the west wall of Glen Canyon at a high plateau above the Colorado River. It was a dangerous shortcut, but the only other trail was more than 600 kilometers long. An exploring party’s report had been pessimistic. Going through Hole-in-the-Rock would mean taking wagons and cattle on a trail that dropped 610 meters, one-third of that drop at a 45-degree angle.
Most felt it was impossible. After much discussion, one of the men made the motion to leave the decision to “President Smith and the Lord.” A unanimous vote reflected the faith of those present that the Lord would inspire their leader.
The next morning, President Smith called a meeting to announce the decision to move ahead. “The miracle of this decision went through the company like an electric shock,” wrote Kumen Jones, a member of the group, “and all was good cheer and hustle.” In the meeting, many bore testimony in support of moving ahead. Someone began to sing. Others joined in, and soon the chilly December air rang with “The Spirit of God like a fire is burning!” (Hymns, 1985, number 2).

One sister shared an experience she had with her mother at a community sewing class they attended together: “As we worked, my mother just sat. One woman said, ‘Margaret, you’re not doing anything.’ My mother paused and then shared how we had spent the last several days at the doctor, that she had a tumor on her back. All the women in the group put their work aside and looked at her. One group member said, ‘Oh, Margaret, can we fast and pray for you? We’ll do that as a group,’ not even thinking that half the women were not members of the Church. The teacher looked at me and said, ‘What do we do when we fast and pray?’ I explained that we set aside the things of this mortal experience and turn ourselves to the Lord, seeking divine assistance. The teacher stood there a moment and then said, ‘I can do that.’”
A group of God’s daughters met together; they exercised charity and nurtured one another. A Relief Society sister, sure of who she was, showed her faith in the Savior as she invited all to fast and pray. These women made a difference.

I spent almost a year in Nigeria doing the research for my doctoral dissertation. The northern Nigerian city of Kano is a unique blend of Africa and the Middle East. When I was about to leave Kano, a good friend Dauda Sule took me to the market to look for souvenirs. I found what I wanted: a blanket dyed in the ancient indigo vats of Kano. Dauda did the negotiations because I did not speak Hausa. Dauda and the owner of the blanket business went into a deep discussion that I didn't understand. The conversation went back and forth for several minutes. Then there was silence. At last the owner said something and the transaction was complete. Dauda then explained to me what had transpired. He had told the man that I was not a rich tourist, but a poor nursing student who had come to Nigeria to try to be helpful to people. He told the owner of the shop that I would pay whatever price he named because I trusted him. However, Dauda also said to him, "because she will pay whatever you say, if you cheat her, God will know it." The owner of the shop meditated long and hard on Dauda's words and finally said, "I love money but I honor God more. This is the fair price."

That’s when the young missionaries found me. I have always had a soft spot for those who evangelize, knowing the rejection they often face, so I welcomed them. If they came while I was eating, I put my food aside. If I was napping, I got up. But I was a skeptical audience. When they declared, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the only true church on earth,” I almost asked them to leave. How could that be, when I had witnessed God’s work in so many other places?
Their patience was my gateway. They never dismissed my questions. When I challenged them, they often said, “That’s a good question. We need to study and come back with an answer.” Their intellectual honesty was refreshing; they weren’t selling a simple product. They encouraged me to pray about it myself. I took this challenge to the Lord in earnest prayer. “I have served You in another church,” I pleaded. “You have worked with me there. Do You mean to say all those deliverances and miracles were not from You?” The answer I felt was not a denial of my past experiences but an invitation: You’ve been here, and you’ve been there—why not be here too and find out the truth for yourself?
I began reading the Book of Mormon. I compared what I was learning with what I knew. I saw a stark contrast in missionary work. In my former church, “evangelism” often meant convincing members of other congregations to join ours. It was about numbers. But these young men had left their homes and families for two years, dedicating themselves entirely to teaching anyone who would listen. Their commitment was a testament to their belief.
The most profound shift came when I learned about the Restoration of the priesthood authority. In my charismatic background, the laying on of hands was a tense moment; we believed a person’s spiritual character could be transferred, for good or ill. The concept of authority restored by heavenly messengers, not just claimed through personal revelation, resonated with a deep need for order and divine sanction I didn’t know I had. This understanding became the keystone of my budding testimony.
As my baptismal interview approached, I wrestled intensely. The enemy of my soul whispered doubts. What if you are making a mistake? Think of the backlash from your community. The night before the interview, I prayed for a sign, a specific confirmation that I was on the right path. The next evening, while running an errand, my eye was caught by something fluttering in the middle of a busy highway. It was a 100-cedi note. As I waited for traffic to clear, a second note appeared, tumbling to meet the first. In that moment, a thought, clear and penetrating as a voice, entered my mind: Are you not the one who asked for a sign pertaining to your decision? I knew it was the Lord. He had provided both a spiritual answer and, in my time of need, temporal sustenance.
The interview itself was anti-climactic. The young elder began his questions, and I immediately stated, “Yes, of course. I believe this is the only true Church.” It was no longer a statement of theory but of settled fact in my soul.
My baptism day was the most spiritually significant of my life. Dressing in white, I felt like a king. The members of the ward had stayed after their own services to support me, a gesture of love that moved me deeply. As I stepped into the water, the symbolism of burial and resurrection with Christ, which I had taught so many times before, finally felt completely real and personal. It was a covenant, not just a ritual.

Latter-day Saint youth in Missouri, many of whom are Church pioneer descendants, are joining efforts with other Missourian descendants to create a new history for the Church in Gallatin. In an area where misunderstandings once led to the expulsion of the early Saints from Adam-ondi-Ahman, Gallatin, and Far West, youth today are coming together to build trust and friendships. These young men and women have become a light in their community.

Last March, LDS youth participated in an open house for the first Church-built meetinghouse in Gallatin, Daviess County. They worked with displays, moved furniture, invited their teachers and friends to attend, and tended the guest book. Besides helping those who toured the new meetinghouse, many youth also sang in the building’s dedication choir.

The Gallatin youth are active in community projects. For example, Gallatin City Hall now displays a new hand-carved city sign built and installed under the direction of Eagle Scout Sheldon Turley of the Gallatin Branch, Liberty Missouri Stake. Painting homes, cleaning out gutters, delivering holiday meals with members of other faiths, distributing handmade teddy bears to the Gallatin police and fire departments, and clearing and cutting down trees to help with beautification projects are just a few ways these youth are offering the light of the gospel to everyone in Gallatin.