Gospel Story Finder

My journey into family history began with a sense of curiosity and amazement. I first encountered FamilySearch during a class in the Tema Ghana Stake Gathering Place led by the inspiring Sister Betsy Thornton. In that class, I took a leap of faith and began to explore my family tree. The moment I added my family name, Mentee, into the FamilySearch.org/Africa platform and searched for it in my home country, Liberia, I was amazed by what I discovered. It felt like a door to the past had opened, giving me a glimpse into the incredible journey of my ancestors.
The following week, Sister Thornton approached me and asked if I would be willing to share a little about my family history with the class. I was deeply honored and excited to have been chosen for this task. It gave me a sense of pride and responsibility to represent my family’s story.
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.

Of course, Shawn’s basketball prowess has not gone unnoticed. He has attracted national attention since he was in the ninth grade. His family’s ability to look for the positive really helped while college recruiters visited around Castle Dale trying to persuade Shawn to consider goint to their colleges. Shawn’s dad, Reiner, says, “We were told the recruiting process could become unpleasant. We sat down as a family and said, let’s not let it get that way. Let’s do this from a positive angle. Let’s enjoy it. It was an incredible experience, and the family enjoyed every minute of it.”

One day I was coming back from my dad’s house. It was Sunday morning, and he asked me if I wanted to stop and get something for breakfast. I definitely wanted to stop. I was hungry, but after we remembered that it was Sunday, I told him that I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to keep the Sabbath day holy. That day I was happy because I did what was right. And I also helped my dad to choose the right. Good choices help me feel the Holy Ghost.
Isaac J., age 8, Idaho, USA

I shall never forget one night almost three decades ago. My bride, Patricia, and I had been married for two years. We lived in a small duplex on Oahu’s north shore. I was an army infantry officer, a platoon leader, assigned to a unit at Schofield Barracks, Hawaii. Our brigade had been ordered to war in Vietnam. My plane was scheduled for departure after midnight, and a good Latter-day Saint friend had agreed to take me to the airfield at 11:00 p.m.
All through that long evening, Pat and I sat on the sofa in our tiny living room with our fingers intertwined, watching the hands of the clock approach the fateful hour and listening to the soft lapping of the surf against the shore. The ticking of the clock seemed a metronome of mortality in painful contrast to the muffled rushing of the eternal sea. At last the hour of parting arrived. Inside the doorway to our little home, I clutched my bride to my bosom and kissed her one last time, and then I was gone. As I closed the door, I wondered if I had seen my sweetheart for the last time in mortality. It was truly night.
My friend and I drove silently in the darkness through the sugarcane and pineapple fields of Oahu. My heart felt as though it would break. Then as we passed Schofield, an unseen infantry unit on night maneuvers fired a flare. Its brilliance momentarily lit the inky darkness and seemed to ignite a spiritual flame in the blackness that invested my soul. My thoughts were drawn away from this saddest of days to the very happiest: back to that beautiful December day when Pat and I had entered the holy temple and there were sealed to each other, not just for this life only but for all eternity. I thought of the eternal covenants we had made. Like the sunrise, it dawned on me that no matter what happened in the uncertain future just ahead, Pat would always be mine. When I reached the air base, I telephoned her. In the spirit of a renewed hope and peace born of faith and understanding, we talked and laughed softly before once more bidding each other good-bye. It was only midnight, but for me the sun was already rising.

When my four sons were all at home, my husband, Joe, and I spent many summer days hiking with them. Our favorite places to hike were in the high mountains. We all loved the challenge of a tough climb up and then that exhilarating moment of standing at what seemed to be the top of the world. We would carefully scan the horizon, relishing the sight of other peaks and valleys.
One of the best adventures of my life was the day we climbed three adjacent mountain passes. Beginning early in the morning, we began our ascent, moving ever higher. The hike proved long and demanding, yet each view held its own majesty and perspective. My satisfaction at what I saw far exceeded any weariness I felt. I have never forgotten the awe and accomplishment I experienced when I stood at the top of a mountain and looked out on this wide and wonderful world.

We turned down a lane that led to a group of cottages on the shore of the St. Croix River. It was a clear, warm day in late fall, an Indian summer. The leaves on the trees had turned to bright yellows and golds. It was my first day of door contacting as a missionary.
“Your door,” Elder Higgins said, smiling.
It was a small cottage that sat near the edge of the water. Waterskiing gear leaned against the railing of the porch. I cleared my throat and knocked firmly.
“I’m Elder Roberts and this is Elder Higgins. We have a message about the Savior we’d like to share with you,” I rehearsed.
The inside door opened, and behind the screen door stood a very pretty girl, somewhere between 17 and 20, blue eyes, long gold hair, wearing a swimsuit. The words, the finely tuned lines I’d practiced a thousand times on the plane, at the mission home, in our apartment, and on the three-mile walk to this cottage, vanished.
“Awk,” was all that came out when I opened my mouth.
Elder Higgins looked at me grinning and then turned to the girl.
“We’re ministers in the area, and we have a message about Jesus Christ we’d like to share with you and your family.” He gave her a Christ in America pamphlet and made an appointment to meet her family.

“You never know until you try,” said 16 year-old Camela Lines of the Yuma Fourth Ward, Yuma Arizona Stake. With that, she entered a local speech contest and ended up winning a trip to Seattle plus a $500 scholarship.
Her speech was entitled “Our Waste, Our Challenge,” and it was about what people can do in their own homes to help the environment. “Speaking to a large group of strangers in a very formal setting is a much different experience that giving a five minute talk in sacrament meeting to friends,” Camela said, adding that she was “scared to death.”
Camela is the Sunday School chorister, vice president of the Cibola High Chapter of the National Honor Society, and the oldest child in a family of ten.

President Thomas S. Monson shared the experience of Jay Hess, an airman who was shot down over North Vietnam in the 1960s: “For two years his family had no idea whether he was dead or alive. His captors in Hanoi eventually allowed him to write home but limited his message to less than 25 words.” President Monson asks: “What would you and I say to our families if we were in the same situation—not having seen them for over two years and not knowing if we would ever see them again? Wanting to provide something his family could recognize as having come from him and also wanting to give them valuable counsel, Brother Hess wrote [the following words]: ‘These things are important: temple marriage, mission, college. Press on, set goals, write history, take pictures twice a year.’”7

A second quality was courage. The sisters had an opportunity to demonstrate their fearlessness in the face of physical danger almost as soon as they reached the Arizona border, where the principal obstacles were the crossing of the Colorado and ascending and descending the precipitous range of mountains called Lee’s Backbone. Many a wagon narrowly missed rolling down the mountain into the river below. Here is a typical story told by Harriet Betsy Cook Teeples:
“… when we were ready to go over the mountain called Lee’s Back Bone, we found the road up the side of it to be a series of stone stairs and so steep and high we had to use all the teams in the company to take one wagon up.
“It was one mile to the top, and on the top there was a dugway, one mile long and so narrow that the wagon wheels would be within six inches of the deep edge in places where we could look down and see the river five hundred feet or more below. We dare not have more than one span of animals on a wagon for fear they would go off into the river. I drove a gentle team around the dugway with my baby in my lap. When we got around this, there was a flat place where we stopped and locked all the wheels with chains in order to go down the other side. As I was the last to get around the top, my husband came and locked my wheels with chains to go down the other side, and said, ‘Now you wait here until I help the others down and I will come back and get you.’ I waited until the rest were out of sight and then I started down, and as the road made a sharp turn around a big rock the wheel stuck and stopped, but I did not want to stop there as it was nearly dark so I sat my baby down in the bottom of the buggy, got out, untied the wheels on that side, got in and backed the team far enough so that I could pass the rock by turning them against the hill on the other side, and I got out and tied the wheels on that side, got in and backed the team far enough so that I could pass the rock by turning them against the hill on the other side, and I got out and tied the wheels again, and went on all right. Just after that my husband met me and said, ‘How in the world did you get around that rock?’ I told him how I had done it, and he made me feel it was all worthwhile when he said, ‘Honey, you’ll do.’”9

My friends and I were going downstairs. When we got to the elevator, I had an uncomfortable feeling and asked my friends not to use it. They decided to do it anyway. I took the stairs. When I got downstairs, my friends weren’t there. The elevator had gotten stuck! It was a while before they got out. I was happy that nothing serious happened. I also felt good that I followed the Holy Ghost.
Amalie N., age 10

Dr. Karl G. Maeser was twenty-seven at the time of his baptism and he held the position of oberlehrer (head teacher) at the Budig Academy in Dresden. A brilliant student and teacher, he had first learned of the Mormon Church through a popular pamphlet written to ridicule its teachings. He wondered what could cause anyone to have such hatred for a church, and he decided to learn more about it.
There were no Mormons in the country around Dresden at that time, but Karl accidentally discovered there were missionaries in Denmark. So he wrote to the mission president there for information and was sent pamphlets and books. Carefully studying the material, he became interested in the teachings of the Church and asked that a missionary be sent to Dresden to explain things to him. Two months later, in October 1855, Karl became the first member of the Church in that area of Germany.

An elder told of traveling from Vietnam and arriving at a Seattle, Washington, refugee camp. While he was trying to learn English so he could enter the United States, someone gave him a small card with a picture and address on it. He kept it for some reason, and when he was later asked where he wanted to live, he showed this card to the customs official. “I can’t send you there,” he was told “but I can send you to a place nearby.” He was sent to an LDS family in Salt Lake City. He learned about the Church. As he finished telling me this story, he reached into his wallet and showed the card. It was a picture of the MTC. “I am here, President,” he said. Like the others, he thought it was a privilege to go on a mission.

Illustration by Jennifer Tolman
“Help. … Help!” The faint cry persisted every couple of seconds. It was my first day at the care unit, and already I was needed.
It was in the summer of my sophomore year that I decided to apply for the Hospice of the Valley Teen Volunteer Program. Once accepted, I attended numerous hours of training and orientation. However, no amount of class time could properly prepare me for the job I was undertaking. No one could properly describe the forlorn expressions I would see as I entered each room, the faces of critically ill or dying patients. No one could accurately explain the stale smell that would engulf me as I opened the door to the care home. But most of all, no one could tell me about the overwhelming joy that came with each visit.
That afternoon as I turned the corner, the cries of help reached my ears. I didn’t even have time to think. It was an impulse to follow the plea.
I walked in to see a woman slightly raised from her bed, arms outstretched. I asked her what she needed, ready to call the nurse for pain medication or maybe to get the nursing assistant if she required the restroom. To my surprise, all she wanted was comfort, attention, a friend.
I was amazed at how quickly I felt at ease. We talked as if we were old friends, laughing and catching up on the past. I couldn’t help but smile as her face lit up with joy.
Then she said something I’ll never forget. “I can tell by your voice that you are a very pretty girl.” This seemed like a rather unusual thing to say to someone. Did she not think my face was pretty? But as I looked at her closer, I realized that she couldn’t see my face. She was blind.
That’s when my heart dropped. Here was a woman in a strange place, getting treatment from complete strangers she couldn’t even see. And I had been thinking about the smell. I had no idea that my cheery voice and undivided attention was bringing so much color into her life. For that, I would smell anything.
I walked out that day with a new attitude. This woman had taught me a valuable lesson. No matter what problems we may be facing, all around us are opportunities to forget ourselves and help another. When those chances come our way, we must make the effort to open our ears and turn our hearts to the ones who seem to be reaching out and calling, “Help.” We may just find a new friend.

A few years ago, in the fall, it was business as usual for the seminary students in Welland. School and seminary started, with first-year students eagerly looking forward to what they knew would be a great year. And it was a great year, except for one thing. Brother Cunningham’s energy and health had declined over the summer break. Soon he was in the hospital, his lungs and digestive system failing. A lung transplant years earlier had improved his health dramatically and prolonged his life into his early 30s, but now he was as ill as he had ever been, without any sign that he would ever improve.
Seminary went on, now with much-loved team teachers Mike and Kim Hammond. The Hammonds helped the class not only to learn the gospel but also to remember their old teacher fondly. Brother Cunningham was never far from their thoughts.
At Christmas the students wanted to send their love. Many of Brother Cunningham’s major organs were failing, and the risk of infection through contact with other people was high. For his protection, they weren’t allowed to visit their teacher. They made a video instead, each including a personal greeting and get-well wishes. He would see that video, but he would never again see his students in person. Before the new year dawned, he was gone.
The funeral took place on the day of a blizzard, but more than 300 people attended, a testament to how much he would be missed. Many of the young men from the seminary class served as pallbearers, giving final service to the man who had served them.

When she saw me, my best friend knew immediately that something was wrong. “We broke up,” I told her quietly. I was coming home after a long conversation with the young man I had been dating. Although we were sad to part, we both agreed that it was right for us.
But as the weeks went by, I started to feel unsure about my decision. What if I never found anyone else to date and never married? What if I had made too big a deal out of our incompatibility?
I felt so lonely and unsure that I even considered seeing whether he was willing to give our relationship another try. I was, as Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles described, “dissatisfied with present circumstances and [had] only dismal views of the future.”1
One evening a few weeks after our breakup, I was reading about the Savior’s Resurrection. The Gospel of Luke recounts that on the third day after the Savior had been laid to rest, faithful followers went to anoint His body with spices. But they found that the stone covering the tomb had been rolled away and the body was gone. Two angels then appeared to them and said, “Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen” (Luke 24:5–6).
The angels’ question struck me suddenly with powerful force. I had never thought about how the visitors to Jesus’s grave might have felt, realizing they were looking in the wrong place for their Savior. I had never thought about what a challenge it must have been for them to believe that Jesus had left behind the decay of the tomb and had risen in glory.
The scripture spoke a gentle rebuke. I realized that, like the Savior’s friends, I was looking in the wrong place for comfort. Wallowing in the past and “yearn[ing] vainly for yesterdays”2 was not consoling me or motivating me to fruitful action. I realized I needed to stop looking in the tomb of past experiences. I needed to replace my fear with faith and trust that the Savior could create life from the experiences of my past.

I conclude with an experience that has helped me to deal with unanswered questions. A few years ago, my husband and I were invited to a gathering of many experienced Church leaders. A new presiding officer had recently been called, and at the end of the meeting a very difficult and contentious question was asked. Realizing the difficulty of the question, my husband and I immediately offered up our sincere prayers to Heavenly Father on behalf of this new leader. As he came to the pulpit to respond to the question, I witnessed a change in his countenance as he stood majestically, squared his shoulders, and spoke with the power of the Lord.

His response was something like this: “Brother, I do not know the answer to your question. But I will tell you what I do know. I know that God is our Eternal Father. I know that Jesus Christ is the Savior and Redeemer of the world. I know that Joseph Smith saw God the Father and His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ, and was the instrument through which the power of the priesthood was restored to the earth. I know the Book of Mormon is true and contains the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I know we have a living prophet today who speaks for the Lord to bless our lives. No, I do not know the answer to your question, but these things I know. The rest I take on faith. I try to live this simple statement of faith I learned years ago from Marjorie Hinckley, wife of President Gordon B. Hinckley, who said, ‘First I obey, then I understand.’”

A few years after my wife and I returned home from our mission, President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) asked us to meet with him. During that meeting, he extended a call to me to serve as a General Authority. He reflected on my experiences as a young missionary and as a mission president and told us that although there were many people who were qualified to be General Authorities, the Lord would use me because of my previous experiences and decisions.

Since President Thomas S. Monson announced the change in the missionary age, young people have been asked to counsel with their parents, counsel with their bishops, and counsel with the Lord through prayer. When you know it is the right time to go, then you should go. As you have patience and exercise faith, I know that the Lord will make His will known unto you.

I testify that as you are obedient to the will of the Lord, you will be blessed beyond measure.

They might look like ordinary girls, but today they’re actually chefs in training. About once a month, these activity day girls from the Whittier Ward in the Salt Lake Wells Stake try out a recipe from the Friend. “Cooking is much more fun if you do it together!” said Annika C., age 11.
Today the girls went bananas making banana chocolate-chip bread and funny banana faces. You can see their bread recipe on the page to the right.

When he served in the Tampa Florida Mission, he shared the Book of Mormon with everyone he taught. Missionary work also taught Elder Alvarado key lessons of obedience that serve him well to this day.
He knew little English growing up, so it was thrilling to receive an English-speaking missionary assignment. But just weeks after arriving in Florida, mission president G. Vern Albright told him he was assigning him to a Spanish-speaking area. It was frustrating news.
“But President Albright told me, ‘Elder, I’ll make you a promise: if you work in Spanish [areas], you will have opportunities to use English—and you will always be successful in your jobs and in the Church’.”
The new missionary chose to trust his priesthood leader. “And following my mission, all of my work and Church callings have been in English. It’s been a great blessing.”

1823–1895
“I … wish to be useful to the Church.”
He was born in Spain. He traveled to Cuba, Mexico, and the United States to help people.
He met missionaries and joined the Church.
He helped translate the Book of Mormon into Spanish.
He learned that there were no schools for children who spoke Spanish in El Paso, Texas, USA. So he started a school for them and taught there for many years.
L.M. Peterson letter, Manassa, Colorado, to John Taylor, 1880, Church History Library, Salt Lake City, Utah, USA.