Gospel Story Finder

Today I would like to share a story with you. Kieth Merrill, a filmmaker and Academy Award winner, tells this story about his youth.

When I was a young man I lived in a small community close to the mountains. I was a lifeguard and did lots of swimming. . . . We went swimming at a place called East Canyon, a beautiful man-made reservoir. The dam is in a narrow neck of the canyon between sheer rock walls.

None of us had boats, so we couldn’t water ski, but we would do what we called cliff diving. We’d climb up those rocks and dive into the reservoir. We’d always wear tennis shoes because the rocks were so sharp. . . .

After we’d been there several times and pretty well knew the rocks, cliffs, and the water depth, two or three of us hard-core East Canyon divers got into the inevitable teenage contest of raw courage. One guy climbed up to where we always dove from and yelled down, “Hey! I’ll bet I dare dive higher than anybody here!”

“Ah, go on!”

So he climbed up to the top of the dam. The dam was about 50 feet off the water. Diving into the air he arched into the water, and like a bunch of sheep we crawled up the rocks, out onto the dam, and all of us dove off. . . .

Well, that didn’t satisfy my friend, and so he said, “All right, I’ll do one better!” He climbed 60 feet up the side of the cliff. And not wanting to be outdone, I climbed up by him. After all, everyone was looking at me. I had a great suntan, and I was sure everyone expected me to do what he was doing. He swallowed hard, buried his fear, and from trembling knees arched his back, and floated through 60 feet of air into the water.

I was grateful nobody was watching me as I prepared for my dive. When he’d cleared and seemed to be all right, I took courage, and made my dive. By now the other members of our diving contest had backed down, figuring it was a little high. But not my friend. He climbed on up to about 70 feet and once more prepared to dive. From below I could barely see him. Seventy feet is a very long way up on the rocks. I said to myself, “I hope he doesn’t do it because if he does it, then obviously I’ve got to do it, and I really don’t want to.“ About then I saw a pink body float through the air and splash into the water not far from me. He came up laughing, rubbing his shoulders and his eyes, and said, “Well, Merrill, are you going to do it?”

“Of course, I’m going to do it!” Everybody on the shore said, “Yeah, of course he’s going to do it!”

And so I swam back to the shore and climbed up the rocks. I knew I only had the courage for one more jump. . . .

I scrambled up 80 feet to the very top of the cliff. As I turned around and looked down, I saw that the cliffs were back away from the water at that height. I had two challenges: to fall 80 feet and to get enough clearance to avoid hitting the rocks at the bottom. Everybody was egging me on in a negative way. “You’re chicken, you’re chicken!”

I stood there all alone, everybody waiting down below. The water was so far away it looked like crinkled tinfoil in the sun. I was just terrified, I was committed, but I had not even based my decision on what I wanted to do or what I felt was right. I had based it on about a half dozen guys whose names I don’t even remember who were yelling, “Hey, chicken, are you going to do it?”

I realized that in order to make the jump I would have to run a distance to get enough momentum to carry me over the rocks below. So I backed up and ran as hard as I could toward the edge. I found the mark I had carefully laid at the edge of the rock and sprang out into space. I don’t know how long it takes to fall 80 feet, but for me it took about a week. On the way down I remembered distinctly how my parents and teachers had taught me to be careful when making decisions because I could kill myself with a wrong one. I said to myself, “You have done it; you have killed yourself, because when you hit the water you’ll be going so fast that it might as well be concrete.“ And when I hit the water, I was sure it was concrete. I don’t know how far down you go when you jump from 80 feet, but I’ll tell you, I was a grateful lad when my head finally popped above water. I took a quick inventory to make sure that the throbbing pain in my right thigh didn’t designate the loss of anything important.

Well, why did I jump? Did I prove myself to the guys? You think they cared? You think they’re sitting at home tonight saying, “Remember old Merrill, brave old Merrill, jumping off the. . . .” They don’t even remember! They don’t care! But for me that moment was as important as my life. I made what could have easily been a fatal decision. Through the grace of a very patient Heavenly Father I wasn’t killed. I didn’t land on the rocks; I missed by only a few feet. I didn’t drown, and I didn’t have a concussion or a number of other things that could easily have happened because of such a stupid decision.

I was subjected to pressure that was hard to withstand, the pressure of friends expecting things of me that I didn’t want to do because I knew better. But I yielded to the pressure. I was living in the world, and at that moment I was of the world because I was not in control of myself. I was not making decisions about my own life. [Kieth Merrill, “Deciding About Decisions,” New Era, June 1976, pp. 12–13]

In early 2019, Sister Setaita Ata began her mission in the Joao Pessoa Mission in Northeast Brazil. Some months later, she suffered a complex knee injury and had to return to Australia for protracted medical treatment.
Still keen to complete her mission, Sister Ata was cleared for missionary service a year later and was transferred to the Melbourne Australia Mission. Then in October 2020, she suffered yet another health challenge: a series of debilitating migraines.
Along with her physical pain, she also felt responsible for hindering her companions from working to their full capacity. With this burden heavy on her mind, Sister Ata reluctantly spoke to her mission president, fearing that she would have to leave the mission field early.
Imagine her delight to learn that she could continue to serve the Lord—that her medical needs could be managed while she completed the rest of her mission. When President Houghton explained that she could be transferred to a service mission, Sister Ata accepted immediately, even before she knew how it would work. The very same day Elder and Sister Nicholls, service mission leaders overseeing Australia, met with her via Zoom to interview her and to explain the process.
As a service missionary, Sister Ata would move back home to continue with medical treatments, but she would have to keep up her regular missionary schedule of daily prayer, scripture study, and exercise. Elder and Sister Nicholls would prayerfully consider Sister Ata’s unique strengths to determine the best way for her to contribute to the gathering of Israel.
When they met again to work out the new terms of her missionary service, the Nicholls’ noted that Sister Ata is blessed with a beautiful talent for the visual arts, that she has a great sense of compassion and a gentle strength of character. Sister Ata expressed her desire to serve in the temple, and after some discussion, with prayer in their hearts, they sculpted a unique new assignment for her:
District leadership: Sister Ata would serve as a leader for all the service missionaries in her district.
Artistic service: She would create visual art pieces that inspire faith in Jesus Christ and in His gospel.
Temple service: She would work in the office at the Australia Melbourne Temple for an agreed amount of time every week.
“I knew I had a talent with art” Sister Ata says, “but I hadn’t used it for a long time. I now realise that Heavenly Father wants me to use art to serve others.”
Thinking about the health struggles that hindered her mission in the beginning, Sister Ata would not have chosen those challenges for herself, but she knows that she is now receiving abundant beauty for ashes.2
“If anything, my transfer into a service mission helped me [to] realise what Heavenly Father has given me,” she says. “A big part of my service mission is doing the Lord’s will and just enquiring of Him. It goes back to a lesson in Come, Follow Me: if you have a desire to serve, then enquire of the Lord and He will direct you to know what to do and how to serve.”

When I was in my last year of Primary, a wonderful older lady named Marth Christensen was our teacher. She helped us learn the Articles of Faith. To this day I still know the Articles of Faith because of what I learned in Primary. We visited Sister Christensen’s home often. It was always a wonderful experience to be there. She taught us cooking skills, and we made cookies and candy. Sometimes we took the treats we had made to somebody who was homebound. The examples of wonderful teachers taught me to serve.

When our children were young, we lived in the country of Kazakhstan. There were no missionaries there at that time. When friends or neighbors wanted to hear about the gospel, we got to be the missionaries!

Our daughter Marné shared the gospel with her friend Alyona. Alyona decided to be baptized with permission from her mother, who was later baptized with Alyona’s younger sister. Recently Alyona married a righteous young man in the Manhattan New York Temple, and Marné got to be there! She was so happy that she had helped her friend learn about Jesus Christ.

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.

The events of that Christmas Eve took on added meaning for me the next year in the winter beauty of Utah Valley. Daddy had died during the preceding year, and no one really felt like holding to the family caroling tradition; emotions were still too close to the surface. So mother gathered us children together, and again we made a trip to the cemetery. We took with us a German wreath. Our family was alone this time; no one was there to hear our songs of Christ’s birth as we placed the wreath on daddy’s grave. Around us was a thick blanket of fog, shrouding us in its quiet mystery, and we could not see much beyond the edges of the cemetery—as if the world ended there.
But oh, what joy filled our hearts as we remembered we were celebrating Christmas, that because of the Savior the world is more than it was, that life does not end with the burial of the body, and that our loved one is not alone! There, in the cemetery, remembering daddy, we celebrated the birth of our Savior, our Hope, our Redeemer; and the peace of his message was a great salve for our loneliness.

The first meeting I attended was a fast and testimony meeting. I came late, and as I walked into the chapel, a young woman was crying and talking about how the gospel helped her with her problems. After listening to her and to some of the other members, I realized that all of them had problems. They weren’t perfect, and they knew it. But I could also see they had something strong inside them. Their faith in God was helping them. With that kind of faith, I thought, maybe I could overcome my problems, too.

Who’s responsibility is it? Well, I’ve told and retold a little story about one of our sons, but I think it illustrates a point so I will tell it to you. Our youngest son has lived all of his life in one house. It isn’t a grand mansion, but it has been a good home. He never intends to leave it or live anywhere else. He always expected to go on a mission, but he said, “I’ll go and then I’ll come back.” He went around to the neighbors and said, “I don’t want you to move, and I don’t want you to move, and don’t you dare let them sell the house. I’m the youngest and if they move into a condominium, I’ll be devastated and have to come home.”

We said, “What if we’re called on a mission?”

He thought it over very seriously and replied, “I think we had better take turns. I’ll go and you take care of it and when I get back you can go.”

We said, “What if we’re still here when you bring a bride home?”

He said, “I’ve thought about that. I’m considering remodeling the garage into an apartment for you.”

Well, his father had had a heart attack and no one else was home but just Scott. One day, as things were looking pretty bad, I appealed to this next owner of the property and said, “You know we need to do the lawn, the shrubs, and a little painting.” And he couldn’t have been less interested in anything. I mean he had important things to do. I think right then he was recording the Beach Boys and Fresh Aire tapes.

Well, I thought it was time for one of those “reprove with sharpness and then show forth an increase of love lest they esteem thee to be thine enemy” (someone called them “woodshed”) talks. I daresay each of you has had a few of them. I said, “If you really do intend to live here the rest of your life, then you of all people should be concerned about the kind of repair it’s kept in, because, before you know it, it will be yours with all of its accumulated problems. Not ours, but yours.”

A little minor miracle happened. The shrubs were trimmed, the lawn was not only cut but crosscut. I didn’t know that it could look like green velvet if you went in two directions. He began to take great interest in calling it “the best yard on the block.” It became almost that. With his effort we even got a little painting done.

It was while he was studying medicine at the University of Utah that he met his wife-to-be, Dantzel White.
He vividly remembers the feeling that came over him. “I thought she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen and sensed that she was the one I would marry,” he said. Dantzel felt the same way. When she went home to Perry, Utah, she announced to her parents that she had met the man she wanted to marry. Three years later they were married in the Salt Lake Temple.

Satan will also attempt to cause our spiritual downfall through tempting us to misapply our spiritual gifts. The revelations tell us that “there are many gifts, and to every man is given a gift by the Spirit of God” and that “all these gifts come from God, for the benefit of the children of God” (D&C 46:11, 26). Most of us have seen persons whom the adversary has led astray through a corruption of their spiritual gifts. My mother shared one such example, something she observed while attending Brigham Young University many years ago.

A man who lived in a community in Utah had a mighty gift of healing. People sought him out for blessings, many coming from outside his ward and stake. In time, he almost made a profession of giving blessings. As part of his travels to various communities, he visited the apartments of BYU students, asking if they wanted blessings. This man had lost sight of the revealed direction on spiritual gifts: “always remembering for what they are given” (D&C 46:8). A spiritual gift is given to benefit the children of God, not to magnify the prominence or to gratify the ego of the person who receives it. The professional healer who forgot that lesson gradually lost the companionship of the Spirit and was eventually excommunicated from the Church.

I’ve visited the Church in different places around the world, and while on those visits have always felt welcome. For a long time, I thought it was good enough for me and my family that I was an enthusiastic supporter of this Church, but in June 2022, something changed.
I was raised Catholic and said prayers during my younger years, but in June of 2022, I really prayed to God for the very first time. I prayed for guidance, to know if this was the right time for me to study the gospel. That night in my sleep, a scripture from the Book of Mormon entered in my mind: 2 Nephi 17.
It was like a movie. I saw golden glowing letters on the inside of my head. I had no idea if the scripture, 2 Nephi 17 existed, but I clearly felt that this was an answer to my prayers and came up with a plan to go to Church with Ellie and the children for at least a year, to read the scriptures and to pray together as a family. Later that day at work, I looked up the text of 2 Nephi 17, and my eyes landed on verse 11, that reads: “Ask thee a sign of the Lord thy God; ask it either in the depths, or in the heights above.”
I did not see this experience as a faint sign. This felt like God literally telling me that indeed it was time. I went home to tell Ellie and told her that I was ready to start a sincere study of the gospel. While telling her my story, I was struck by lightning—not by actual lightning, but by the Holy Ghost. I immediately knew what it was. Physically I felt something happening in my heart and realized that I was freed from a restlessness that I’ve carried all my life. Immediately I felt a love come over me that I have never felt before. I knew that this was the love of Christ. I literally had a change of heart. For my oldest daughter, Mayra, it was a very emotional moment, because two days earlier she had prayed that I would experience a conversion. Later, I learned two other friends had prayed for the same thing a few days earlier. A great testimony of the power of prayer!

Listen to President Eyring describe what he did to remember his own witnesses of the goodness of God in his life and notice the blessings that came:

"I wrote down a few lines every day for years. I never missed a day no matter how tired I was or how early I would have to start the next day. Before I would write, I would ponder this question: 'Have I seen the hand of God reaching out to touch us or our children or our family today?' As I kept at it, something began to happen. As I would cast my mind over the day, I would see evidence of what God had done for one of us that I had not recognized in the busy moments of the day. As that happened, and it happened often, I realized that trying to remember had allowed God to show me what He had done.
More than gratitude began to grow in my heart. Testimony grew. I became ever more certain that our Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers. I felt more gratitude for the softening and refining that come because of the Atonement of the Savior Jesus Christ. And I grew more confident that the Holy Ghost can bring all things to our remembrance—even things we did not notice or pay attention to when they happened."

I used to home teach a brother, who, when I was first assigned to him, was totally inactive in the Church. Despite our differences, we really connected and over time became great friends. Visiting with him, I learned a lot about how people who have strayed from the teachings of the Church think. He used to say things like:

"I still have my hand on the iron rod. I may have pulled a few screws loose and bent it a little, but I still have a hold of it."

Another of my favorites was: "I keep the fence in sight."

He felt safe, but in reality, he was not.

...

The brother I told you about earlier who joked about "keeping the fence in sight" was assigned to me to be home taught. He was a self-described "hippy hermit." His ceiling was painted with psychedelic colors and patterns. He burned incense, smoked, drank, dabbled in drugs, swore, and seemed totally disinterested in the Church. But I liked him. I confess that I was not entirely comfortable at first because this was not a world I was very accustomed to, but at the same time, I sensed a real goodness deep inside of him. He was honest and genuine. I home taught him for over three years when he began to say things like "someday I am going to surprise you and show up at church." And eventually, he did surprise me.

He started listening to some audio tapes that were made of his grandfather talking about growing up in the Church settlements of Mexico. When he told me about it, I was able to find some historical information about that time and place that I then shared with him. The spirit of Elijah began to work on him and his "heart turned to his fathers." Many months later, he asked me to ordain him an Elder in the Melchizedek Priesthood. Later still, he asked if I would travel to St. George Utah and go with him through the temple -- because that is the temple where his ancestors had traveled to receive their temple blessings. He loved the temple and would later go through five or six sessions each time he attended.

These experiences are among the spiritual highlights of my life. I felt God's love not only for him, but for me as we shared these sacred experiences together. When I reflect on how I felt during these experiences, I remember no darkness at all -- only light.

This unique vision and purpose of Brigham Young University was established from its conception. The architect of BYU, Karl G. Maeser, was prepared by the hand of heaven to give leadership to the beginnings of what we now see and enjoy here. Karl grew up in Germany and enjoyed the privileges of the best education Germany had to offer. With that preparation, at the young age of twenty, he began his professional life as a schoolteacher and was soon appointed to the prestigious position of headmaster of the Budig Institute in Dresden. His interest sparked by the reading of an anti-Mormon book, Maeser wrote to the Church’s Scandinavian Mission for information. His letter was referred to leaders of the Swiss and German Mission, who thought it was a ruse to entice them to enter Germany, which was hostile to Mormonism at the time and where they would be jailed. Consequently, Brother Maeser’s letter was ignored. Karl wrote again, and his second letter was forwarded to President Franklin D. Richards of the European Mission. A mission representative was sent to Dresden, and within two weeks the Maesers had embraced the gospel and sought baptism. Wary of the local police, the Maesers were baptized at midnight on October 14, 1855, in the Elbe River. Karl joined the Church knowing that because of the opposition to the Mormons in Germany at the time, he would have to sacrifice his standing and position in the community.

Soon he and his wife and two children fled Dresden for Zion under the dark of night. They arrived in London, where, before they could make arrangements for transatlantic passage, Maeser was called on a mission to Scotland. After completing this mission he sailed with his family to America. Just two days from their destination port of New York, one of their two children died aboard ship. Traveling to Philadelphia, Brother Maeser accepted a second mission call, this time to the Southern States, following which he was asked to lead a wagon company across the plains. Finally, five years after the Maeser family left Germany, they arrived in Zion. Once in Salt Lake City, Karl sought immediately to make a living as a teacher. He established the Deseret Lyceum in 1860, seeking to provide education to the children of the Latter-day Saints. Of the teaching environment Karl would later write that he “began teaching in the 15th Ward under conditions so primitive that teachers of today [1890s] can have no conception of them.”7 The Lyceum was not successful financially, and Maeser was forced to seek employment elsewhere. President Brigham Young appointed Karl head of the Union Academy in 1861. It was envisioned that the school would educate students beyond elementary grades from Salt Lake City and surrounding areas.

I wanted to do service in our ward and began by praying to know how I could serve. The answer didn’t come right away, but a few days later, I had the idea of doing a day of babysitting so mothers could go Christmas shopping or take the day off with their husbands.
I prayed to Heavenly Father to help me know whom I should ask. I had four families accept my offer. My friend Emily and my sister, Hannah, helped me babysit all the kids.
I learned that service can be fun if you make it fun and find things you can do. Now I want to do another service for the same mothers so they can go to the temple three hours away, but I need to work out the details.
Sarah S., Arkansas, USA

I had an experience that relates to this idea. During the summer after my first year of law school, President Tanner and I obtained jobs as groundskeepers, or gardeners, at the Oakland California Temple.

The Oakland Temple sits on a hill overlooking the San Francisco Bay. The grounds are beautiful. They include palm trees, bushes, grass, and colorful flowers. On the roof there are additional gardens, and one can climb the stairs and enjoy them. From the roof there is a spectacular view of the San Francisco Bay.

Gardening was hard work. We planted flowers and pulled weeds. We watered plants and swept sidewalks. We dug holes in the ground. I remember President Tanner standing in a hole in the ground and quoting lines from Shakespeare. We wore hats to protect ourselves from the sun.

The job involved hard work, and it was tiring. But it had a larger purpose. The temple grounds are the grounds of the House of the Lord. We helped the temple grounds to be beautiful. Temple workers, patrons, and other visitors enjoyed the peace and beauty of the temple grounds. This was a blessing to them. We tended the Lord’s garden. It was a privilege.

We now have 124 operating temples, with several others announced. This is nearly three times the number operating in 1995, when our current prophet became president. I responded to a very rare invitation by my father to accompany him on a journey through Africa in 1998. I was not a General Authority at the time. In Ghana, after examining a proposed temple site in Accra and approving of its purchase, he announced to the 6,000 members gathered in an outdoor meeting that a temple would be built in their land. The response was instant and unexpected. They stood and embraced their neighbors. Many wept and pointed to the ground as if to say, “We will have a temple right here in our homeland.” We had been told the day before of a couple who recently had walked 25 kilometers in order to renew their temple recommends, with no hope ever of seeing a temple. I will never forget my father’s response. He said, “We are here to give them hope.” I will always remember that experience. That temple was dedicated in January 2004.

Lisa Toemei* paid extra attention to sweeping the floor of the one-room house. It was a special occasion. The missionaries were coming today. It would make the fourth time the American elders had visited her family.
Lisa had never been off the island of Pohnpei, which is just north of the equator in the Pacific Ocean. She looked forward to the visits of these missionaries from a land so far away. She had many questions for them.
At last the missionaries arrived. As was the custom, they removed their shoes before entering the house. “Brother and Sister Toemei, thank you for inviting us into your home.” Elder Choate greeted them in their own language.
Elder Tyson did the same.
Lisa liked listening to them, even though they spoke with a funny accent.
Barney, Lisa’s little brother, smiled shyly at the two young men.
Elder Choate and Elder Tyson came from the United States of America to teach the people about Jesus Christ. They were dressed in dark pants, white shirts, and ties. Their name badges proclaimed that they were from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Elder Choate was tall and fair, his hair so light that it appeared almost white. Even the hair on his arms was white! Lisa had never seen such pale skin and blue eyes. He was from Colorado. He showed it to her on a map. It was a small square surrounded by other squares and shapes—and very far from the ocean!
Elder Tyson was not so tall, but he still towered over her papa. His hair was bright red, making Lisa think of the sunset.
During each of the missionaries’ visits, Lisa and Barney couldn’t get their questions out fast enough. What was the United States like? How did people live without being near the ocean? What made their skin so light?
The missionaries answered the questions and then asked questions of their own. Did they know that their family could be together in heaven? Did they want to be an eternal family? Did they believe the Church was true, and if so, would they be baptized?
“An eternal family,” Mama said, her hands clasped. “It is the truth you bring us. Always we know there is something more than what we have, but we do not know where to find it. You honor us with this gift.”
Papa nodded, his face grave. “This baptism you speak of—you can do it for us?”
The elders grinned. “It would give us great joy to baptize you,” Elder Choate said. “Since Lisa is ten, she can be baptized along with you and Sister Toemei. Barney will have to wait until he is eight years old.”
“You will stay for a meal,” Mama said, already bustling about in the far corner that served as their kitchen.
What will we feed the Americans? Lisa wondered. The family had only a little food to last through the week.
Mama prepared the meal, all the while listening as the elders continued teaching from the dark blue Book of Mormon.
Lisa’s eyes widened when she saw the amount of food on the table. Rice, fresh tuna, and bananas filled the serving bowls! There was enough for several meals.
The elders held up their hands. “This is your family’s food,” Elder Choate said. “We cannot eat it.”
“You hold the everlasting gospel in your hands,” Mama said. “You must have our best.”
The young men continued to protest until Papa said quietly, “Would you turn away a gift from a friend?”
The elders looked at each other. “Thank you,” Elder Tyson said at last. “We would be honored to share your meal.”
Why?” Lisa asked her mother in a low voice as the missionaries went to wash their hands. “Why do you give them all our food? We will not have enough for the rest of the week.”
“Did you not hear what these men of God said? They bring a message from the living prophet. What is a bit of food compared to the truth and light that they teach to us?”
There was much laughter at the small wooden table during the meal. Lisa felt the Spirit warm her from the inside out. She especially liked hearing Elder Choate bear his testimony about Joseph Smith, the first President of the Church, and President Gordon B. Hinckley, the current prophet. She listened closely as Elder Tyson told of his recent visit to Guam.
Lisa scraped the last of the rice from the bowl as she put away the leftovers. She knew there would be little food for the next week, but she didn’t mind anymore.
The elders returned the following day. Each carried a sack. There were boxes of cereal and cans of fruit and vegetables.
“It is too much!” Mama said, tears bright in her eyes. “Too much.”
“Would you turn away a gift from a friend?” Elder Choate asked, using Papa’s words. “The gospel of Jesus Christ makes us all brothers and sisters. We could not let our brothers and sisters go hungry.”
Brothers and sisters—Lisa liked that.

My mother’s mission taught her a great lesson on faith. Her bishop and stake president told her that it would be difficult for her to serve a mission because she had a speech impediment, which made it hard for her to be understood. But she felt impressed to go and had the overwhelming feeling that if she would be faithful, the Lord would correct her problem and she would be able to serve.
At age 14 she had received a blessing regarding a mission. Some time later she went to the secluded upper rooms of the meetinghouse and poured her soul out to her Heavenly Father regarding her desire to serve a mission. She felt inspired to call her uncle, who was a mission president in Missouri, and ask him if she could be his secretary. (Back then they didn’t have all the formalities concerning mission calls that we do now.) He said yes, and she was set apart by a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, who promised her she would bring many people into the Church. She was surprised at this, knowing that she had difficulty speaking.
However, after she began to serve, one of the sister missionaries became very ill. The mission president asked my mother to work with this sister’s companion so that the sister could come to the mission home to recover and her companion could keep working. My mother took a train to the area where she would be working. When she stepped off the train, she was met by a couple of elders, one of whom remarked when he saw her, “Why have they sent Sister Bennion? She can’t even talk.” She turned to that missionary and said indignantly, “Yes, I can talk.” And in that moment her problem was gone, and it never returned.

Not all who marry outside the Church are so fortunate. One sister recalls the serious problems she encountered with her in-laws, strong in another religion, when they learned she was an active Latter-day Saint. They threatened to end any relationship with her. Her husband took their side, and she did not attend Church meetings for several years. But when this sister and her husband were no longer living with his family, a caring Relief Society president and loving sisters in the ward helped bring her back. Now she serves in a leadership calling, trying to reach out to other sisters.

There are still difficulties in the home, however. Working hard to support the family, her husband feels he is fulfilling all the obligations of a husband and father. But his influence has been absent in some areas where it is badly needed, his wife says. Their son is becoming rebellious, and the father is beginning to see that he needs to change in order to help their son. One particular missionary has touched the man’s life, helping him make progress, and he and his wife are working through issues of religion in the family. This sister expresses gratitude for gospel teachings that help her understand “we can work the problems out.”