As the years went by I felt that there was a right church somewhere, and in my mind I could even see its position on the Main Road. Once the children had gone to bed at night I would sit in their swing, looking at the stars, and think of the Creator of all of these worlds. Then I would pray that I would find the right church and be His disciple. I remembered the promise that I had made as a child, that no matter what happened, I would always come back to Him. I used to read the Bible, trying to find passages that would lead me somewhere. I was led by the Spirit and placed the photographs of my ancestors on the mantelpiece. I knew in my heart that those photographs would soon achieve significance.
I saw them one morning, through the front window, coming slowly across the road, looking rather uncertain. I knew they were coming to my house. The Mormon missionaries introduced themselves and I invited them in. They brought with them a beautiful spirit which I recognised as being of God. That morning they taught me the first lesson and came back the next week. When I accepted the gospel and decided to be baptised, my husband thought he would like to hear the lessons too, but halfway through he decided to discontinue.
I felt disappointed and was in a quandary as to whether I should join the church without him or not. When the Elders called again, I felt too ashamed of my dilemma to let them in. They pleaded with me on the doorstep for an hour or more. That night I woke up and heard a voice, quiet but penetrating, saying, ”Ye cannot serve God and mammon.” It was the voice of the Lord. I knew what I had to do: I would serve Him no matter what. A few days later I was baptised into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I have remained faithful to the Lord since that day, and have had the work for my ancestors, whose photos stood on my mantelpiece, done in the temple.