"I was just a small and curious little girl of three,
       who lived with my family on the South Sea Isle of Figi.
My father, a doctor, died when I was the age of four,
       and where once we had been rich, we were now poor.
Mother moved us to Tonga and during the nights I’d hear her pine.
       We lived there until Frederick was ten and I was barely nine.
At ten, my brother Fred was the first to leave and go on his way.
       My mother sent him to New Zealand to go to school at Hawkes Bay.
Someone there talked to him about the Church, I really don’t know who.
       But he came back to Tonga, saying he knew this church was true.
Every Sunday, Fred returned from church, filled with the gospel he’d received,
       but mother wouldn’t listen, instead she was angry and refused to believe.

When he tried to tell us about the gospel, mother stuffed cotton in her ear,
       and when he asked if he could be baptized, mother’s answer was clear.
‘No!’ she said. ‘This Church is evil, that’s the end of it, don’t bring it up again.’
       But my brother knew in his heart that it was of God, not of Satan or men.
‘If you’re going to follow the devil,’ she’d say. ‘Then leave me and your sister out.’
       But the seeds of the gospel planted in my heart had already begun to sprout.
The more I listened to my brother’s teachings, the more my heart yearned to hear.
       So one day my brother showed me his Book of Mormon, he’d hidden out of fear.
With every opportunity, I slipped into my brother’s room and read from this book.
       Until one day my mother found me and angrily the Book of Mormon she took.
Now, whatever happened to his Book of Mormon, I’m sure I’ll never know.
       But the truthfulness of what I had read from it, had already begun to grow.

As time passed on, my brother became old enough and got baptized on his own.
       Soon after, he sailed to America and I stayed with mother at home.
For my twenty-fifth birthday, mother told me I could have the gift of my heart.
       I studied her eyes and asked her if she was prepared to fulfill her part.
Realizing that I too wanted to be baptized, she cried with a good deal of might.
       I cried too, as I put my arms around her and kissed my mother goodnight.
In my heart I knew that mother loved me and was only doing what she felt best.
       But I needed to know if this Church was true and to join my brother and the rest.
That night I began praying to the Lord because I so desperately needed to know,
       until finally dawn had broken with the sound of the rooster’s crow.
Still not having my answer, I fell into bed exhausted from the all night ordeal.
       I then fell into a deep sleep and dreamed a dream that was somehow real.

I dreamed I was seeking the truth as I walked alongside a deserted road.
       I came to a large rock, sat and leaned forward with tears that heavily flowed.
As I wept, I felt a hand on my head and a man’s voice calling me by name,
       asking me why I was crying and so I told Him of what was the blame.
He bent over me, took my right hand in His and said, ‘Come follow Me.’
       I looked up and saw it was Jesus, wiping my tears so I could see.
I gazed upon His face as we walked, then by chance I happened to look down.
       It was then I realized we were walking hundreds of feet off the ground.
When I saw I was walking in the air, I became frightened and started to fall.
       He tightened His grip on my hand and walked as if it were nothing at all.
I had the look of fear on my face but as He looked in my eyes I could see
       the tremendous love He had to give. He said, ‘Never take your eyes off Me.’