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stories

Margaret Blair Young and the Power of Stories that Matter

March 31, 2026 By LDSPMA Leave a Comment

In a small town in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, a man stares at a hand-bound book in disbelief. Inside are the pages of his own story.

“I’ve been poor my whole life,” he says. “I’ve been cheated out of a lot of things. But look, there’s a book about me.”

For filmmaker and former Brigham Young University creative writing professor Margaret Blair Young, moments like this emphasize the power of storytelling. Throughout her career, Young has used stories to restore voices that history has overlooked—stories that heal, foster understanding, and illuminate faith.

Young’s work documenting the history of Black members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints began in 1998. “I had written quite a few books,” she recalls, “but I wanted to do something that really mattered.”

After praying for guidance and receiving a blessing from her husband that confirmed her spiritual promptings, she latched onto this idea: “Why don’t I write stories of Black Mormon pioneers?”

Soon afterward, she met Darius Gray under what she calls “pretty miraculous circumstances.” Gray is a journalist, businessman, and expert in Black Latter-day Saint history. He’s been actively engaged in human rights and civil rights causes for decades.

“I actually had a cassette tape recording of him in my purse because I had ordered it while doing research,” Young recalls.

When the two connected, Young had already written about one hundred pages. After reading the manuscript, Gray recognized the importance of the work. He looked over it and said, “Let’s do this together.”

Young and Gray delved into history and wrote a trilogy of novels, Standing on the Promises, about the lives of early Black Latter-day Saints. When the pair began, these stories were largely undocumented. Even after publication, they continued to uncover new information that corrected earlier assumptions.

“It’s a history that wasn’t terribly well known,” Young explains, likening the research required to that of three PhD dissertations.

Confronting Racism in Church History

Young’s work led to the documentary Nobody Knows: The Untold Story of Black Mormons, which explores the experiences of Black Church members before and after the 1978 revelation extending priesthood and temple blessings to all worthy male members.

“We could say things that Church leaders couldn’t necessarily say and really hit the complexities and the depths of the issues head on.”

Before the documentary’s release, Young and her collaborators showed it to the Church History Department and several General Authorities. The project was well received.

Young’s determination to address such complexities stems from personal experience. She first confronted racism directly at fourteen when her seminary teacher used a racial slur in class.

“I had a really visceral reaction to it.” She dropped out of seminary because of the incident. “That kind of [intensified] my own realization that we had a problem we needed to deal with.”

Sharing Jane Manning James’s Story

Young turned to creative work to confront the problem. She wrote the play I Am Jane about early pioneer Jane Manning James. When it was performed in Springville, Utah, around 2001, the production sold out and drew audiences from across the state. Many said they’d needed to hear Jane’s story, especially her petitions to President John Taylor asking about temple blessings. Young’s play captures the spirit of Jane’s appeal: If this was truly the “fullness of times,” and the promises to Abraham meant all people could be blessed, where was her blessing?

Jane’s faith and courage invited audiences to open their hearts and recognize Christ in every person they encounter.

In October 2020, President Russell M. Nelson called on members to “lead out in abandoning attitudes and actions of prejudice.” For Young, that work begins with recognizing when conversations are built on racist assumptions or when history is minimized or ignored.

Meaningful change, she believes, begins within individuals. Too often, conversations about racism end quickly, dismissed with a clever comment or meme. Real growth begins with humility and willingness to examine one’s own heart. The point is not condemnation but to allow God to reveal attitudes that might otherwise remain invisible.

“Ask the Lord to help you discern where [racist views] are and how you can clear them out.”

For Young, confronting prejudice is not separate from faith. It’s a central part of it. Latter-day Saints have a unique foundation for combating racism in the Book of Mormon, which repeatedly emphasizes unity and equality.

“There were no ‘ites’ among them. That should be the foundation for everything we do.”

A New Calling In the Congo

Young’s work eventually expanded beyond American history. “Darius was… the one who told me a whole lot about Africa.”

At the time, she and her husband were serving in an MTC branch where missionaries were learning to speak French. Through those missionaries—many of whom were preparing to serve in Africa—she began corresponding with individuals in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

“Cinema had died about forty years ago in the Congo,” she explains. Government corruption and economic collapse left once-beautiful areas abandoned and in ruins. Yet she believes film offers a path toward renewal. “Cinema allows us to present new narratives.”

At first, Young thought they would be “making a movie that happened to be set in the Congo, but was maybe filmed somewhere else.” Instead, they discovered they were meant to support a Congolese team in reviving the country’s cinema industry.

Following the Work

Young realized that individualized storytelling could bring even more meaning to the community. When the team traveled to a remote town, the Congolese film director discovered his great-aunt living there. His mother had lost her own mother in childbirth, and this aunt had cared for her.

His great-aunt wept throughout their meeting. Because they spoke different languages, a translator helped them communicate. The following year, the team returned with his mother so the two could reunite.

Experiences like these confirm the stories of the Congolese people are waiting to be told. Young believes these stories carry a sacred weight, revealing the true character of a nation often portrayed only as a tragedy. She feels called to help share a broader vision of the Congo—one that reveals its beauty and reminds people that its citizens are “our brothers and sisters,” and that “we should strive to have ‘no ‘ites’ among us in our hearts.”

Young’s team collected oral histories from residents eager to share their experiences.

“We would bind the books using whatever materials they could find—cardboard, fabric…” With a generator powering the printer, Young helped students produce books featuring their own photographs.

The long-term vision was to create a library made up entirely of local stories. Many had lived through the devastating war that ended in 2003. “Some of the stories are horrifying, but they matter.”

Finding Her Path

Looking back, Young does not describe her path as carefully planned. She says it unfolded simply by being willing to begin.

“I don’t know that you’d want to follow the way I do things because I’m a little bit crazy,” she laughs. But her approach has always been rooted in openness, paying attention to ideas that feel meaningful, and acting on them before the full path is visible.

“If you’re not moving, not much will happen.” Her advice is to pray about what kind of work might bring good into the world, then begin. “Be open to anything. Trust that when you start doing something that is truly meant to edify and bring greater light into the world, it will be sustained.”

For Young, the work has always been about helping people see one another more clearly and remembering that every life holds a story worth telling.

This article is based on a Called to Create podcast aired season 1, episode 11. To hear the full podcast, click here.

Filed Under: Articles, Called to Create Conversations, Creativity, Cultural Diversity, Faith & Mindset, Gospel Principles, Professional Skills, Uncategorized Tagged With: Black Latter-day Saints, Called to Create Conversations, church history, diversity, faith and creativity, film, inclusion, inspriation in creativity, stories, Writing

The Lady and the Map of Sorrow: How Stories can Offer Direction in Dark Times

September 23, 2021 By Bridgette Tuckfield 5 Comments

By Bridgette Tuckfield   

How Do You Know It Is Going to Be All Right?

There are a few neurological explanations for why time moves much slower when you’re younger, which I reflected on recently when showing the film Howl’s Moving Castle to my niece Sadie, who is four.

Sadie (aka the Lady) is a beautiful and sweet little girl with chubby cheeks, dimples, and the precise and uncanny ability to immediately and perfectly size up your insecurities and then unerringly cut you down to your core with a single sentence (a trait which I both marvel at and fear). She enjoys magic and peril and romance, and I thought Howl might appeal to her.

There is a scene near the beginning of the film when the wizard Howl saves the young protagonist Sophie from some soldiers in an alley. He walks her away, when they begin to be pursued by Howl’s enemies—amorphous undulating black humanoid blobs, sporting dapper hats.

It’s right before the first magical moment of the film—when Howl and Sophie take off flying, literally walking through the air to safety.

When this happened, Sadie crawled into the crevice of the couch, terrified. “FAST FORWARD,” she yelled, and I paused it.

“Sadie,” I said. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be fine. I promise Sophie is going to be fine. Just wait a minute.”

She was incredibly dubious. “How do you know?” she asked.

“I’ve seen the movie before,” I said, which left her unimpressed. I tried a few other tactics, to no avail: I promise you. I wouldn’t show you something terrible. I know it’s scary, but it’s only a few seconds, and then it will be magical (perhaps all the more so, given the peril). Actual time before the magic rescue? About fifteen seconds. I fast-forwarded it that time around; I’m not a monster. After we finished the film, it became Sadie’s favorite movie for a few months, which she could happily watch over and over with no fast-forwarding, but at the time, absolutely nothing worked to console her.

My mother always told Sadie and her sister something when they were afraid during a kid’s movie—something like, “Nothing bad ever happens in a kid’s movie.” Whatever it was, it always seemed to work.

Which was too bad, as I couldn’t ask her.

Mom had died a few months earlier, at age 55.

Grief: Both Universal and Isolating

Grief is, I believe, maybe mostly beyond words. As Daniel Handler put it in his children’s series: “If you have ever lost someone very important to you, then you already know how it feels; and if you haven’t, you cannot possibly imagine it.”

I will say that nowhere and with nothing else have I felt as keenly the conflation of time and space.

What grief can feel like, sometimes, is a wound that will not stop bleeding—and bleeding and bleeding. When you look back it seems you have left a blood trail back to the time and place you cannot get to—the last place in the past where your loved one once lived, and where it seems they still wait as you move further and further away in time, leaving them behind.

What it can do, sometimes, is shrink your entire world to only your loss and pain. Only your lack. With no hope of joy or meaning on the horizon—all that lies in the past, the only land you can never reach again.

It is then, of course, that you are most vulnerable to despair. And once despair sets in around you, it seems like you will never live anywhere else again.

I believe too that it can feel like this for everyone.

Our Sorrow Shall Be Turned Into Joy

Elder S. Mark Palmer addressed those feelings and fears for those of us mired in grief in his recent talk, “Our Sorrow Shall Be Turned Into Joy.” He centers his talk around what are the fundamental principles of our religion: that Jesus Christ died, was buried and rose again on the third day—that Jesus Christ lives and what that means for us:

  1. We will live again after we die. 
  2. This is possible through Christ. 
  3. We will see our loved ones again.

As he puts it:

This knowledge [of Christ’s resurrection] gives meaning and purpose to our lives. If we go forward in faith, we will be forever changed, as were the Apostles of old. We, like them, will be able to endure any hardship with faith in Jesus Christ. This faith also gives us hope for a time when our “sorrow shall be turned into joy.”

Palmer also supports his message with the story of his parents, and how they navigated the loss of his sister Ann.

By illustrating and testifying of these gospel principles, Palmer does a few things:

He gives us an endpoint: the point at which our sorrow will be turned to joy.

He gives us a way to get there: having faith, and following Christ:

He gives us the truth. A way of understanding the world, as it is.

And, in this case, a way out of despair and grief and sorrow.

And what that truth is—what maybe all truths are—

Is a map.

A map to help us find the way through the dark.

Stories Are Maps

What I speak of here—the interrelatedness and importance of maps and narratives (and respectively, space and time)—is not a new concept.

“To ask for a map,” writer Peter Turchi says, “is to say: tell me a story.”

He goes on to say about the similarity: “Maps themselves are stories. They’re simplifications, distillations, and interpretations of a hugely complex world.  Maps provide meaning and context; they reveal patterns and relationships…sometimes maps can reveal hidden stories.”

If a lifetime is a space, then times of grief and loss are a wasteland.

This is perhaps why Elder Palmer ends his talk by stressing the steps you can take through sorrow (although perhaps never out of it), and the place you will find yourself if you do:

I invite all who feel sorrow, all who wrestle with doubt, all who wonder what happens after we die, to place your faith in Christ. I promise that if you desire to believe, then act in faith and follow the whisperings of the Spirit, you will find joy in this life and in the world to come.

As someone amid despair myself, this map spoke to my heart.

Wrestling With Despair as a Saint

All that said, it is not always easy to see the whole picture or the way forward.

Sometimes—perhaps most times—we can only take it on faith.

After all, some things can seem too good to be true, and thus to be regarded with suspicion.

Stories tell us all this, too (Sadie knows this, even at four years old).

Elder Palmer illustrates these difficulties with the story of the apostle Thomas. When Thomas is told of Christ’s resurrection, he doesn’t believe it:

Later Jesus admonished Thomas, “Be not faithless, but believing.” Then the Lord taught the vital role of faith: “Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.”

I have always felt for Thomas—it’s very human, to not want to believe something so longed for. It’s also human, with our limited perspective, to fail to see the whole picture because we only perceive the bad.

Often in scripture, Christ encourages taking a broader perspective. Peter in particular seems to struggle with this (which I love him for).

In Matthew 16:21-25, Christ is walking with and teaching his disciples. He tells them he needs to go to Jerusalem and says he will suffer and die there, to rise again.

Peter objects; he says surely this doesn’t need to happen.

Christ admonishes him and says, functionally, you’re looking at this from a narrow framework.

You’re not looking at this from the view of God and seeing my true mission: the redemption of mankind, and that my death will not separate us for eternity but only for a brief moment. You’re looking at this from your limited mortal eyes, where my death would be just a catastrophe and separate us forever.

In short:

You lack perspective.

You are not seeing the end.

The whole picture.

Darkness Can Delineate Light

Elder Palmer also speaks of the wrenching ways this perspective can be gained and what else can come of it.

He tells the story of the tragic loss of his sister Ann when she was only a toddler, and how it affected his parents:

“Many years later Dad told me that if not for Ann’s tragic death, he would never have been humble enough to accept the restored gospel. Yet the Spirit of the Lord instilled hope that what the missionaries taught was true. My parents’ faith continued to grow until they each burned with the fire of testimony that quietly and humbly guided their every decision in life.”

This illustrates how important contrast can be: dark and light, sorrow and joy.

I know that I have fundamentally changed for the better as a person after the loss of my mother. My faith and connection to Heavenly Parents and Christ have improved.

This does not mean, I must stress, that a specific loss or pain is good or warranted or just or necessary, but rather that it can point us in the right direction.

It can make truths resonate with us more, just as the black ink of a map delineates meaning and space. Just as you can’t know light without dark.

Small Truths

Howl’s Moving Castle is not gospel, of course; it’s just a little gem of a film. And although I didn’t have my mother’s words or presence anymore in this time and place, I could at least comfort Sadie by sitting with her and promising her it would end well.

When it came to Howl at least, I had the whole picture. I knew what was going to happen, and how, and why.

Sadie had to find out for herself. She (like the protagonist Sophie) had to take the next steps, go through the (literally) fifteen seconds of dark (or in this case, again, very mild animated peril), to get to the magic part.

But in that moment, and in that film, are small truths. Facts that resonate, and that you can hold on to in times of fog and despair.

That you can never be certain of exactly how the end will look until you get there.

That you have reserves of strength and power and beings who care for you, that you aren’t even aware of right now.

And that ultimately, everything is going to be all right.

Maybe—almost certainly—it will be better than anything you can imagine right now.

Our Role: To Show a Way Through the Dark, as Best We Can, With the Truths We Know

Truths (and the stories they’re embedded in) can be maps through darkness and despair. This is the case whether they are an ultimate truth such as Elder Palmer spoke of, or a small one like in Howl’s Moving Castle.

I appreciate talks like Elder Palmer’s because his message was the promise of the purpose and the ending, given to us.

He gave us a map to follow. Like all narratives do.

For me, taking this message to heart meant flipping around the proverbial map of sorrow I was working with.

I was not moving away from my mother, as I once believed — I am moving towards her. The lines between myself and her in the time and space that separates us are not trails of blood and tears as they felt and sometimes still feel, but bonds.

The world around us is getting darker and brighter all the time.

And storytelling is—and has perhaps always been—a “deeply spiritual act,” as the poet Clarissa Pinkola Estés says.

It’s our job to add to the light.

I believe we do this not by shying away from the dark — by timidly skirting a way around it, as we seldom get to do in life.

I believe we do this by, instead, showing a way through it.


Bridgette Tuckfield is a writer and semiotician.

Filed Under: Articles, Craft Skills, Faith & Mindset, Gospel Principles, Writing Tagged With: blog, direction, generalconference, stories, tuckfield

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