Painting the Portrait of Ancestors – Bringing a Dull Canvas to Life
For those who feel a quiet prompting to look backward with purpose—to open doors into generations and centuries past or to capture their own personal journey—RootsTech is just around the corner hoping to help. Through generous sharing of knowledge and a spirit of passionate pursuit, we can take what may feel like a blank canvas or a faded portrait and patiently bring it to life with color.
Love for my ancestors did not arrive all at once. It came quietly, over time, as I learned to see them—not as names on a genealogy chart, but as people who lived, hoped, struggled, prayed, failed, endured, and loved. The more clearly I could picture them, the more real they became to me, and the more deeply I felt bound to them.
Records were my first doorway. Census lists, birth and death certificates, land deeds, marriage records—on the surface, they are impersonal documents. But as I lingered with them, they began to speak. A change of address hinted at hardship or opportunity. A missing child between census years whispered of grief. A signature—shaky or bold—carried the unmistakable mark of a human hand. These records became brushstrokes, outlining lives that once unfolded day by day, much like my own.
Study of their time, place, and convictions taught me how to step inside their lives and stand where they once stood.
Through doing research, I discovered loss and grief often appear in records. Such was the case of my 4th great-grandmother, Rachel, who disappeared from view after giving birth to only one child. Continuing to search records, small but telling details emerged: her husband’s subsequent marriage, and her father leaving Rachel’s portion of inheritance to that child alone. Just as the death of this young mother was revealed through a marriage certificate and a will—other records bear quiet witness to wars, epidemics, failed crops, and economic collapse. They also reveal moments of stability and hope: land ownership, skilled trades, migrations undertaken in search of something better. Some ancestors experienced wealth or comfort, others poverty and uncertainty. Many knew both in the course of a lifetime.
As records revealed where my ancestors labored and lived, I began to imagine the texture of their days. For those who came from Scotland or Scandinavia, I picture coastal towns where the smell of salt filled the air and the sea was both livelihood and danger. I imagine stone homes weathered by wind and rain, narrow streets traveled by generations, worn smooth by centuries of footsteps, and long winters that demanded endurance.
Others lived on farmland, their hands sunk into rich soil, attuned to seasons and weather in ways modern life rarely requires. Some ancestors knew the bustle of cities, where docks, markets, and workshops pulsed with noise and promise, and where hardship and opportunity often stood side by side. All of these places painted the outline of a picture.
Stories, Photographs and Journals
Stories added color and movement. Some were passed down deliberately, repeated at family gatherings or preserved in careful notes. Others surfaced unexpectedly, tucked into a letter or recalled half-formed by an aging relative. Stories revealed humor, stubbornness, generosity, courage. They reminded me that my ancestors were not idealized figures, but real people who made real choices. In hearing their stories, I began to recognize echoes of them in myself and in my children.
Photographs brought faces to names. I found myself studying their eyes, their posture, the way they stood beside one another or perhaps an unusual item held in their hand. I wondered what had just happened before the photograph was taken, and what awaited them afterward. A woman’s expression—serious, tender, or quietly resolute—felt strangely familiar. A child’s grin or frown felt like a message carried across time. These images did more than document the past; they invited relationship.
Research into the era fills in what photographs alone cannot. A family photo of my great-great-grandparents, William Harrison Ferguson and Margaret “Maggie” Rachel Owens, spoke volumes even without a date or names written on its surface. Through family lore and carefully researched records, the image began to reveal its story. The presence—and absence—of children established the timeline the photograph was taken, while headstones, written records, and the family Bible supplied the month and year. Nearly hidden from view, the sword Harrison held became a quiet brushstroke hinting at war, hardship, and profound change. Even so, I knew faith and family fortitude formed the deeper hues of the portrait—strengths that would carry them through whatever lay ahead.
If no image survives, context itself becomes the tones. What did their town look like? What foods were common? How did they dress? What labor was expected of men, women, and children? Was this a time marked by political unrest, famine, or religious restriction? Was this a time of peace or strife, abundance or scarcity? These details matter. They illuminate the pressures under which faith was tested and decisions were made. They shaped the choices my ancestors faced and the burdens they carried.
Journals and personal writings, when they exist, feel almost sacred. I recall reading the diary of my sister-in-law’s grandmother, its pages like a canvas slowly revealing a landscape. I already knew the young man she was courting would become her husband, and that together they would have a son. As she wrote, her world filled in around her—neighbors appearing by name, visit after visit, as if sketched into the margins of her life. My curiosity stirred. I began searching for them in census records, adding depth and shading to the outlines she left behind, and soon found myself wanting to know more than the diary alone could tell.
Reading the private words of someone long gone, I feel entrusted with their inner life. Their fears, faith, doubts, and daily concerns collapse the distance between us. I find myself responding to them silently, sometimes aloud, as though they might hear. In these moments, ancestry becomes less about history and more about kinship.
As these fragments—records, stories, photos, journals—come together, an image emerges. It is imperfect and unfinished, but it is alive. And something remarkable happens: connection deepens. Love grows. I begin to feel responsible to them, grateful for them, and aware that I am both their descendant and their steward.
“Let us set aside our fears and live instead with joy, humility, hope, and a bold confidence that the Lord is with us.” ¹
Adventure, too, is written into their lives. For some of my ancestors, the journey did not end in their homeland. Leaving it behind, like a landscape fading at the edge of a canvas, they crossed oceans to come to America. To leave one country for another required courage I can only partially comprehend. To cross oceans without certainty of arrival, to rebuild community in unfamiliar places, to trust that the future could be kinder than the past—these were not small decisions.
Both lines of my Scandinavian ancestors were drawn by the hope of Zion and the promise of gathering with the Saints. I imagine the quiet resolve required to leave behind family, language, and familiarity. Whether their testimonies were fully formed or still growing, something in them responded to truth. Others, though not formally tied to a religious movement, lived by convictions that demanded courage—faith in God, loyalty to family, an unwillingness to abandon conscience hope, or the call to build a better future.
As I study their origins, I feel closer to them. Though I cannot fully grasp how they were raised, the distance between us shortens, as if layers of varnish have been gently removed. Their lives become less abstract and more intimate. I begin to sense their fatigue at the end of long days, their satisfaction in honest labor, their anxiety during lean years, their joy in births and marriages, their sorrow in farewells.
This deepened understanding strengthens kinship. I no longer see myself as merely researching ancestors; I am remembering family. Their lives inform my own, and my gratitude deepens as I recognize what was required for me to be here at all.
“Hope in Christ brings healing, peace, and joy.”² – Matthew Collins
Loss and grief are the woven hues of grey throughout their stories. Children buried young, spouses lost too soon, communities fractured by poverty, illness or conflict. And yet there is also evidence of resilience and hope—land acquired, skills passed down, families rebuilt.
That hope brings gratitude which illuminates my covenant relationship. Knowing my ancestors’ stories—set within their time, place, and circumstances—reminds me that God’s hand has moved patiently across generations. I see that faith was not abstract for them. Faith was lived in kitchens and fields, on ships and city streets, in seasons of loss and hope. The Lord’s spirit moved quietly through their lives, just as it moves through mine. This reminds me that I stand in a long line of seekers and believers.
This connection does more than enrich my understanding of the past. It brings a better understanding of the continuity of faith, sacrifice, and divine patience across generations. Their lives testify that God has been at work long before me and will continue long after.
Remembering them anchors me in that truth.
Conclusion
These connections and understanding come from a kind of work which unfolds gradually. It asks for attention, curiosity, and patience, but not perfection. Small, faithful steps matter. The Lord loves effort, and He honors the desire to remember and reconnect. Each record read, each story uncovered, each question asked adds depth and warmth to the portrait.
As I place ancestors within their historical world and spiritual landscape, kinship deepens. Their lives no longer feel distant or theoretical. I sense their fear as they boarded ships, their determination as they traveled inland, their hope as they gathered with others who believed as they did. Their sacrifices echo forward into my life.
As I honor those who came before, I am not turning backward—I am standing more firmly where I am. Their stories remind me who I am, and how my own choices will someday be woven into the generations to come. I am reminded that my own life is now part of the record, a living brushstroke in a portrait my posterity will seek to paint.
RootsTech can help us learn the brushstrokes of family history by joining in a shared journey of discovery. This free, online space to listen, to learn, and to explore offers hope. With a measure of thoughtful effort, trusting that the Lord honors sincere seeking and blesses even small, faithful steps taken in humility, let us step into this opportunity together.
Notes and Quotes; RootsTech & A Few Suggested Sessions:
- Elder Dieter Uchtdorf, “Perfect Love Casteth Out Fear”, Churchofjesuschrist.org, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, April 2017 General Conference, Accessed Feb 2026.
- Watson, Mandy. “151 Best LDS Quotes on Hope (with Commentary) – Burning for Success.” Burning for Success, 4 Mar. 2025, burningforsuccess.com/lds-quotes-on-hope/. Accessed 8 Feb. 2026.
- RootsTech 2026 March 4-8th, 2026
- Capture The Important Moments: Turning Your Daily Life Into A Living Family Story Mar 4, 9:30 PM EST – Benjamin M. De Hoyos will guide you to immortalize and preserve the moments that build your legacy. You will learn to use digital tools like FamilySearch Memories to safely store photos, audios, and stories. Discover how family history strengthens your identity, connects generations, and helps overcome comparison on social media. This session will inspire you to transform your daily life into a living story that endures for your posterity. Start capturing your story today!
- How to Use the FamilySearch Research Wiki Mar 4, 11:00 PM EST Danielle Batson – This beginner class will teach you the necessary skills needed to effectively utilize the Research Wiki. You will learn how to navigate, search, and understand the Wiki’s basic functions to quickly locate online resources and essential genealogical help for tracing your ancestors.
- Musical Memories | Transforming Family History into Song with AI Mar 5, 3:30 PM EST – Brandon Camp – What if the stories in your family tree could become music? In this session, you’ll learn how today’s AI tools can turn treasured memories, ancestor details, and personal histories into heartfelt original songs. We’ll walk through how to shape real family experiences into lyrics, choose the right tone and emotion, and let AI help bring the melody to life. You’ll see practical examples, get simple frameworks to follow, and discover just how easy—and meaningful—it can be to create musical tributes that honor the people who shaped your story.
- FamilySearch Full-Text Search – Your Golden Path to Ancestral Discovery Mar 6, 10:00 AM EST – David Ouimette – In this session, we show how FamilySearch applies generative AI to read historical handwriting and produce complete transcripts of billions of pages of historical manuscripts in a variety languages and scripts. We describe how FamilySearch identifies names, dates, and places in the text distilled from these documents. We then demonstrate techniques for searching the resulting full text by keyword, name, date, and place. We show how to leverage filter and search features in tandem so that you can readily find the records that reveal your ancestors and tell their stories.
- Genealogy for your Descendants Mar 6, 5:00 PM EST – Janna Helshtein – What will your descendants truly know about you? Not the dates, not the records, but the person behind them. In this moving and eye-opening lecture, we explore the stories, memories, and small everyday moments that shape the legacy we leave behind. From ancient cave walls to today’s digital clouds, we trace humanity’s need to say we were here. You’ll discover how to document your life with intention, preserve your voice for future generations, and create a legacy of the heart that will outlast time. Come hear why every unrecorded day is a piece of history lost forever.
- Rooted in Resilience: Strength Through Family Stories and Divine Heritage Mar 7, 10:00 AM EST – Jennifer K. Davis & Emily Oldroyd – In a world marked by uncertainty and rapid change, resilience isn’t just a skill—it’s a lifeline. This inspiring session explores how a sense of belonging and the development of healthy grit can transform the way we face life’s challenges. Discover insights from a compelling university study that reveals how family stories and shared experiences foster resilience. Engage with thought-provoking practices designed to spark inner strength and clarity. You’ll leave not only with practical tools to build perseverance in yourself and others, but also with a desire to explore and share your family’s history through a fresh, perhaps previously-overlooked lens.