Dear Mormons,
If you are a Saint today, you descend from the pioneers, by blood or by the grafting that makes you no less their child, and that means there is iron in your bones whether you have learned to feel it yet or not.
You come from people who buried their children in the snow and kept walking, who were driven from state after state and did not break, who crossed a thousand miles of nothing and built a civilization out of salt and sand on the strength of pure covenant.
That inheritance is not metaphor.
It is in you, the same marrow, the same refusal, the same fire that no mob and no winter and no extermination order could ever put out.
So let the haters on hate, let them sneer from their screens and their safe little distances, because they are screaming at a people who have outlasted far worse than them and forgotten more courage than they will ever own.
You carry the essence of a covenant nation in your chest, and a people who know how to make cities rise out of a wasteland are not a people who bow. Stand up straight under what you were handed, square the shoulders this Church was built on, and remember in your bones that you were forged from the unbreakable.