Mattie W.

My Conversion Story


I always attribute my quest for the truth to the fact that I was raised away from my parents and siblings (for reasons unknown to me to this day), and to the wonderful man my heavenly father gave me for a father.
Growing up, I always felt lonely and unwanted. I was physically and emotionally mistreated, and was frequently told that “I was a worthless creature who was good for nothing just like my parents and my siblings were.” The way that I was raised made me a very quiet and shy child, but in spite of the verbal and physical abuse, I always had an inner feeling that the comments made by my relatives were no more than lies said to me with the intention to make me believe that I deserved what was happening to me; I learned to recognize the quiet whisperings of the Spirit (although I didn’t know it at that time). I learned to follow the promptings I was receiving, and quietly learned that ‘someone’ was watching over me, although I wasn’t completely sure of it. Then, little things started happening in my life that planted the seed of faith in my heart.
You see, I had this little friend when I was six years old who taught me how to pray, and took me to her Sunday school class with her. She and I would have these long conversations about heaven and God; our childish conversations lead me to put my trust on a “higher power.” I saw how every time I prayed (as my friend taught me), all of my fears went away, if I felt sad or had the need to cry, I would immerse myself in long moments of prayer. I noticed that every time I prayed my sadness was taken from me and I was good to go for another day or two.
My aunt’s family moved to another neighborhood and found myself all alone, my little friend was no longer close to talk. The time slowly went by and right around my eighth birthday, I remember this guy coming up to my aunt’s apartment to enquire about me. My aunt wasn’t home, just the housekeeper and I, and we were both puzzled because we didn’t know who this guy was, or why he was so interested on my physical well-being. He said that my dad sent him to find out what time my aunt was out of the house for work, because he wanted to see me, and that he was downstairs waiting for me.
I don’t remember meeting my dad before that day, but when I saw him for the first time it was as if a piece of heaven was given to me. Every once in a while, he would come into the city for business and the first thing he did was come to see me. He would ask me about everything and always finished by telling me how proud he was of me, to keep doing well in school, to always be honest and to hang on, that one day we would be together. His words gave me hope. My dad became my rock, my teacher, and the good balm that alleviated my hurt.
I remember turning twelve and finishing middle school when my aunt said to me that she couldn’t take it anymore, and that she wanted me out of her house. Her words were like music to my ears, and I couldn’t wait for that to happen.
I went to live with my parents until I was fifteen years old. It was a short time, but a very productive one in terms of my emotional and spiritual growth; it was during these three years I spent with my parents that I saw the gospel in action through my dad. We lived in a very small house (more like a shack), and without going into details, I was able to see my dad kneeling down to pray every morning at five; I remember trying to tune in my ears just to be able to hear his pleads to the Lord.
My father’s trust in God, even in the worst circumstances of his life, taught me about how our actions speak louder than our words through the service and love he offered to those around him. Through my father I learned that I was loved, and cared for my God who was always watching over me, he also taught me that I could accomplish anything that I set my mind to because I had “very special qualities” in me. He taught me to always be quick to forgive, and to love God in every situation of my life, and that I should be grateful for the little things I had in my life.
When my dad passed away I became an angry, bitter, and rebellious teenager; this it was a dark time for me. I didn’t want to accept the fact that he was gone, I didn’t understand why he had to die, nor did I have the desire to understand it. As I look back now, I can see that this was a crucial preparation process in for me. My father’s death brought the opportunity for us to move into a new place in the city; this resulted in our family being introduced to the gospel through our new neighbors.
I remember when the missionaries started teaching our family. I didn’t want to let go of the anger I felt over my dad’s death (still after two years). One particular night, the missionaries talked about a new concept for me. They said that those who died without the gospel were recipients of the same opportunities and blessings as those who were alive, and that families could be together for eternity through the ordinances of the temple.
From that moment on, everything started to make sense for me. I thought about my dad, and have the distinct impression that he was learning the same truths on the other side of the veil. A renewed sense of hope came over me as I learned about the plan of salvation and the role of my Savior as the center of that plan, and I wanted to know more. I was baptized into the church two weeks after my prayers about the gospel were answered.
I obtained a testimony of the divinity of my Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. I felt the Spirit testify of these truths so many times that I didn’t want the discussions, or the three hours of Sunday meetings to end. The eternal principles of the gospel given to me through the missionaries brought the memories of my upbringing. I learned that my struggles have had a purpose, and that the time I spent with my father was a plan carefully organized by a Father in Heaven to prepare me for the precious truths of the gospel.
I knew that Heavenly Father had always been aware of my existence, that He knew who I was all along, and that even when I felt lonely He was there with me. I had no doubts that the comforting feelings I had when I was little, in the darkest hours of my life, came from the Holy Ghost. I knew now that there is no coincidence when it comes to God and his children. He made it possible for me to be taught the gospel in a way that I would recognize it once I received it from the appropriate authority. My father was a man chosen (as matter of fact, his name, Eligio, means chosen) to teach me the gospel in a way that I would always remember for the rest of my life, and the way I was supposed to live when the time was right.

Mattie.