As I put in words my thoughts about being a 'believer', I am aware that my spiritual journey, pursuit of truth, and perception of events in my life change in color and timbre over time. What I feel personally at this point has changed from how I felt a few years ago and no doubt will change again over time. I am fine with that. In fact, it pleases me to know that I continue to evolve and re-evaluate my thinking. If there is something I do know for sure it is that I don't know nearly as much as I'd like to. Or perhaps, I know exactly what I should at this point in time. I'm grateful for the truths that I have been given thus far and excited for those which will someday reveal themselves to me in all their rich texture and color.
Over the course of my life, I have experienced doubt in various shapes and sizes. It has been good for me. Frankly, it is healthy for everyone to wonder about all things from time to time. Searching and wondering has helped me to grow. As I am in the midst of raising teenagers, I often try to put myself in their shoes and wonder if they feel like all the adults, involved in spiritual pursuits, have everything figured out. As an adult in the fray, it is clear that I do not and I am always wary of people who say they do. I think it is important to reveal that up front. Normally, it would seem as important to reveal all the things we don't know along with all the things we do. However, the list of things I don't know is long. The things I do believe to be true are fairly concise and I will express them here.
I have a firm testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ as restored by the prophet Joseph Smith. I was born and raised in the Mormon church by a faithful, pioneer-descending mother and a Portuguese non-member father. By the time I was 7, my father was a devout member of the faith. I am the only one of his offspring that was baptized by him and I feel it a great privilege.
My first feelings about the Savior came when I was about 10 or 11 years old. I remember listening to a moving talk on Easter Sunday about the Savior's atonement and, for some reason, it had so profound an effect upon me that I needed to excuse myself from Sunday School and went into the bathroom to weep privately. It was powerful for a little kid. I hear many folks who say they find 'God' in nature, the mountains, etc. I have always found Him in the midst of a loving congregation of gathered saints. I never doubted the Savior's reality after that and it has been confirmed through many experiences since then...usually in the company of saints and many times involving music.
I have also had profound experiences throughout my life where I have experienced great despair. In those instances, I have no doubt that I was being cared for and profoundly comforted by the divine. In a world where we are constantly battling our worst fears, I have come to know that for the most part, we really have nothing to fear...not even death. Such experiences have taught me much about a loving God who understands and wants to simply calm and comfort at every turn.
My feelings about Joseph Smith came to me solely on my rational study as a teenager of his life and testimony. In middle school, I reasoned that if I was going to be committed to Mormonism throughout my life, I would need to understand Joseph Smith's life in detail. I saw Fawn Brodie's book 'No Man Knows My History' (not knowing what I was in for) in my school library, checked it out, and began to read. I wanted to know everything about the prophet of the Restoration....warts and all. I often wonder what my mother thought as she obviously saw this book on my bedroom dresser at some point. She said nothing as she was always one to encourage us in our search for truth. I read in depth an obviously biased account of Joseph's activities during his youth and young adult years along with other literature about his life. With all my reading, I couldn't help but think that at any time in Joseph's life, during his obvious trials and challenges with unbelievers, certainly if what he said he had witnessed in the sacred grove was not true, he could have and would have denied it when things got ugly. If it had been me, I certainly would have done it Liberty Jail (Joseph's 'Gethsemane'), unless I felt I indeed had a divine commission. Since Joseph, and others (some of whom eventually fell away from the faith) never denied their testimonies, it seemed only rational to me that the story was true. It always astounds me that other Christians, who obviously believe in the validity of heavenly messengers, since such accounts abound in Christian scripture, are not willing to make an allowance for something like this continuing into the modern day.
Joseph's experiences, his life, teachings, and the experiences of those who assisted him in bringing forth the Restoration is so remarkable to me. It is difficult for anyone who knows much of Joseph Smith's bold declaration to understand the impact of such an thing. I am always tickled by the events of his contemporaries and how each man or women crossed Joseph's path at important moments, with important resources to further the work......AND just how young most of them were. For me, Joseph Smith’s restoration of the gospel is a rational, reasonable thing simply because God seems really good at giving divine guidance and assignments to the least likely individuals throughout history. He usually picks someone imperfect, obscure, humble and unsuspecting to nurture to accomplish great things. He does it this way all the time. He does it with us and He is very, very good at it. Frankly, that is how I would do it too.
For me, it stands to reason that the Creator would have dealings with everyone on the earth...not just those in primitive times. It stands to reason that people would record those dealings and pass on those traditions. It stands to reason that living a life of goodness, caring for others and ourselves, would be the best way to not only show the creator we are grateful to Him, but also to make an attempt to become holy ourselves. It stands to reason that a loving God would provide an organized conduit, through commandment, worship and ordinance, to help prepare men and women to become more heavenly. It is a perfect parenting model. And it stands to reason that He is available when our pathetic attempts to keep the commandments fully will never be adequate. We will never do it all or do it well. We will always fall short, and that is expected. It stands to reason that He is here to cheer us on to be courageous in our attempts to do good and offer comfort in our all our challenges and weaknesses, and that such challenges are designed to help us to turn to him for divine rescue. He is the only one who can provide this.
Although the gospel of Christ is an organized entity/religion, there is nothing 'organized' or orderly about spirituality. It is a cosmic, haphazard, messy, surprising, wondrous, and often challenging endeavor. And although life can be messy, it stands to reason that it is not a biological coincidence, but rather a great adventure and journey for gaining a physical body and experiencing good and bad things This IS just the training we need for our grand attempt to 'become' something divine.
These are things I believe to be true. I am grateful that these things have added great depth and richness to my life and hopefully, they will add the same depth to the lives of my friends and family. I am hopeful that someday I will be able to withstand the presence of my divine parents and come to know and understand all that they have in store for me. I am also grateful for wonderful earthly parents who could not have been better stewards for my development. I have been both blessed and lucky. And as I move forward in life, my most fervent hope is that those who diligently search for truth will find it.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Carolyn T.
My story starts with my family. I was the most religiously inclined in my family. My mother took us to church, but I don’t remember her doing other religious things, such as pray or read the scriptures. I loved to sing in the choir as I grew older, but I do not remember anything outstanding about the Presbyterian faith. In high school I started attending Bible study classes with a more religiously exciting and evangelical group called Campus Crusade for Christ. But at Christmas break my senior year my daily scripture reading and prayer routine got interrupted, and when I tried to restart it, I found that I had no desire to do so. It seemed empty.
That was the beginning of six religion-less years during which I went to college and started medical school and participated in all the usual activities characterizing the late 60’s and early 70’s. It was a sometimes lonely period. I remember one well-meaning Christian classmate trying to share religion with me near the end of this time. I told her I appreciated her sincerity, but I was not interested in religion. The fact that I remember that incident so well speaks volumes about how, inside, I really did feel like that was missing in my life. I think down deep I knew I was ignoring God.
Then I started dating a guy in my medical school class whom I had known in high school, barely, but only as the guy in the back of the German class who threw spitwads. He was still a somewhat eccentric, not-so-serious guy, but he was funny and I enjoyed his company. More importantly, he did not do many of the usual things guys often did in our culture, and I was very curious why. So I asked him and found out it was his religion. He answered my multitude of questions, but he never tried to convert me, and ultimately, I ended up calling the missionaries myself to try to find out more. Imagine their surprise at such a call—and disappointment when they discovered I was not in their area.
They referred me to a set of sister missionaries who taught me the gospel. I read small parts of the Book of Mormon which they assigned and tried to begin to pray again. It had been a long time, and I was not even sure there was a God listening to me. I remember my first private prayer started, “Dear God, if you exist…” After several lessons I remember they shared with me some scriptures from the Old Testament, especially Ezekial 37 about the stick of Judah being joined to the stick of Joseph so that the two would be used as one. They said these two sticks referred to the Bible and the Book of Mormon. I suppose there was nothing remarkable about what they said, but the Spirit of the Lord took that opportunity to bear witness to me that this was true!! I felt this overwhelming knowledge, this very strong impression which enlightened me in such a unique way that I was totally unprepared for. I had never had such an experience. I sat reveling in this amazing knowledge, but curiously, I did not tell these two sweet sister missionaries about this till their next visit. Of course, then I was ready to accept their invitation to be baptized into this religion.
That was over 30 years ago. It was the single most important decision I have ever made and started me on a path that I have never left. The gospel has brought me such joy that I cannot express it. Having the Spirit to guide and comfort me is something I would not trade. And my fervent hope is that I will never get off this path.
Carolyn T.
That was the beginning of six religion-less years during which I went to college and started medical school and participated in all the usual activities characterizing the late 60’s and early 70’s. It was a sometimes lonely period. I remember one well-meaning Christian classmate trying to share religion with me near the end of this time. I told her I appreciated her sincerity, but I was not interested in religion. The fact that I remember that incident so well speaks volumes about how, inside, I really did feel like that was missing in my life. I think down deep I knew I was ignoring God.
Then I started dating a guy in my medical school class whom I had known in high school, barely, but only as the guy in the back of the German class who threw spitwads. He was still a somewhat eccentric, not-so-serious guy, but he was funny and I enjoyed his company. More importantly, he did not do many of the usual things guys often did in our culture, and I was very curious why. So I asked him and found out it was his religion. He answered my multitude of questions, but he never tried to convert me, and ultimately, I ended up calling the missionaries myself to try to find out more. Imagine their surprise at such a call—and disappointment when they discovered I was not in their area.
They referred me to a set of sister missionaries who taught me the gospel. I read small parts of the Book of Mormon which they assigned and tried to begin to pray again. It had been a long time, and I was not even sure there was a God listening to me. I remember my first private prayer started, “Dear God, if you exist…” After several lessons I remember they shared with me some scriptures from the Old Testament, especially Ezekial 37 about the stick of Judah being joined to the stick of Joseph so that the two would be used as one. They said these two sticks referred to the Bible and the Book of Mormon. I suppose there was nothing remarkable about what they said, but the Spirit of the Lord took that opportunity to bear witness to me that this was true!! I felt this overwhelming knowledge, this very strong impression which enlightened me in such a unique way that I was totally unprepared for. I had never had such an experience. I sat reveling in this amazing knowledge, but curiously, I did not tell these two sweet sister missionaries about this till their next visit. Of course, then I was ready to accept their invitation to be baptized into this religion.
That was over 30 years ago. It was the single most important decision I have ever made and started me on a path that I have never left. The gospel has brought me such joy that I cannot express it. Having the Spirit to guide and comfort me is something I would not trade. And my fervent hope is that I will never get off this path.
Carolyn T.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Margie K.
My Journey to Christ
Margie Bruster Kersey
I was not really raised in a home. It was more like people living in the same house and bumping into each other. My mother was married 3 times and there were many men in and out of our lives. My father left when I was 3 years old – not because he wanted to but because she no longer loved him. I spent most of my childhood crying at night for a father who would want me and love me. The men who floated in and out of our house could not be trusted and took advantage of me as a young child. I tell you this because it is crucial to my conversion. My mother was studying Christian Science during my early years and I was taken to church several times. Even as a young child I didn’t believe the things I was being taught. Nothing seemed to make sense to me except that life was not a happy place to be. Then, one day, I was given a small gift – one that I was not ready for but would be a forerunner to what my life would become. There was a girl in my 3rd or 4th grade school class who invited me to her home for dinner on a Monday evening. I liked the warm feeling in her home and we had some kind of family lesson and activity after dinner. It was about 20 years later when, out of the blue, I thought of that girl and realized I had participated in my first Family Home Evening. There was no follow up to that dinner and I was not invited back to her home. But I remembered the feeling.
During my junior high and senior school years, I was a very lost girl with no parental guidance and no faith. I found no satisfaction in life and did many things that were wrong. Then something happened that changed my life. When I was a junior in high school our family moved from LA to northern California where I met a young man in one of my classes. He was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and his father was a Bishop. I was invited to their home often during a time when my family life was most miserable. This young man’s family taught me the gospel. I was quite stubborn about admitting that what I was being taught was right. I went through 3 sets of missionaries before I was baptized. But I kept coming back because the one thing that I heard in the very beginning that I hung onto until my faith was strong enough to accept other concepts, was the idea that I had a Heavenly Father who loved me. I wanted that to be true so very much. The idea that I could have a loving Father in Heaven who was always there for me and who loved me so much that he would give up his own Son in sacrifice for me was an amazing idea. I wanted to believe it so much that I joined the church just before I turned 18yrs. Looking back I can see that I joined the church for reasons of security more than having a burning testimony of the truth of it. I was too emotionally unstable and self-centered to fully understand the implications of it being true. But, as I lived it day by day, I gained – little by little – a deep and abiding understanding of the truth. I have been blessed with many wonderful spiritual experiences that have come at crucial times in my life but the real glue that holds my testimony together are thousands of small peaceful feelings, acts of service, thousands of hours of prayer and scripture study. Line upon line, precept upon precept. I am so grateful that I have been allowed to live long enough on this earth to come to this understanding in preparation for returning to that loving Heavenly Father who is waiting for me. It is part of me now and forever.
Margie Kersey
Margie Bruster Kersey
I was not really raised in a home. It was more like people living in the same house and bumping into each other. My mother was married 3 times and there were many men in and out of our lives. My father left when I was 3 years old – not because he wanted to but because she no longer loved him. I spent most of my childhood crying at night for a father who would want me and love me. The men who floated in and out of our house could not be trusted and took advantage of me as a young child. I tell you this because it is crucial to my conversion. My mother was studying Christian Science during my early years and I was taken to church several times. Even as a young child I didn’t believe the things I was being taught. Nothing seemed to make sense to me except that life was not a happy place to be. Then, one day, I was given a small gift – one that I was not ready for but would be a forerunner to what my life would become. There was a girl in my 3rd or 4th grade school class who invited me to her home for dinner on a Monday evening. I liked the warm feeling in her home and we had some kind of family lesson and activity after dinner. It was about 20 years later when, out of the blue, I thought of that girl and realized I had participated in my first Family Home Evening. There was no follow up to that dinner and I was not invited back to her home. But I remembered the feeling.
During my junior high and senior school years, I was a very lost girl with no parental guidance and no faith. I found no satisfaction in life and did many things that were wrong. Then something happened that changed my life. When I was a junior in high school our family moved from LA to northern California where I met a young man in one of my classes. He was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and his father was a Bishop. I was invited to their home often during a time when my family life was most miserable. This young man’s family taught me the gospel. I was quite stubborn about admitting that what I was being taught was right. I went through 3 sets of missionaries before I was baptized. But I kept coming back because the one thing that I heard in the very beginning that I hung onto until my faith was strong enough to accept other concepts, was the idea that I had a Heavenly Father who loved me. I wanted that to be true so very much. The idea that I could have a loving Father in Heaven who was always there for me and who loved me so much that he would give up his own Son in sacrifice for me was an amazing idea. I wanted to believe it so much that I joined the church just before I turned 18yrs. Looking back I can see that I joined the church for reasons of security more than having a burning testimony of the truth of it. I was too emotionally unstable and self-centered to fully understand the implications of it being true. But, as I lived it day by day, I gained – little by little – a deep and abiding understanding of the truth. I have been blessed with many wonderful spiritual experiences that have come at crucial times in my life but the real glue that holds my testimony together are thousands of small peaceful feelings, acts of service, thousands of hours of prayer and scripture study. Line upon line, precept upon precept. I am so grateful that I have been allowed to live long enough on this earth to come to this understanding in preparation for returning to that loving Heavenly Father who is waiting for me. It is part of me now and forever.
Margie Kersey
Monday, March 9, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Barbara P.
My belief, unlike my personality, is quiet, peaceful and unremarkable. Maybe it will sound strange to some that I would describe it as unremarkable, but there you are. It is as natural to me as breathing that I have a Heavenly Father, that His Son is my Redeemer and that there is a plan – for me, for all of us.
My mother joined the church when I was seven years old, and although I was not born into the church, I was baptized when I was eight. My mother was quite a rebel, so the fruit did not fall far from the tree with me. I have questioned everything through my life, and this was no different. As soon as I hit my teens, I was off down the primrose path. My life until my early twenties consisted of making not-too-great decisions, living for the moment and looking for fun. And oh boy, did I think I was having fun. I could write a book. When my oldest sister got married in the Mesa Temple I came to town from Southern California for the wedding. I ran into an old friend who asked me what I was up to. Without going into much detail, I told her. She smiled and said, “You better get on the stick.” Her words sank in, and although I woke up to some degree, I now realize I wasn’t really taking my eternal salvation seriously.
The next ten years brought a temple marriage, two beautiful children and then divorce. Several moves later I was living in San Diego, happy to be away from the scrutiny of Utah-Mormons, who I had decided were my reason for becoming inactive. Salt Lake City in the early ‘80s was a tough place to be a divorced mother of two small children, and I was weary. Like a mother who allows her toddler to venture away, but not be in danger, the Lord quickly swooped in. I had not attended church in the Rancho Penasquitos 1st Ward, but the long arm of the LDS Church found me, and so did the visiting teachers. Vicki Peace and Nannette Bartholomew showed up at my door every month. Their friendly faces and warm personalities were constant and enduring – and seemingly unremarkable. Their being my friends was as natural as breathing. They never pushed me, they never challenged me, I don’t even remember them inviting me to church – they were just there. The Lord had not forgotten me.
In this new city and new life, there also was a new man in my life. Anyone who knows Steve knows the Lord was watching over me, although I didn’t pay Him much attention. Steve is not a member of the LDS Church, but there is no man is more honorable, upstanding or good-hearted. Surely my Heavenly Father knew I needed this companion. My journey with Steve began May 10, 1986, with wine at the wedding. Notwithstanding the efforts of those stalwart LDS members reaching out to me, I was not ready to be a part of “that world.”
Although I’m sure there are many times he has asked himself, “What was I thinking?!” Steve is not one to do things half-way. He was in this for the long haul, and he jumped in with both feet – Little League coaching, school projects, putting bicycles together on Christmas Eve. What a guy. My children adjusted to a new man in their lives, too. Our life was good.
One day my daughter Autumn asked me, “Mommy, when am I going to get baptized?” Gulp. What do you say to a sweet little 8-year old, with those words hanging in the air? Just as simply as the Lord had always manifested Himself me, He did once again. I made a decision that day – church. Sundays, Relief Society, tithing, lifestyle. All at once, right now, forever. And it really was unremarkable, because I had always believed. Of course He was there. He had always been there.
That was 20 years ago, and I have never looked back. The Lord has sustained me, quietly, consistently and without fanfare. It is His gift to me, every day – and it is as natural as breathing.
- Barbara Proctor
My mother joined the church when I was seven years old, and although I was not born into the church, I was baptized when I was eight. My mother was quite a rebel, so the fruit did not fall far from the tree with me. I have questioned everything through my life, and this was no different. As soon as I hit my teens, I was off down the primrose path. My life until my early twenties consisted of making not-too-great decisions, living for the moment and looking for fun. And oh boy, did I think I was having fun. I could write a book. When my oldest sister got married in the Mesa Temple I came to town from Southern California for the wedding. I ran into an old friend who asked me what I was up to. Without going into much detail, I told her. She smiled and said, “You better get on the stick.” Her words sank in, and although I woke up to some degree, I now realize I wasn’t really taking my eternal salvation seriously.
The next ten years brought a temple marriage, two beautiful children and then divorce. Several moves later I was living in San Diego, happy to be away from the scrutiny of Utah-Mormons, who I had decided were my reason for becoming inactive. Salt Lake City in the early ‘80s was a tough place to be a divorced mother of two small children, and I was weary. Like a mother who allows her toddler to venture away, but not be in danger, the Lord quickly swooped in. I had not attended church in the Rancho Penasquitos 1st Ward, but the long arm of the LDS Church found me, and so did the visiting teachers. Vicki Peace and Nannette Bartholomew showed up at my door every month. Their friendly faces and warm personalities were constant and enduring – and seemingly unremarkable. Their being my friends was as natural as breathing. They never pushed me, they never challenged me, I don’t even remember them inviting me to church – they were just there. The Lord had not forgotten me.
In this new city and new life, there also was a new man in my life. Anyone who knows Steve knows the Lord was watching over me, although I didn’t pay Him much attention. Steve is not a member of the LDS Church, but there is no man is more honorable, upstanding or good-hearted. Surely my Heavenly Father knew I needed this companion. My journey with Steve began May 10, 1986, with wine at the wedding. Notwithstanding the efforts of those stalwart LDS members reaching out to me, I was not ready to be a part of “that world.”
Although I’m sure there are many times he has asked himself, “What was I thinking?!” Steve is not one to do things half-way. He was in this for the long haul, and he jumped in with both feet – Little League coaching, school projects, putting bicycles together on Christmas Eve. What a guy. My children adjusted to a new man in their lives, too. Our life was good.
One day my daughter Autumn asked me, “Mommy, when am I going to get baptized?” Gulp. What do you say to a sweet little 8-year old, with those words hanging in the air? Just as simply as the Lord had always manifested Himself me, He did once again. I made a decision that day – church. Sundays, Relief Society, tithing, lifestyle. All at once, right now, forever. And it really was unremarkable, because I had always believed. Of course He was there. He had always been there.
That was 20 years ago, and I have never looked back. The Lord has sustained me, quietly, consistently and without fanfare. It is His gift to me, every day – and it is as natural as breathing.
- Barbara Proctor
Monday, March 2, 2009
Linda Mc.
My Journey to Christ
By Linda Mc
My conversion story started late in 1965 when I began to look for the Lord to come into my life. As the scripturesays in Matthew 7:7 -
“Ask, and it shall be given you: seek and ye shall find: knock and it shall be opened unto you”
My journey had started. I went to the Lord in prayer. That prayer was answered by meeting my neighbor friend who told me about her church. I was baptized March 19, 1966. Another answer to that same prayer came when, in a dream, I saw the Lord. He said “Come follow me.” This resulted in me obtaining a strong desire to become a better person and striving to obey the Lord’s commandments as I learned them.
Very soon after my baptism, in just a few months, something happened and I fell away from the church. One reason is that we became “boaters” on Sundays. I noticed that each Sunday, the Holy Spirit gently spoke to my heart and reminded me that I was not in the right place. As a family, we moved to Tucson and my marriage ended in a devastating divorce.
This was the time that another neighbor (and girl friend) invited me to church. Immediately, I recognized that warm, sweet feeling while being in church and I strongly desired to become active.
My faith developed as I learned more of the teachings of the Lord. At the same time I was facing many new challenges. It is true, when one door closes, another door opens.
One of my favorite scriptures is Matthew 22:37 -
“Jesus said, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul and with all they mind."
I was so nourished by the scriptures. My love and trust in Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, grew in leaps and bounds. My life was changing. I began to recognize those promptings were from the Holy Spirit as he guided me through some rough times.
I also noticed the many blessings that Heavenly Father was giving to me. My trust in Him strengthened when I started paying tithing as a single mother of two. There was always
a roof over our heads, food in the kitchen and a job waiting for me. I found strength and guidance as I read the scriptures and honored the Sabbath Day to keep it holy.
In Matthew 5:6 -
“Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.”
There was a strong desire in me to learn the knowledge of the gospel which was leading me to become a more righteous living person. I was becoming the person that you read about in Jeremiah 17:7 -
“Blessed is the man that trusteth in the Lord, and whose hope the Lord is.”
One of those greatest blessings was meeting a worthy man and marrying in the temple. I met a man who loved the gospel as much as I did. Sunday became one of our favorite days of the week when we could go to church to worship Heavenly Father and our Savior, Jesus Christ as we partake of the sacrament.
I am filled with gratitude to know Heavenly Father and His Son through prayer and to learn of His teachings. My prayer now is to always live close to the Father and His Son – AND – to have a Christ centered life.
Linda Mc
March 1, 2009
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Mary Lee C.
WHY I BELIEVE
I was raised in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t believe in HeavenlyFather and Jesus Christ. My parents taught me the gospel from infancy and I grew up knowing that Heavenly Father loved me and that I could pray to Him about anything at any time. My parents also taught me to keep the commandments and as I kept the commandments, I was blessed, and I came to be able to distinguish right from wrong not only by what I had been taught, but by the way that I felt. I learned that I was happy when I followed my conscience and did the right thing, like the time in elementary school when I apologized first after my friend and I had been arguing. And I learned that I felt bad when I did the wrong thing, like the time I took my friend’s “uncut diamond” (really a quartz) from her rock collection. I felt much better after I ran next door to confess and return it to her, even though I fell and cut my knee on the way! I experienced the joy of feeling clean in every way after I was baptized at age eight. I felt sad when I sinned again, but grateful that I could repent every time and be forgiven. In fact, from an early age, I learned that peace of conscience brings greater happiness than any possession or entertaining activity.
My father was called as a mission president to Córdoba, Argentina when I was 11 years old and I spent the next four years immersed in discussions of missionary work, attending zone meetings and member conferences with my parents. I served a two-week mission with a full-time lady missionary in the northern city of Salta. Later my best friend and I went out knocking on doors one afternoon and set up several discussions for the full-time missionaries. I always felt that I would serve a mission, but I was also concerned about it because I knew it would be hard. As my 21st birthday approached, I began to think seriously about whether or not to go.
During this time I continued to pray and study the scriptures. One day I came across two sections in the Doctrine and Covenants that answered my questions, “What is the best thing for me to do? Serve a mission, go to graduate school, or try for a full-time position on the ski patrol?!” Section 15 and 16 are addressed to John and Peter Whitmer, and the wording is exactly the same in each. The Lord says, “...the thing which will be of the most worth unto you will be to declare repentance unto this people, that you may bring souls unto me, that you may rest with them in the kingdom of my Father.”
There was my answer! Going on a mission was the best thing I could do at that time in my life, both for myself and for the people I would teach. I submitted my papers and was soon called to the Spain Madrid mission. It was one of the hardest things I have ever done, but it set the tone and direction for the rest of my life. From that time on I have tried to put the Lord and His work first in my life and He has helped me grow and blessed me immensely, including many opportunities to experience the joy that comes from helping others draw close to the Him.
On my mission, I realized that Satan uses individually tailored lies and temptations to lead people away from Heaven Father’s plan of happiness for them. Because Satan’s intent is to deceive, I realized that he is not bound by the constraints of reality and truth. Yet there is only one reality and that is what Heavenly Father and Jesus are trying to help us understand so we can each reach our full potential and become like Them.
There are times even now when Heavenly Father is the only One who can truly understand my circumstances and the desires of my heart and the only One who can comfort me and give me counsel. Because He is real and He loves me, whenever I am unsure or afraid or discouraged or sad, I ask for His guidance and comfort, and when I really open my mind and heart to listen, He always answers my prayers with a feeling of peace and often specific thoughts that help me to understand and know what to do.
Mary Lee C.
Feb. 28, 2009
I was raised in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t believe in HeavenlyFather and Jesus Christ. My parents taught me the gospel from infancy and I grew up knowing that Heavenly Father loved me and that I could pray to Him about anything at any time. My parents also taught me to keep the commandments and as I kept the commandments, I was blessed, and I came to be able to distinguish right from wrong not only by what I had been taught, but by the way that I felt. I learned that I was happy when I followed my conscience and did the right thing, like the time in elementary school when I apologized first after my friend and I had been arguing. And I learned that I felt bad when I did the wrong thing, like the time I took my friend’s “uncut diamond” (really a quartz) from her rock collection. I felt much better after I ran next door to confess and return it to her, even though I fell and cut my knee on the way! I experienced the joy of feeling clean in every way after I was baptized at age eight. I felt sad when I sinned again, but grateful that I could repent every time and be forgiven. In fact, from an early age, I learned that peace of conscience brings greater happiness than any possession or entertaining activity.
My father was called as a mission president to Córdoba, Argentina when I was 11 years old and I spent the next four years immersed in discussions of missionary work, attending zone meetings and member conferences with my parents. I served a two-week mission with a full-time lady missionary in the northern city of Salta. Later my best friend and I went out knocking on doors one afternoon and set up several discussions for the full-time missionaries. I always felt that I would serve a mission, but I was also concerned about it because I knew it would be hard. As my 21st birthday approached, I began to think seriously about whether or not to go.
During this time I continued to pray and study the scriptures. One day I came across two sections in the Doctrine and Covenants that answered my questions, “What is the best thing for me to do? Serve a mission, go to graduate school, or try for a full-time position on the ski patrol?!” Section 15 and 16 are addressed to John and Peter Whitmer, and the wording is exactly the same in each. The Lord says, “...the thing which will be of the most worth unto you will be to declare repentance unto this people, that you may bring souls unto me, that you may rest with them in the kingdom of my Father.”
There was my answer! Going on a mission was the best thing I could do at that time in my life, both for myself and for the people I would teach. I submitted my papers and was soon called to the Spain Madrid mission. It was one of the hardest things I have ever done, but it set the tone and direction for the rest of my life. From that time on I have tried to put the Lord and His work first in my life and He has helped me grow and blessed me immensely, including many opportunities to experience the joy that comes from helping others draw close to the Him.
On my mission, I realized that Satan uses individually tailored lies and temptations to lead people away from Heaven Father’s plan of happiness for them. Because Satan’s intent is to deceive, I realized that he is not bound by the constraints of reality and truth. Yet there is only one reality and that is what Heavenly Father and Jesus are trying to help us understand so we can each reach our full potential and become like Them.
There are times even now when Heavenly Father is the only One who can truly understand my circumstances and the desires of my heart and the only One who can comfort me and give me counsel. Because He is real and He loves me, whenever I am unsure or afraid or discouraged or sad, I ask for His guidance and comfort, and when I really open my mind and heart to listen, He always answers my prayers with a feeling of peace and often specific thoughts that help me to understand and know what to do.
Mary Lee C.
Feb. 28, 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)