There comes a time in everyone’s lives when you have to make
a choice so big it will influence the outcome of the rest of your life. In this
world, you can only stay complacent so long before you have to pick a side
based on what you know. For me, that choice came when I was 19 years old.
I was in my first year of college, and I was struggling with
finding my place in the world and some family issues. I was attending a small
Presbyterian university, thinking I wanted to switch my major for the sixth
time, and looking for a church to belong to. But really, that’s not where the
story begins.
It begins with a thousand tiny moments, dotting my childhood
and my awkward years. It started with my mother telling me that when I’m scared
of the dark at night, I can pray and Christ will take away the fear. It started
with a sister who was fiery, passionate and intelligent, and she went on
mission trips to spread the Gospel. It started with my brother praying with me
in his room. It started with a choir director who taught me why the Gospel is
worth singing about. It started with my piano teacher teaching me purpose
behind my music. It started with a good friend asking me if I’ve been reading
my Bible. It started with tears, hope, tragedy, books, broken families, and
struggle. Most importantly, it started with a foundation in
Christ, and a faith that all my mess-ups would be washed clean. I
feel that my life story was written for that one decision I made on March 19,
2010, the day I was baptized a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of
Latter-Day Saints. That was when I knew everything would change.
I was raised more or less Baptist, with a family always
striving to grow closer to Christ and to be more devout Christians. I love my
family and look up to them very much. They are amazing individuals who each fought
through a lot of hardship that make them incredible, strong people today. I was
usually going to church on Sundays. It wasn’t always very consistent, but I
knew Sunday was for church. However, as I entered my teens, I started feeling
hollow and even agitated by things in the churches I would attend. I realize a
lot of it was just teen-angst rebellion, but I know it was also just trying to
piece together all the complicated pieces of life. I had a lot of questions,
and many people around me gave me answers to those questions, whether verbally
or not. In short, I was searching, always searching for answers. But even
though I was confused, one thing I did know and believe to be true is that
Christ is my Savior and Redeemer. I had a firm belief that as long as I held on
to that truth, everything else would be okay.
As I entered college, I was so excited to find a church to
attend. It was sort of “the big thing” about the first weekend of college when
the majority of attendees are Christian. It was a big deal to find that church
you felt you fit in the best. It was sort of like being in a sandwich line.
There are a lot of different flavors and you get to choose your favorite. You
may like this kind of doctrinal bread but dislike that social meat. I was
excited to find a church family that I could feel close to, because I had never
really experienced that before. I went to several churches my first semester.
Some I went to several times, some just once, but every time the same feeling
came: this isn’t quite right. So I
kept looking.
By the time finals week came around, a very difficult trial
that had been ebbing and flowing for months reached tipping point. Going home
for Christmas was very challenging, and for two weeks I struggled rather
gracelessly. I found myself reading not my Bible, but a little blue book taken
from a Marriott Hotel in Maryland months before. Mormons will know this to be
the Book of Mormon. I had been reading a very small bit of it for months due to
one of my best friends in high school being LDS. My friend and I had many conversations
about faith and about the church, but I was never open to it. In fact, looking
back on it, I’m surprised we even remained friends I was so stubborn about it.
But here I was, sitting in the privacy of my room, soaking up the words of the
Book of Mormon like a sponge. It
brought me peace that I needed. It was a peace not unlike
when I read Psalms and John, but it was striking to me because these were not
words I took to be sacred. These were Joseph
Smith’s words. At least, I believed so at the time. So I did what I thought
would give me the answer: studied the New Testament to find the flaw. If I
could find one thing that disproved
anything that I knew about the Mormon church in the New Testament, where the
Christian church is blueprinted, I could discredit Joseph Smith’s Book of
Mormon and move on with my life. I took an intensive course on the New
Testament from a Presbyterian professor and spent the month of January reading
the entirety of the New Testament and other theological texts. I was studying
hard for the class, but I was mostly looking for something to deter me from
looking further in the LDS church. I couldn’t find anything convincing enough.
Not that I didn’t have questions, but the questions were no different than the
kind of questions I’d ask any
Christian church. After a lot of prayer and a lot of study, I was surprised
that I had nothing on those Mormons. And I completely
lacked any prompting or logical reason to stay away.
I decided to go to the core of the matter. I attended a
church and found the missionaries. I welcomed the opportunity to meet with them
because I wanted to hear what they had to say. I still wanted to find something
to prove that they were not Christians and then I could leave. During the
church services, I wore the critical attitude I wore when I attended any new
church to see if I could fit there. The hymns were too slow. The sermons were boring. Way too many pink
hearts and engagements announced in that last meeting with all the women (did I
mention this was Valentine’s Day?). And the day was too long. Three hours of
church? I would never get used to that. I had no intention of going back. My
plan was to meet with the missionaries, have my questions answered, find the
reason why Mormons weren’t Christians, which would define why I could not be
Mormon, and be finished with it. That didn’t work though. I didn’t find that
nasty little piece of doctrine I was hoping for in the first lesson. So we had
another. Didn’t find it there either. We continued having lessons several times
a week, half of which I entered with the intention of it being my last. But there
was a powerful feeling at the end of each lesson that I needed to come back. I
asked questions. I studied. I prayed. I continued to go to church, and the
criticism ebbed away as I felt what I now know to be the Holy Spirit. It’s
something that you don’t feel if you’re looking for the negative, but when you
recognize it, you never want to be away from it again. That’s why I kept coming
back. It felt very different from any of the others churches I had attended.
There are three distinct epiphanies that I want to share
that led me to the waters of baptism. The first was early in the discussions
with the missionaries. I had told them about reading the Book of Mormon over
Christmas break when I felt lonely and frustrated. We talked a lot of about its
origin and message. They bore their testimonies on its truth. Nothing sank in
really until one of them asked “How has the Book of Mormon affected your
relationship with Christ?” I mumbled out an inadequate answer, but the question
stuck with me. Christ? The Book of Mormon is supposed to draw me closer to
Christ? The question was about Christ, not Joseph Smith, or any of the other
modern prophets of the Mormon church. That changed how I read the Book of
Mormon.
The second experience was we were speaking about Latter-Day
Saint temples. The elders were explaining how in the temple, members of the
church perform ordinances in proxy for those who have passed away. I didn’t get
it. After probably a half hour of question and answer that didn’t connect with
me, there was a quiet. Then one said “When Christ died on the cross, he bore
our sins by proxy. When we do ordinances for the dead in the temple, we are striving
to be like Christ by acting as their proxy---“ I don’t expect this to be as
ground breaking for anyone else. And it was honestly less about their words and
more about what the Spirit was speaking to my soul. But it clicked. It made
perfect sense, and I remember the speaking elder stopped in the middle of his
sentence because he saw the understanding suddenly on my face. After a beat,
his companion said, “I think she’s got it.” And I did. It was like a light had
turned on. It was undeniable to me that these people, these Mormons, these alleged
terrors, and blind followers of a man named Joseph Smith, they were just trying
to be like Christ. And that felt more right than anything I had
experienced before. They didn’t tell me what was right and that I would go to hell
if I didn’t join the church. They encouraged me to find out for myself.
The last realization (of many I could share) is when I felt
the Book of Mormon was true. It was not very long before the baptism date I had
set with the missionaries. I had been reading the Book of Mormon for about
eight months and didn’t feel certain about it being scripture. But I was
reading and praying and I was frustrated because I didn’t know what to do. I
felt a lot of support from opposing sides. My family, my previous Baptist
church leaders, and my new friends at my university had tried to convince me
that I shouldn’t join the Mormon church. My good LDS friend and his family, my
new friends at church, the missionaries, and the bishop, encouraged me to hold
to what I knew to be true. Well, I didn’t feel I knew anything at all. So I
prayed again and again to know what is right and what is wrong. Eventually, I
said this prayer: “God, if you tell me that this book is true, I will do
everything you ask me to. I will give up coffee and I will pay tithing and I
will be faithful to that knowledge if you would just allow me to have it. I
will get baptized.” Then the thought occurred to me that I had my answer, I had
already made a decision. So I told God that “After all I’ve learned, I think
the Book of Mormon is true. Is that right?” That’s when I felt such peace that
I cannot really explain unless you have felt it yourself. It was the Spirit
testifying that it was right.
This is the most important part of why I got baptized.
Knowing the Book of Mormon is true allows all questions to fall into place. I
readily admit that I have not been without questions and doubts about the
church. I think that’s healthy. But I know that the Gospel can take my
questions, and I know it because the Book of Mormon is true. I know that God
wants to answer our questions, and he does that through the subtle promptings
of the Holy Spirit. I know that God answer prayers, and I know that God loves
us. I was still uncertain about a lot of things in the church when I got
baptized. But what held me, and continues to hold me when I start to struggle,
is the knowledge that the Book of Mormon is true. I get that we won’t always
have all the answers, but I also understand that God wants to tell us
everything. We just get in the way.
It has been four years to the day of my baptism, and since
then I have had several tender experiences that have built my testimony in the
Gospel, in the church, in modern prophets, in scripture, and most of all in
Christ. I have gone from wearing white on my baptism day to wearing white on my
wedding day, when I was sealed to my husband for all time and eternity in the
Holy House of the Lord. I am very grateful for my family and their love despite
a decision they didn’t agree with. I am especially grateful for the foundation
on Christ they taught me from a young age. I am grateful for the Hoffman family
and all their patience in teaching me, and for my devoted missionaries who
didn’t give up on me. I’m grateful for church leaders who answered questions
and blessed me with opportunities to grow in testimony. I’m grateful for the
friends who’s testimonies have taught me so much.
Put simply, I’m just very grateful and very happy.
I’m humbled by how much effort Heavenly Father puts into drawing His children
closer to him. I know I made the right decision four years ago, and since then
have grown closer to my Savior. I have had sacred experiences the further
confirm my faith. I have felt the love of my Heavenly Father. I have felt the
Holy Spirit testify truth to my soul. I don't understand everything. But I know what I know, and I will never turn
my back on that.
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| The Elders who taught me, my best friend from high school and my sister from another mister at my baptism, March 19, 2010. |
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| The elders who taught me and their wives drove up to Washington from Utah for our wedding, December 28, 2013 |
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| from wearing white to wearing white. |
