Dear Elder - " My Conversion"

 Roger's grandson, Austin,  is serving his mission in Honduras.  He asked us each to send him our Conversion stories.  Here's my letter.

Dear Elder McEvoy,

 My "conversion" has come in segments.  Sometimes I think of each experience as a brick, building up my Faith.  Yet, other experiences are inexact and not easy to explain. 

From the beginning, I believed my parents. First of all, they taught us to pray and I believed in it.  My mother had taught me about her Patriarchal Blessing, promising her that she would "raise her children to manhood and womanhood"--probably to assure little me not to fear death.  

At about age 7, my sister and I were taking a bath when the light went out in the bathroom. Mother brought in a metal, goose-neck lamp for us and set it on the floor and plugged it in. When she left, I stood up and reached over to adjust the light, grabbing the neck,  WHAM!! A  tremendous electric shock hit me. I couldn't let go but shrieked. Mother rushed back and unplugged it, then scooped me up and took me to her bed.  Once she knew I was OK she knelt by the bed. I asked why and she said she thanked Heavenly Father that I didn't die. I said, "I wouldn't die. I couldn't die. Heavenly Father promised we would grow up!"  

In other words, I believed. 

When I heard the Joseph Smith story, I envied him.  I wanted to see Heavenly Father.  I wanted to see Jesus. But I was taught not to expect that. That was for special people. Somehow I accepted that I should still pray and talk to Heavenly Father, even though he didn't talk back to me.

At age 13 or so, I got a daily, after-school baby-sitting job in my neighborhood. When I got my first check for $15, I was ecstatic. I'd never been so rich. As I walked home under the trees I couldn't resist doing a happy dance. While leaping along, I thought to thank Heavenly Father for my good fortune.  To my great surprise, the Spirit responded to me. God was there!  He knew me!  It was so vivid that I stopped jumping. I was still happy--even happier--but the Spirit had filled me with a sense of awe and reverence.

That Spirit didn't tell me the Church was true or the Book of Mormon was true.  I just felt God's presence and I felt loved.  And honestly, I thought that's all I would ever get from Heaven, and I was grateful.

Just a few years later, I was working on a HS Publicity project. I was assigned to put up a big display in our HS main hall to advertise the PTA Paper and Rag Drive. (I knew my fellow students didn't care about a paper drive in the least, but still, it was my job. )The real problem was, I had NO ideas. Not even weak ones. I took a little pride in doing clever posters and signs on campus, so I was frustrated. At home I was pacing through the house, worrying about my problem when I remembered, "Donna, you haven't prayed."  I thought, "Well, duh!  No wonder you can't think of anything!"  I started to pray even before I sat myself on the couch. Instantly, my mind filled with a dozen ideas--very clever ideas.  In fact, I cut my prayer short so I could hurry and write everything down. I wrote so intensely my hand felt cramped.  Not one of the ideas was anything I had even sort of thought of prior.

So now I knew, not only that God loved and knew me, but he blessed me--and everyone--with our clever ideas. Inspiration. And prayer worked.

Next, here's my Book of Mormon story.  In my day, the 1950-60's, reading scriptures was not emphasized, and it wasn't even routine to take scriptures to church. At some point, a seminary teacher told us of a member who praised the Book of Mormon, but when challenged, he had to admit that he'd never actually read it. That led to the question, "How can Mormons say the Book of Mormon is true if they've never even read it?"

I didn't want to be that person. I identified as a Mormon girl and I wanted to be able to say I had read the Book of Mormon. I was15 when I began reading it for myself.  And I did. When I finished it, I prayed, expecting some manifestation. Nothing came. I thought, "Really?" I mean, what about, "When ye shall receive these things..."?  

Then my thoughts went something like this:

     Me:  I just read the entire Book of Mormon--on 

              my own.  Am I not entitled to something,                  some validating experience?

     Spirit:  Why did you read it?

     Me: Well, I wanted to be able to say I'd read it.

     Spirit:  So...?

     Me: Now I can say I've read it....

     Spirit: So you've got what you wanted.

     Me:

Oddly, that didn't feel harsh to me. It made me realize Heavenly Father means business. My motive to read wasn't a bad one, but was shallow. What about my "real intent"?  This wasn't a book to mess around with. I read it again after that, this time with humility and expecting nothing dramatic. Again, nothing special happened. Yet, as I've read it over time, specific testimony after testimony after testimony has come to me. I love it!  

OK, a couple more thoughts, backing up.  In about 4th grade, our wonderful teacher taught us where the Indians came from--Asia or wherever.  I sat at my desk, riveted. I knew where the Indians came from. No matter what she said, I knew!  And I knew I was right. I sensed that wasn't the time to raise my hand and try to explain Nephites and Lamanites to the class so I sat quietly, but I honestly trembled a little with excitement. In other words, I have to say that I believed the Book of Mormon before I read it as a teen.

One more detail worth mentioning.  In doing research for a HS science class, I needed to talk to a priest of another faith to determine their position on life/death.  I don't remember the topic exactly.  So I make the appointment and drive myself to this man's office next to a cathedral. He invites me in, dressed in his black outfit with white clerical collar. He cordially offers me a seat across from his desk as he lights up his cigarette. And, all of a sudden, he's trying to answer my inquiry. I was surprised.

"Wait," I thought. "We're not ready!"  Perplexed, I couldn't tell what was happening, what was wrong. It wasn't his words. Until that moment, I hadn't realized that whenever there was talk about sacred things with authorized people, we first invoked the Spirit--like in every Church meeting ever. We sang and we prayed--and what I always felt at Church was so subtle that I hadn't realized--until it wasn't there. There was no Spirit present in that little, smokey office. I adapted and completed my interview, but more than I gathered science data, I acknowledged something I had taken for granted--the presence of the Holy Ghost.

So when was I "converted"?  I think I must have been like babies who have felt the Holy Ghost from their mother's womb.  Why I believed it, I cannot say.  But I did.  I do.

Today, I'm like Joseph Smith. I don't care if anyone believes my stories. It's OK.  I know they're true, they happened, and "I dare not deny" them.