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| My Baptism January, 1980 |
This post is going to be much different than any of my other posts. I typically add many photos, usually some videos and include at least some music. This time, I'm just focusing on me and my story.
This is something that I don't typically share; less than a handful of people are even aware of this experience, because it's an experience that I've held sacred, between God and me. Now that my mission is two thirds complete, I've seen two grandchildren complete missions and have two more ready to begin theirs and all of my family maturing into next phases of their lives, I feel now is the time to share.
Many are aware of the humorous story of meeting the missionaries from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in a hospital room, when Randy was in traction. It made a good joke that they had to tie him up to get him to listen. For me, it's a different story. It was an answer to prayer. My senior year of college, I was facing life in a whole new way that was unfamiliar to me and as I looked for direction, I began going back to church; even began teaching the 4th grade Sunday School class at one of the Methodist churches in Decatur, Illinois.
Randy only agreed to marry in a church, because we were getting married in December and an outdoor wedding sounded a little daring, weather-wise. After the wedding, I didn't set foot in church again for several months, but after the birth of my first daughter, I began to feel a yearning toward returning to a church, any church. I wanted to have her baptized and wanted to raise her going to church. As a child, I never went to church regularly; it wasn't something my family did, but my mother had taught me about God and Jesus Christ. That was something I wanted to share with my daughter.
So, that day, when the missionaries left Randy's hospital room and he said, "If I EVER join a church, it will be that one," I knew I better pay attention, because that was something I had actually been praying for. I didn't pray often, but when I did, my prayers were heartfelt and sincere and I unfailingly received answers that I knew were from God, to guide and direct me.
Randy and I began meeting with the missionaries weekly in our home, learning different pieces of the gospel each week. Each week, I felt like I was hearing things I had always known to be true, but I had never heard them explained so simply. Many of those teachings went back to my early childhood; small memories. Standing at the desk in our front hall with my mother as she helped me prepare my offering envelope to drop in the tray at church, I asked her why we were doing this. She patiently explained that my nickel was going to help pay the minister for teaching us about God and Jesus. I remembered being stunned; looking at my mother and saying, "We PAY people to teach us about JESUS?!?" She went on to explain that we had to pay for them to be able to have a home and food to eat, so that they had time to take care of the people from church and prepare their sermons to teach us." That memory came back to me as sharp as if it had just happened the day the missionaries taught me about the lay ministry of their church; how everyone has their own "jobs" to earn money, but that everyone also does their part by accepting callings in the church to get the work done and take care of one another.
The evening that the missionaries taught us, from the Book of Mormon about the resurrected Christ appearing to the inhabitants of the American continents to teach the same messages he had taught to His disciples in the Bible, with the promise that He would return again to the earth, brought to mind another memory of something my mother had taught me. I had a favorite book as a child (I don't even know what the name of the book was) that my mother had to read to me over and over that told an Indian legend that they were waiting for "the great, white God" to return. Then as I grew older and began to learn history, I remembered a teacher saying that the Indians had accepted and basically worshipped Christopher Columbus, believing that he was the same great, white God who had promised to return to them.
Over and over again, the missionaries taught me lessons that were unlocking memories that I couldn't even place, but they sounded... right. Finally one night, in October, 1979, after I had finished reading a part of the Book of Mormon, I decided it was time to put the challenge in Moroni 10:4-6 to the test. For only about the third time in my life, I got down on my knees, and with a sincere desire to know the truth, having full faith that He would answer my prayer, because he had done so before, I asked God to tell me if the book was true. I asked if the book had indeed been translated from ancient plates through God's power. I stayed on my knees for a few minutes after my prayer, waiting for the answer that didn't come. I wasn't too surprised though, because in the past, answers to my prayers generally happen a day or two later; usually through the words/actions of other people.
I got up off my knees and crawled into bed to go to sleep. As I closed my eyes, I began to feel strange; a feeling I can't adequately describe to this day, but I opened my eyes and was stunned to see a glow at the corner of my bed. As the glow grew larger and brighter, I tried to call out to Randy; to tell him to come and see this, to tell me what it was. But I couldn't move and I couldn't speak. I was held frozen in my bed, just staring at the glow, totally amazed at what I was seeing. Gradually the glow began to shrink and dim and as it did, I found I could move again and I could speak, but my desire to call out to Randy was gone. I knew I had received a miracle; a verification of the witness I had prayed for. I got out of bed, slowly moved into the kitchen for a drink of water and then back into the living room to see if Randy had any idea of what I had just experienced. He was still sitting on the couch where I had left him about a half hour earlier, still watching television. He looked up at me, totally unaware of my experience, and asked if I was okay. His world hadn't changed, but mine would never be the same.
Through the years since, time and time again, I've received answers to so many prayers and been a witness to so many of God's miracles, that no matter what problems I've had to face, I've never experienced anything that has shaken my testimony or minimized that most powerful experience of my life. I know God lives. I know Jesus is the Christ. I know that the Bible is the word of God and that the Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ that supports the Bible and that God still speaks to us today. I'm grateful to have the Gospel of Jesus Christ in my life and I'm especially grateful that I have this amazing opportunity to serve a mission in support of all the young missionaries, whose sole goal is to share the love of Christ with everyone they meet. I say these things and share this sacred testimony in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.
