I had not prayed to God in nine long years. The last time I had prayed to Him it was when I was eighteen, not take him from us right before Christmas. I truly felt like I couldn’t take it. No sooner than I finished pleading up to the sky uttering, “Not now, not now..”, did my father bolt straight up out of his bed, shook his head, looked around at all of us, and then asked for a cup of coffee. For those of us that were there that night, including my family, the doctors, nurses, and the priest who just finished performing the Last Rites, we all believed we witnessed a miracle.
Having my father come home three days before Christmas in better condition than I had seen him in many months was, unfortunately, not enough to hold my faith in God. When my father finally passed away less than two months later, my heart became hardened. I was angry at God, and also at the priest who visited my parents during that short span in between his hospital stay and his passing because he recommended to them that they “let go”. At the time, due to my lack of understanding (especially concerning the surrounding circumstances), I felt like he basically told my father to give up hope and to quit fighting to stay alive. I could not comprehend the reason why God would keep him alive from that night just to take him away, and I was upset that my father took the priest so literally, and decided to let go and die. What kind of God and what kind of religion would advocate that? At that point, I gave up religion (and anything associated with it) and turned my back on the miracle I had once thought I had witnessed.
In the years that followed, I guess you could say I was Agnostic. While I didn’t deny the existence of a higher power at work in the Universe, I denied any one definition of God that I came across, and refuted anyone who would even use the word “God” because of the hypocritical nature and misuse I had witnessed from those same people, even from the ones who were supposed to be authorities on God. I cultivated my own spirituality and definitions based on conclusions I came to within my own experiences, positive and negative. Anytime anybody asked me what religion I was my reply was always, “I’m not religious, but I am spiritual.” Despite my spirituality, there were still many questions that I had not found answers for, and there was always a lingering feeling that something was missing.
Flash forward to my twenty-seventh year. I am laying on a gurney by myself in a hospital observation room listening to the thump-thump of my son’s heartbeat on a fetal monitor. At the time I was twenty-five weeks pregnant. My water had started to leak and I was being monitored because the doctors were worried that my son would get some sort of infection that would be fatal to his barely viable body and that I would go into early labor. I had a perfect pregnancy up until that point and my husband and I were excited to meet our first child, but not under those circumstances. There was no other sound in that room but my son’s heartbeat and I was scared. For the first time in nine years, I prayed to God:
“Dear God, I know I haven’t spoken to you in a long time, but please help me. If it be thy will that my son would die, then I will accept it. But if you let him live, I promise that I will do everything in my power to teach him about you so that he can do your work.”
My son was born during an emergency C-section when the umbilical cord prolapsed (after I sneezed no less) exactly two weeks later. He was two pounds and no bigger than my husband’s hand. He remained in the hospital for the remaining three months that he was supposed to be in my womb, but thankfully, his stay was uncomplicated and he had no defects. Even the doctors were surprised at his developmental milestones. He was a healthy six pounds when he came home to us.
About four months after my son’s first birthday, on a cold December morning, I heard a knock on the door. When I opened it, standing before me were the smiling faces of two friendly missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (or Mormons). I couldn’t help but laugh to myself because I truly knew that they were sent by God to help me fulfill my end of the ‘deal’. Even before I answered the door I heard a small, still voice whisper, “Its time.” I invited them back to our home, but did not want to discuss anything about the Mormon church quite yet. I felt like I had to get to know them better.
When I first opened the door I wasn’t surprised to find Mormons bringing me the message from God. However, I must admit, it was slightly amusing because it wasn’t my first encounter with Mormons. In fact, looking back, some of my best friends had been Mormon, and never once did they ever try to impose their beliefs on me. My husband also grew up being Mormon, but was not actively attending church at the time when I met him. In fact, he had just decided to not go on a mission for the church only a few months before I met him. He never wavered on his belief that the Mormon church was true, and he did acknowledge that he was not living his life as he knew he was supposed to. His strength of conviction in his faith and his accountability for his choices in living up to that faith was what I admired about him the most, aside from his wacky sense of humor. We had discussed the doctrines of the church quite often because of my own curiosity, and my husband always said, “If God did in fact establish His church on Earth, this is the closest one I know of that lives up to what I think it would be like.” Throughout our discussions, he never pressured me to join the church. He wanted me to experience my own conversion, if I were to choose to want to. In retrospect, I truly believe that I was his mission.
Anyhow, our home became a sort of home away from home for the missionaries not only in our ward, but for the other missionaries serving in other wards. It was during these times that I got a chance to basically interview each one about why they believed in God and in the Mormon church. I was very impressed with the thoughtfulness behind their answers. I could tell that they studied the gospel carefully and prayerfully. I also was impressed with the spiritual maturity coming from these young men, and the dedication they had to helping other people search for true happiness. I finally agreed to the invitation to have the first discussion to learn more about the Mormon church from the missionaries in our ward.
The night of my first lesson was absolutely amazing. As we talked about Joseph Smith’s First Vision, the Restoration of the gospel, the Atonement of Jesus Christ, and Heavenly Father’s Plan of Salvation, we all felt the Holy Ghost fill the entire room confirming the truthfulness of our discussions. We discussed our own divine purposes and how our paths were intended to cross. I, along with my husband and the missionaries were literally on the edge of our seats with excitement as we discussed the love that our Heavenly Father has for each and every one of His children. The buzz of electricity in the air was so palpable that we felt that we were elevated at least four inches off of our seats. I had never felt anything in my life like that and neither did they. We ended up talking into the night, and I received all the answers to the questions I had carried with me through the years. I knew I wanted to be baptized as soon as possible.
From the discussions of that single evening, I knew that I had found what I was searching for all of my life. I had found meaning. I had found purpose. I had found my Heavenly Father. Although I had abandoned Him long ago, He never abandoned me. He doesn’t abandon any of us. He was waiting for me to be ready to seek out His help, and to humble myself enough to receive it. He had heard and answered my prayers. The knowledge that I had learned through those discussions helped to provide me with the understanding I needed to forgive and accept past events in my life that had previously negatively impacted me. I was comforted.
It was time. I was baptized a month after that initial evening. My husband also returned to the church. After the birth of our daughter the following year, my husband and I were sealed to our children and to each other for time and all eternity.
We pray together as a family daily now, and are strengthened because of it. My miracle boy will turn eight next summer and will have the choice to be baptized a Mormon. Already, his prayers are so thoughtful (he prays for “everyone on Earth to be happy and to see the beauty this world has to offer”) and his love for Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father is remarkable to see. I look forward to witnessing him being baptized by his father and to seeing him grow in his faith. I feel blessed that we are able to bring to him the knowledge and truthfulness of the eternal gospel of Jesus Christ. I also feel truly blessed that Heavenly Father entrusted both of these wonderful little spirits into our care.
Before my conversion, I experienced the lingering feeling that something was missing. Because of the blessings that I received by accepting the fullness of the eternal gospel of Jesus Christ, that feeling no longer exists. I remember who I am now. I am a child of God, and I am made whole.
