As I prepared for my baptism, there were a lot of road bumps and a lot of miracles.

In the weeks prior, I had to decide who would baptize me. There was really only one person who immediately came to my mind when considering this question. My childhood best friend was LDS and her family was my second family. My best friend’s father felt right. Her family had always been there for me growing up, and anytime life was difficult, her house was a safe refuge that I always felt at home in.

My very first introduction to the gospel was because of her family. I remember during middle school, I would tag along with them to church on Sundays and attend church-related activities throughout the week. During high school, my best friend would drive me to school and I would occasionally go to seminary with her. I remember learning about Joseph Smith and the priorities of families. I always loved answering the questions I understood, and was very interested in those lessons.

I also remember staying up late during sleepovers listening to my best friend whisper about eternal marriage in the temple. I remember feeling like it was all so beautiful. I remember the special light that would gleam in her eye when she would talk about church. I remember wishing I could have something I believed in as much as her.

Her home was always a safe place. Her home was the first place I felt the Spirit. Her parents treated me like a second daughter and helped me through some of the most difficult trials in my life. When I think of the people I always felt safe with, her family immediately comes to mind.

There was no one in the world I would want to be baptized by other than her Dad, Noah.

In order for Noah to baptize me, I would have to ask him to drive almost eleven hours to Moab, Utah. Despite how close I was with her family, it felt like too much. I wanted to reach out, but I was afraid of being a burden.

Until one afternoon when my best friend’s mom called me. We talked for hours about my decision to become a member. Towards the end of the phone conversation, she asked me who was baptizing me. I explained that I was actually hoping Noah would, if it wasn’t too much to ask.

“Well, when are you getting baptized?” she asked.

“The fifth of August.” I replied, chewing on my bottom lip.

My best friend’s mom began crying. She went on to explain that they had already made arrangements to visit Moab on that exact date. They had no idea when or if I was going to get baptized when they originally booked their vacation. They just happened to have plans of visiting their daughter on that same date. We cried together on the phone, overwhelmed with joy and gratitude for Heavenly Father’s perfect timing.

In that moment, I remember my best friend’s mom telling me something that left a deep imprint on my heart.

“I always knew you would become a member.”

I have no idea if she knew the impact of her words, but this was exactly what I needed to hear. During this time, I had family members who were confused by my desire to join the Church. There were many people I cared deeply about telling me I was rushing into my decision and that my testimony would wear off. I remember feeling afraid because I wanted the Church to be true, and I felt like it was true, but I had so many people I loved trying to veer me away from becoming a member.

But my best friend’s mom knew me like a daughter. She had known me since I was in second grade and had watched me grow up into the person I am today. She had witnessed every version of me and because of this, I felt such an enormous flood of relief at her words.

It was a huge comfort knowing someone so close to me had always seen the person I was meant to be.

Her love and support helped me grow in the gospel. Her family planted seeds of faith I didn’t realize existed until I was ready to investigate the Church. I had spent so much time in a home filled with the Spirit—saying prayers and witnessing a family that loved each other, prioritized each other, and kept good morals—that by the time I was twenty and learned about the gospel, I felt like I was coming home.

To read more of Lauren’s articles, click here.

My best friend’s family never forced anything on me; they just invited me into their Spirit-filled home. My presence as a nonmember did not cause them to make exceptions in their habits—they just chose to include me. The prayers we had before meals; the conversations we had about faith; attending church and church-related activities—it all became interlaced with familiarity and love.

Never doubt the impact we have on others. Even if we are not outwardly teaching the gospel, the way we live and the examples we set have the potential to change lives. By the time I decided to become a member, my path was already guided and lit by the examples of those I loved the most.

Lauren Mckinnon

As a homegrown Portlandian feminist, Lauren Mckinnon sometimes wondered how she fit in as a new member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints — but through her testimony and everyday experience, she realized that no matter how different we may feel, we all belong in Jesus’ flock.

Even though I felt like The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was true, I was still nervous to get baptized.

After the last testimony meeting, I realized I believed in the Church. I knew I wanted to become a member, but I was scared to commit myself to a baptism date because it made everything feel so final. It meant I would have to tell my family and friends, and to me, it meant I wouldn’t be able to change my mind.

What would getting baptized mean? How would it change the way others viewed me?

I remember opening up to my best friend about my fears during a road trip to Salt Lake City for the Fourth of July. She listened to me intently, nodding as cactuses and red canyons zoomed past our car windows. After I had finished dishing out my worries, my friend opened up The Book of Mormon and read out loud this passage from Mosiah:

“And now, as ye are desirous to come into the fold of God, and be called his people, and are willing to bear one another’s burdens that they may be light;

 

Yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places that ye may be in, even until death, that ye may be redeemed of God, and be numbered with those of the first resurrection, that ye may have eternal life—

 

Now I say unto you, if this be the desire of your hearts, what have you against being baptized in the name of the Lord, as a witness before him that ye have entered into a covenant with him, that ye will serve him and keep his commandments, that he may pour out his Spirit more abundantly upon you?” (Mosiah 18:8-10)

As Gabi read me these scriptures, I realized my answer to each of these questions was an overpowering YES.

Did I want to serve God and His kingdom? Absolutely. Did I want to bear the burdens of others and comfort those in need of comfort? Of course. Did I want to stand as a witness of the Lord in all things? Always. Did I want an increase of His Spirit? I don’t think I could say yes faster!

The answers to all of these questions were inherent: I knew Christ existed, I believed in the Lord’s kingdom, and I wanted to serve my Heavenly Father and His people. As I answered each of these questions I had to ask myself, What do I have against being baptized in the name of the Lord? I was making the answer to this question more complicated than it needed to be. I had a testimony in Christ, my Heavenly Father, and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. All I needed were the pure intents of my heart, and everything else would fall into place. The answer to the question “Should I get baptized?” suddenly became simple after reading the beautiful scriptures found in Mosiah.

What are the intents of our hearts? Are they to serve Christ and His kingdom? If so, there should be nothing stopping us from committing to Him through baptism.

I encourage anyone who is wondering whether they should join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to read Mosiah 18. If you find yourself answering yes to the questions Mosiah asks, the path to becoming a member is clear. The scriptures found in that chapter outline the most basic, purest beliefs of this church. These beliefs pump into all the other facets of the Latter-day Saint Church that may seem complicated, difficult to understand, and/or different from other branches of Christianity. These beliefs are at the heart of the priesthood, Relief Society, and bishoprics. It’s beating in the wards, stakes, and the apostles and prophets. It’s interlaced with the activities our churches hold, in the conferences held, and the talks given during sacrament meetings.

At the end of the day, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints wants to serve Christ, Heavenly Father, and the people of this world. Having a testimony in these beliefs is enough to become a member of Christ’s church.

To read more of Lauren’s articles, click here.

As we commit ourselves to Him, we gain an abundance of His Spirit poured through us. I can personally testify that through baptism, I have been able to receive an increase of the Spirit guiding me every day. This Spirit has blessed me by helping me make righteous decisions and in bearing the knowledge that I am never alone or unloved.

I remember sitting in that car listening to my best friend read Mosiah 18 and knowing with a sudden surety that baptism was the right decision. I looked over at her and smiled against the red canyon skyline flying past.

“Let’s set a date for August 5th.”

Lauren Mckinnon

As a homegrown Portlandian feminist, Lauren Mckinnon sometimes wondered how she fit in as a new member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints — but through her testimony and everyday experience, she realized that no matter how different we may feel, we all belong in Jesus’ flock.

It was just another, sunny, brilliant afternoon in Moab. I sat wedged between my friends on the wooden pews. It was the first Sunday of the month, which meant everyone was invited to walk up to the pulpit and share their testimony. It was wonderful watching the different people speak about their love for Jesus Christ.

I fiddled with my hands, thinking about everything I had been learning. Earlier that month, one of my friends who had also been investigating The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints received revelation that the Church was true. I’m not going to lie, I was incredibly happy for him, but a part of me was slightly jealous when I found out. I had been reading the Book of Mormon and praying diligently almost all summer, asking God if this church was true. I was ready to join, ready to convert, ready to take it all in…. once Christ gave me a sign. I had not received my green light yet, so I sat on the edge of believing and wanting to be a part of this church without committing to a baptism. I had to know that Christ wanted it for me. Without some sort of sign or answer from Him, I was not willing to become a member.

One by one, we watched people share their testimonies. Then my friend leaned toward me and laid her hand over mine.

“You should share your testimony,” she whispered.

I shook my head aggressively and turned away. How could I share a testimony that I didn’t quite have yet? But her words planted a seed within me, stretching out from my heart and slowly igniting like a flame till it was all I could think about. Something deep within me ached to stand up and share my love for Christ.

My fears were suddenly penetrated by a still, clear voice urging me forward.

I lifted myself from the pews and scooted past my friends, walked up the stairs, and faced this church I had spent the past three months learning about. With a trembling hand I pulled the microphone towards my lips. Tears streamed down my face, and, like a waterfall, a testimony poured from my heart. I never had to think about the words once—they just sprang to life from my throat as if my soul had been aching to belt this song since before I was born. I knew this church was true.

I believe Heavenly Father wanted me to act on my own agency. I kept waiting to be acted upon, waiting for each moment to line up perfectly, waiting for all my questions to be neatly answered and all my doubts calmed. But the gospel does not work that way. We must give Heavenly Father our faith. With faith, He will work miracles into our lives and speak soft truths in our ears. The fullness of truth is given in His own time and could only be heard to those faithful enough to patiently wait.

Since this day, many of my own questions have been answered in time, others have not. Regardless, the Spirit’s voice is quiet, and our hearts must be humbled and meek enough in order to hear it. If we wish to receive any sort of answer, revelation, or guidance from God, we must first calm the raging in our minds and give our lives to Him. By accepting His timing, His will over ours, and His path for us instead of the one we may have planned out, truth, liberation, joy, and pure love may be found. It will ring iridescent in your lives and you will be blessed.

The moment I walked up to the pulpit, I found a testimony that had been growing inside me since the beginning of summer. God needed me to act in faith and when I did, the sweetest truth rang out. From there I have walked a path completely redirected from the one I thought I would be on. I have harbored questions I did not know the answers to, but I have walked on and experienced joy in a capacity I did not previously know existed. My life has been so blessed, and it is because of the gospel.

I am so incredibly thankful for my Father in Heaven, our Savior and Brother Jesus Christ, and all those loving friends who helped me that summer. My friends reached out their hands and, with bare feet submerged in icy water, they helped me walk onto each stone step by step until I arrived at Christ’s feet. My beautiful friends—where would I be without them? They were there for each step.

To read more of Lauren’s articles, click here.

I want you all to know that the efforts to gain a testimony are worth it. There were so many moments of anger and misunderstanding, moments I thought there was no way I could become a member of this church. My friends were diligent in talking to me with authenticity, love, and honesty. I think that’s all we can do in this church. If we share the love we have found and pray for the meekness of others’ hearts to receive it, we are doing our part—and it is worth it.

My life was changed for the better because of it.

Lauren Mckinnon

As a homegrown Portlandian feminist, Lauren Mckinnon sometimes wondered how she fit in as a new member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints — but through her testimony and everyday experience, she realized that no matter how different we may feel, we all belong in Jesus’ flock.

The Brigham City Utah Temple

Halfway through summer, my friends and I made a road trip to Brigham City, Utah. I was attending a wedding with my friend Matt (spoiler alert: a year in the future, he and I get married) and I was checking out Utah State’s campus. One of the best friends I had made that summer was transferring there and she was encouraging me to transfer as well. I really had no better plans, and had fallen in love with Utah at this point, so I was open to it.

This trip was perfect. Utah State’s campus was beautiful in the summer, with budding, bright flowers, freshly mowed lawns and honey sunlight filtering through lazy trees. (Another spoiler alert: it does NOT look anything like this during the winter, or during any other season for that matter!)

The night before the wedding, I was sleeping at my friend’s family’s house. I remember sitting on her bed with her as she pulled out photos from her mission. She had served in Peru, and her room was decorated with little alpaca fur figurines. As we flipped through the photos, I asked her what some of her favorite memories from her mission were. Not going to lie, this was my favorite question to ask members who had served missions. I loved the way their faces changed, softness kissing their features, a simple, pure light in their eyes. The stories were never about the magnificent oceans they had seen or fun things they had done—it was always the most humble moments, where a single person or family fell in love with Christ. I loved it.

And as we lay there, drinking in the most intimate, simple love emanating from her mission stories, I felt it: this strong desire to become a part of this beautiful thing I did not quite understand. I wanted it so bad. I wanted to share in this light and love my friend had found. I wanted to be so passionate about something that I too would serve two years of my life for it, asking nothing in return.

I told her softly that I wanted to become a member—this was the first moment these words left my lips—but that I did not know if the Church was true yet. We talked about baptisms, and how I did not want to commit to this Church until I felt Christ tell me it was true. He was my guiding light, and I would follow Him wherever He brought me. I wanted to finished the Book of Mormon first, I said. I needed to be sure this was His church.

She then showed me scriptures in the Holy Bible referencing Christ’s other flock he planned to visit—and how it perfectly fit in with the Book of Mormon. I was amazed by how much the Bible actually references the Book of Mormon when you look closely. I felt engulfed by this honey-like, sweet calmness as we read these words. I want it to be true, my heart ached with every page of scripture.

The next day, my friend Matt and I drove to the Salt Lake Temple. I had never seen it in person before—as a child I had found an old, beat up picture of it, and kept it hidden in my closet, unable to throw it away and mesmerized by how much it looked like a castle. In person, I was completely awestruck. The Temple soured brilliantly into the sky, and girls in wedding dresses were floating around everywhere with their families.

The Salt Lake City Temple

Matt attended the wedding ceremony inside the temple while I roamed the temple grounds. There was plenty to do; Temple Square has many museums dedicated to the Church’s History. As I wandered these museums, I found pictures and statues dedicated to the events of the Bible. I felt stirred by how much I already agreed with doctrine that belonged to the Church! I jotted down scriptures I found that were particularly moving.

Families that would be able to stay together forever; Christ acting as a Savior and Redeemer; a loving Heavenly Father, all of us being His spirit children. A Heavenly Mother. These were all the same founding principles my heart knew to be true. It was so easy to find truth in this Church.

But I still had unanswered questions! And like the assertive, opinionated loudmouth woman I am, I marched up to every missionary I could find, asking my same questions. Over and over. My heart sank bitterly every time someone had a response I did not agree with. I’d thank them, turn my head and trot away, determined to find someone with the answers I so desperately needed.

But no one had my opinions, and that was good as wrong to me.

Eventually I ended up in an old-fashioned, brick tabernacle. I slipped into the back wooden pews, and trying my best not to make a scene, let ugly globs of snot drip from my nose as my eyes leaked all over the floors. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying with every amount of desperation my body could muster. I asked Christ and God, over and over, about my questions. I begged Him to tell me if this Church was true. Pleading for some sort of sign. If it is true, I promise I will convert. Just please tell me. Give me a sign, please, please answer my questions.

A sister missionary, soft and doe-like, softly asked if she could sit with me. So deep in prayer, I jumped in shock, and quickly tried to wipe my red play-doh face away.

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” I stuttered.

She slid in next to me, calm and smiling. She asked me simple questions about myself, and just like that I poured into her—tears, snot, and all. Sometimes it can be easier opening up those deep, squishy, vulnerable parts of yourself to a complete stranger.

She did not have the all the answers that I wanted. But when I told her my conversion story, how my family was not religious but I had begun going to a Christian church and all the wonderful miracles that happened there, I asked her the question that had been banging inside my head since the moment I walked into an LDS church:

“How can we both be true?” I asked, desperation dripping from every word. I knew Christ had blessed my life and I had felt His redeeming, healing touch in that little Christian church I’d attended. But I also saw Christ in the eyes of my friends as they showed me old photos from their missions, and shared scriptures with me from the Book of Mormon. This question was driving me insane. The sister missionary quietly replied, with words carrying a the sense of sureness and love I’d found in my old Christian church walls,

“Maybe your Christian church is a stepping stone towards the fullness of truth.”

She didn’t answer the questions I had that day; there was quite a bit we did not agree on. But for the first time, I realized one church having truth did not invalidate the experiences of another church. I felt Christ in my old Christian church, there was no doubt about that. But there was a possibility for more truth. A fullness of gospel.

The LDS Church having truth did not take away my previous experiences with Christ and the truth preached there. There is truth and power in the Bible, and this can be found in a rainbow of religions. The fact of the matter is Christ loves every single person, religious or nonreligious. He loves every person, no matter their ethnicity, gender, sexuality, or socioeconomic status. He loves everyone. And I know, in the deepest part of my soul that He will reach out to everyone that He can, in whatever way possible. This can be manifested in the little blessing in our lives that we don’t even recognize as Him! This may be Him reaching out to you through a different faith, because He knows it is the closest way He can reach you.

For me, He reached in the walls of a liberal Christian church because that is all I was ready for. The Lord says:

“I will give unto the children of men line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little; and blessed are those who harken onto my precepts, and lend an ear unto my counsel, for they shall learn wisdom, for unto him that receiveth I will give more; and from them that shall say, We have enough, from them shall be taken away even that which they have” (2 Nephi 28:30).

Just as the Book of Mormon says, Heavenly Father was revealing truth to me in amounts I could handle and understand. If you asked me to become a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saint while I was living in Ashland, Oregon—checking off every sin on the list—it would have been an incredibly difficult transition. My Christian church allowed me to develop a relationship with Christ that grew and grew until I was ready for bigger commitments, covenants, and a fullness of knowledge.

The question is not how can both churches be true; the question is, Are you willing to seek out the fullness of truth, and then commit to it? Christ can work miracles in the walls of different churches, and anyone—regardless of baptisms—can feel the Holy Ghost at different points in time, reaching for you to turn the wheel and avoid the accident, comforting you in times of desperation, and encouraging you to give to others…

But are you willing to investigate an unfamiliar faith to see if you can find something that feels in your bones like something you have known to be true since before you were born? Are you willing to ask yourself, if there is more Christ wants us to learn? Or if there is more to life than simply living to the fullest extent until we reach the end? Or are we willing to settle with, “I believe in God, I believe in an afterlife” without fully investigating how it came to be, how we can eventually get there, and who God truly is?

Is it worth not having eternity with the ones you love?

To read more of Lauren’s articles, click here.

I do not believe contentment in this life is worth the possibility of passing up on eternity in the next. I believe God’s path challenges us to constantly reanalyze our beliefs until we find the most truth. It is essential to humble ourselves enough to seek in His name; to kneel as Joseph Smith once did and ask the Lord what His truth is? Because I promise the reward will be sweeter than anything here on this earth.

Are you willing to ask these questions, and then commit to His church when Heavenly Father gives you the answer? Because I know He will. Ask the question in faith and love and eventually a quiet, still voice will answer. It may take time (and work on your end) but He will.

My little Christian church was a necessity. It was a stepping stone in my journey, with truth and joy and love… but it was not the destination. I was racing full speed towards the moment that would change my life forever.

Lauren Mckinnon

As a homegrown Portlandian feminist, Lauren Mckinnon sometimes wondered how she fit in as a new member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints — but through her testimony and everyday experience, she realized that no matter how different we may feel, we all belong in Jesus’ flock.

It is hard for me to pinpoint an exact moment I knew The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was true.

Thinking back to it, that summer my faith steeped slowly, gradually getting warmer and warmer.

When I first started reading the Book of Mormon, it was not a particularity incredible experience. I did not find immediate revelation wedged in between the pages. I found parts that sparked interest and brought me peace. I underlined the scriptures referencing Christ because he was my Savior and I found parts that resonated with me… but I still bubbled to the surface with questions. Hard ones.

Those poor missionary boys. I started setting up appointments and going frequently with some of my close friends. Part of the problem was that I thought I knew everything. I was curious to see if I could find truth in this church my friends loved so much, but I struggled to allow my personal opinions to change. I hit those boys with the hard questions.

Don’t get me wrong—it is important to ask questions within the Church. The whole reason The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints exists is because Joseph Smith knelt on his knees and asked an unanswered question in faith. Truth, light, and knowledge ignite from questions and spiritual contemplation. However, I was not coming from a place where I really wanted to learn. I walked into the meetings defensive and ready to prove those missionaries wrong and convert them to my faith! I did not spend four years in Speech and Debate to simply listen. Psh.

LDS missionaries from all around the world may serve in any one of 422 areas across the globe.

As you can imagine, the meetings did not go well at first. It was a war zone and frustration battered the walls each meeting. I felt like it was the missionary’s job to answer my questions and we were getting nowhere! I would slide them an accusation, carefully crafted in my head the week before, to prove their church was flawed. Then, as they’d stumble out answers… hah! I already had the rebuttal I’d also planned, and we circled like that for hours. Literally hours. I was so frustrated because I wanted to believe this beautiful faith so many of my friends had found. I wanted to taste and share the light they all seemed to have. I loved Christ so much and it was clear that the Latter-day Saint Church was centered on Him! But most questions I asked were met with answers that felt insufficient—or worse, the missionaries would look at me with wide eyes and say, “You just have to have faith.”

Right, I would think to myself. This is your cop out because you don’t have all the answers.

And around and around we went—until that one day. It was so bad, my voice was quivering with anger, tears spilling over, chest burning, and I thought to myself that I could not do it. I knew I could not become a member of this church. It hurt too much, there was too much I did not understand, and I was not getting my answers no matter how loud I asked the questions!

Electricity filled the room, so dense and bitter no one dared to move in fear I would explode. From across the room my friend looked at me with soft eyes and, daring to part the silence, spoke these words:

“Lauren, I think we should talk about what a missionary is supposed to do. The missionaries are here to teach you specific lessons they have prepared for you. I think you should listen to the different lessons they have and then we can work on your questions.”

With her words a beautiful, still peace filled the room. My racing heart slowed and I felt comforted by what she said. I leaned into that warmth and agreed.

This was the first time I remember really feeling the Spirit in this church. I think there were instances of it in my past, guiding me, prompting me, giving me little miracles in my life—but my friend’s words evoked a beautiful stillness in my heart. Peace was restored. I lowered my swords and shields. I set aside all defenses and chose to listen.

To read more of Lauren’s articles, click here.

Taking Christ’s outstretched hand is hard with arms full of weapons. So, I laid my questions to rest. I am so eternally thankful for the friends I made that summer. Without them, I do not think I would have been able to bow my head, swallow my pride, and allow myself to be humbled enough to hear. Hear the soft fibers of truth in the Spirit that cannot be measured, tested, or seen. The Spirit speaks truth that can only be felt if you are actively listening. It can be so easily drowned out, driven away and ignored (especially by a loudmouth girl who always thinks she is right!)—so thank you to the friends I made that summer.

By humbling myself, I found truth in the lessons and began taking steps closer to the true light of Christ.

Lauren Mckinnon

As a homegrown Portlandian feminist, Lauren Mckinnon sometimes wondered how she fit in as a new member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints — but through her testimony and everyday experience, she realized that no matter how different we may feel, we all belong in Jesus’ flock.

Arches National Park in Moab, Utah

Moab was an entirely different universe. As I approached my new home, pillars of red rock zoomed past my car window and little houses that were smudged into canyon walls littered the valley. It was like being dropped onto the planet Mars. It was a small town and the living quarters provided by the company were—and I say this generously—modest, but it was perfect. My days were filled with desert hikes and Colorado river swims.

At first I had trouble making friends with the other employees I lived with because many of the groups already had cliques (what a rip off that this leaks from high school into adulthood!) but it was okay. With my newfound faith and confidence in Christ, I knew it was okay to be alone—because I was never truly alone. He was always there, He loved me, and my life was an active conversation with Him through prayer.

As much as I loved my new home, there was one small problem: the town was the size of my thumbnail. As far as I was aware, the only two churches in town were a small Catholic church and a meeting house for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I no longer had my cute, loving, non-denominational Christian church to sing my heart out in on Sundays. So, as an alternative, many cactuses were hostage to the worship songs I belted on Sunday solo hikes where I’d pack my scriptures and simply get lost.

As the summer rolled on, more people came to work for the business. The girls that came to work for the store had absolute hearts of gold. I started playing volleyball, going hot tubbing, and hiking around with my new friends. One of the best things about this job was that we all worked AND lived together. This gave us the amazing opportunity to become close. I felt like I could talk with them about everything.

And we did! One of the treasures I found was that practically everyone I worked with had a deep love of Christ as well! Afternoon hikes were spent talking about Him and sharing our personal testimonies of Him. I finally felt like I could fully embrace myself by actively sharing my faith so openly—this was something I struggled with at home because my family was not particularly religious.

However, one thing did confuse me: my new friends were all members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I was incredibly familiar with this church because my best friend growing up was LDS, but I struggled to understand how all of my friends had these heart-touching experiences with Him, but belonged to a different faith than I did.

I could not get enough of their stories—they told me about wonderful experiences they had through prayer, and miracles that occurred on their missions. (An LDS mission is an eighteen-month to two-year commitment to serving God, typically in a different area than where the missionary is from.) I believed every word of their experiences. I could hear it in their voice that they knew the same God I was getting to know! But how could we both be right?

Then one of my dear Latter-day Saint friends was asked to give a talk at her church. (This is when a member of the church is assigned a topic, then studies it and speaks about it in front of the whole congregation.) She told me it would mean a lot to her if I came to support her.

To read more of Lauren’s articles, click here.

I went. And looking back, although I did not realize it in that moment, I never really stopped going to church after that day. Sitting in that wooden pew, I had absolutely no idea that this was the first step I was making towards finding the wholeness of the gospel. I simply thought I was doing a favor for my friend. That day in church was not even particularity impactful, but I still found others who shared a deep love of Christ. There was a peace and safety I had not felt before that resided in the church walls. After countless solo hikes worshiping Him, it felt so good to have a community to rejoice in His love with.

I began regularly attending this church, but I knew I was Christian and not LDS. I just loved my friends and I loved Christ a lot, and this seemed to bridge the two together. Still, my heart ached the question, How are we both right?

So I set out to find my answer and picked up a Book of Mormon.

Lauren Mckinnon

As a homegrown Portlandian feminist, Lauren Mckinnon sometimes wondered how she fit in as a new member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints — but through her testimony and everyday experience, she realized that no matter how different we may feel, we all belong in Jesus’ flock.

Every time I went, I felt closer to understanding who God was. Who Christ was. My heart would swell as I sang joyful words to Heavenly Father each Sunday. I loved Him—and He loved me. I could feel it so strongly as I raised my voice in loving praise. The roots of our relationship grew deep as I got to know Him personally as my loving Father in Heaven.

I truly came to understand my worth as a child of God.

I had heard these words vaguely before but never understood their deeper meaning. I remember when my brother and I were young, my mother told us if we ever had nightmares, we simply needed to face our fears and say, “I am a child of God and nothing can hurt me!” With these words, she promised anything bad would be forced to disappear. This lesson was quickly put to the test when I had a childhood nightmare of a witch chasing me. As I recited the words, the witch shrieked and cackled back, “No, you’re not!”

After that, she grew to the size of a skyscraper and I’m pretty sure I died.

Goes to show how much I understood about God!

But in all seriousness, as I went to church, I truly started to grasp the understanding of what it meant to be a child of God. God was my Father and He loved me. Like any good father, He loved talking with me and wanted so badly to have a deep, close relationship. He wanted to help guide me to happiness. As I got to know Him through prayers and scriptures, I felt His loving hands in my life everywhere.

In getting to know God, I also gained a better understanding of His beloved Son, Jesus Christ. I recognized Him as my brother who was the epitome of kindness, hope, and love. His healing arms were open to anyone and everyone who would receive Him. His names were endless and His goodness infinite. But above all descriptions, Christ was and is my Savior.

It was Christ’s healing touch I felt on the days my heart sank. It was His peace that filled me when I ached to be understood. It was His healing that brought brilliant light back into my muddled world. I simply do not have enough words to describe the way Christ’s love healed my heart.

Letting Christ into my heart felt like bursting out after being held underwater for years. Everything that had once seemed muffled became vibrant with colors and life. The numbness was melting and I was no longer sleepwalking. The love of Christ woke me and filled my lungs with sweet, new breath.

His love was limitless and shed light on my true value.

Sure, I still struggled with comparing myself and I still stumbled with hard days. Fear and shame often battered inside me as I compared myself to my friends posting pictures from college while I lived at home working two part-time jobs. My future was no longer clear and my four-year plan for graduation was thrown out the window. I’m not going to lie—there were days it was nearly impossible finding value in myself. There were the days I burned in embarrassment as I ran into old high school friends who were surprised to see me no longer in school. I remember gritting my teeth into a smile and attempting to sugarcoat my mental health breakdown into some romantic break from school.

(Also, for the record, the dorky visor I had to wear for work did nothing to help the pathetic college dropout look.)

All in all, there were days it was just plain hard. My plan was shattered and I had no idea what I was doing anymore! But despite everything setting me back, I found hope through Christ. He taught me how to look past the things that did not matter and value myself for who I truly was.

Loving myself became easier when I learned to view myself the way Christ always saw me.

No, I was not in school, I was not working an incredible job, and yes, I was harboring a laundry list of mental health issues. But these things did not define me. I was a daughter of God and regardless of my current place in life, I had infinite value in His eyes. I was worthy of love and acceptance, and through Him, my life could be healed.

I also learned to rely on Heavenly Father’s plan. He had guided me home. This is not where I had seen myself when I graduated high school, but here I was. And although it was not what I had expected (or even what I really wanted), I learned to trust that His plan was better. He knew and understood me more than anyone else. If I followed His guidance, I would find grace. This was my guiding light that I clung tightly onto when insecurities ravaged my heart.

After attending that little Christian church for three months, spending time getting to know myself better, and praying constantly to God for guidance, I received another blessing.

To read more of Lauren’s articles, click here.

My best friend whom I had grown up with worked for a river rafting company in Moab, Utah during the summer months, and she encouraged me to apply for that summer. I had never been to Moab before and knew nothing about Utah, but I went out on a limb and applied for a job at the company’s storefront. Forgetting about the time zone difference, I was an hour late to my Skype interview. Frazzled and embarrassed, I had no idea if I would get the job.

I remember weeks later when I received the call. My phone lit up with an unfamiliar area code and my lungs leapt out of my chest as I answered.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Lauren. How would you like to take the job at the Moab Adventure Center?”

And just like that, I packed up my things. God was sending me to Moab for the greatest adventure yet.

Lauren Mckinnon

As a homegrown Portlandian feminist, Lauren Mckinnon sometimes wondered how she fit in as a new member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints — but through her testimony and everyday experience, she realized that no matter how different we may feel, we all belong in Jesus’ flock.

At this point, I knew Christ existed. There was no doubt about that. He was the one who answered my prayer.

I also felt a craving to get to know Him more. As I feasted on the Bible, I found promises of an everlasting companion; someone who would understand and love me completely for who I was. He helped the sinners, the outcasts, the lame, and the sick. There was no one too far gone in their despair that His love could not reach and heal. His hands would hold and heal anyone who was in need.

These words sang to my broken heart. For so long, I walked in hurt and misunderstanding. The idea that I belonged somewhere, that I was loved and understood was more than enough for me to investigate.

But I did not belong to a church yet. I mostly worshipped in the privacy of my room, praying and reading the Bible. My prayers where completely unconventional and without structure. I dipped my toes into the waters of faith slowly and talked to God the way you would talk with an old friend. I told Him of my hurting heart. I asked for help. I would lay on my bed and pray for hours. After the beautiful connection I had received with my first prayer, I was hungry for more.

With diligent prayer and thought, I decided I needed to take a semester off from school and move back home in order to work on my mental health. This was an incredibly hard decision. My roommates were hurt that I would leave and put them in a compromising situation where they had to find a new roommate. I felt horribly guilty and even uncertain that this was the correct choice. Moving back into my parents’ house and leaving school felt like taking steps backward.

Despite everything, I kept praying for help now that I was sure someone was listening.

And I was blessed. I was blessed with understanding, loving parents who encouraged me to come home. I told them I was struggling and they drove six hours just to help me move out of my apartment.

Everything was not okay yet. I still had the big bad man (depression) following me. But for the first time in forever, because of Christ, I had hope.

Once home, I was recommended a small, Christian church in town by the same friend who had encouraged me to pray. I was nervous and my mouth stung with the sour taste left by the many churches I had tried before. I decided I was going to go anyway.

I was terrified.

I still remember standing outside the church building, my legs glued to the ground, unsure if I truly wanted to go in. I felt alone and awkward and hadn’t the slightest idea what I was doing.

I remember my stomach twisting into knots as I finally mustered the courage to march through the church doors. It was not even a chapel, just a small room with a stage in the front. There was open space for people to stand and dance, with surrounding chairs lined in rows. I ducked my way into the back of the room and sat down hoping no one would notice me.

You don’t belong here, a familiar voice hissed in my ear. I sank into my seat and looked around. I couldn’t help but notice everyone sitting with their friends and families.

I’m all alone.

There was a band up front on the stage and everyone was singing. The words to the song were projected on a giant screen above the band. I did not know the song, I did not know the words, and I barely had a clue what everyone was singing about.

This was a mistake.

The creeping feeling of not belonging began to take hold. A lump in my throat rose as I watched everyone around me praise something I did not yet understand. I pushed my arms into my sides, willing myself to be smaller. To disappear.

Everyone will see you and know you are alone.

Although I am sure no one was looking, I felt creeping stares crawl under my skin. I stared blankly at the projector screen and ignored the flashing red neon sign draped around my neck screaming: “I am alone! I do not belong here!” I anxiously chewed on my lip and my eyes stung with tears. Who was I to come to church and praise Jesus when I barely knew who He was? I had no right to pretend I was a part of this faith when I barely knew anything about it. I felt like my lifestyle was written all over my skin and everyone could smell the fact that I had no idea what I was doing.

Everyone will see you and know. You are a fake. They will see you and know you are not Christian and that you do not belong here. This is not who you are. This is not who you will ever be. You should leave. This was a mistake. You don’t know Christ. You need to leave.

The thoughts frantically raced through my head. I could not do it. I broke under the pressure of my own insecurities. I shifted in my seat, ready to stand up and leave. I had tried, God. I gave it my best shot. But I just did not belong.

And then a miracle happened.

There is no other way to describe it.

On the screen, where the words to the songs had been once been projected, appeared a picture of a lion.

I know this may not seem significant. But Heavenly Father speaks to us in the languages we understand best. As Nephi phrases it in the Book of Mormon, “For the Lord God giveth light unto the understanding; for he speaketh unto man according to their own language, unto their understanding” (2 Nephi 31:2). I believe this why I receive so much of my revelation visually—I am an artist. In my spare time, I paint and draw. Heavenly Father knows visual descriptions are a way I connect with Him.

And that lion meant everything to me. After starting college, I had taken up drawing lions. At first it was just little sketches and paintings, which eventually led to an enormous three-piece acrylic lion. Its rainbow mane stretches onto three different canvases. This serves as a symbol for myself—or at least, the person I am striving to become. I want to be strong. Brave. Loyal towards the ones I love. And honest. I wanted to face all I was drowning in with the courage of a lion. This painting is one of the pieces I am the most proud of.

The lion had become mine. I drew and painted lions constantly. It was just a little reminder to have the strength and courage to go on.

The lion that appeared on the screen was the same photo I had referenced to draw my first lion.

To read more of Lauren’s articles, click here.

I froze. I starred in complete awe, not quite able to comprehend what I was seeing. Why would this image appear in the middle of a worship?

My heart stopped, and then completely melted.

He was there. God was there. He cared about me. He loved me. He wanted me to be brave and strong and He KNEW me. I did not understand how yet, or even why. But this was my sign. This was my sign that He was here for me and wanted me to stay.

This was my sign that I belonged. My fears and doubts did not matter because I belonged with Christ.

Lauren Mckinnon

As a homegrown Portlandian feminist, Lauren Mckinnon sometimes wondered how she fit in as a new member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints — but through her testimony and everyday experience, she realized that no matter how different we may feel, we all belong in Jesus’ flock.

This is how I lived every day for years.

Depression can be difficult to describe to someone who has never experienced it. It is kind of like a person following you around pretty much ruining everything in your life, but no one else can see him. You feel crazy because no one else seems to have this big bad guy following them and since no one else can see it, it is not always taken so seriously.

I first started struggling with this big bad guy my freshman year of high school, when I entered a very manipulative, toxic relationship. From there the big bad man made his entry and even after the relationship was long gone, my new friend decided to stay awhile, like a guest you never invited over but wouldn’t get the hint to leave.

There were always good days, sometimes even good months. I can look back and remember happy sleepovers with my friends, theater rehearsals filled with jokes and laughter, family dinners full of love. But by the time winter rolled around, I always seemed to default to this sinking feeling I could not shake.

So I learned to breathe with half my lungs and ignore the pit in my stomach.

I struggled with this depression up until my sophomore year of college. This is the point where I hit a wall. I had always been very high-functioning and able to plaster on a giant smile on demand. I greeted my anxieties with an outgoing personality and drowned myself in work in order to hide from myself.

But my sophomore year, everything came crumbling down. I was a student at Southern Oregon University and lived in Ashland, Oregon. My anxieties were heightening and I could not shake the feeling that this small, sleepy town was closing in on me. Upon the entry of a new relationship, I suddenly felt completely out of control of myself, and stumbled upon constant triggers that made my lungs collapse.

The previous year, a therapist suggested that I had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (which was later officially diagnosed) and this was enough to crack my porcelain mask. I could not pretend I was okay anymore and I could not ignore the symptoms. I found parts of my trauma wedged into the cracks of life everywhere I looked. I hated it. My new label forced me to face myself and I could not stand what I saw. I struggled to stay afloat as the good days became more and more scarce.

There were days I simply could not get out of bed. Those days turned into weeks and when I finally summoned the strength to walk down my apartment steps, I found myself in tears by the time I reached the front seat of my car. I wasn’t going to my classes, I stopped talking to most of my friends, and I let the big bad guy take over my life for a while.

Honestly, I hit rock bottom. I had little desire to live. I could not shake the creeping feeling that I was a burden to everyone and that the world would be a better place without me. I spent hours sitting in the bathtub, hot droplets beating down my neck, watching water swirl into the dark drain and picturing myself getting sucked along with it.

I felt like I had tried everything, and nothing worked. Therapy was always a battle because the idea of facing events in the past seemed too painful. It eventually got to this point where I simply felt numb, like my brain was doused in thick maple syrup and I could barely summon the energy to continue breathing, let alone reach out to others. My spirit was broken and felt like I could not go on anymore. I had run out of rope.

But one conversation saved my life.

I had a kind friend who knew I was struggling. He suggested that I pray.

This idea seemed disheartening and funny to me, simply because I had prayed before. My grandpa had baptized me Christian as a baby, and my childhood was coated in lukewarm of memories singing grace before family dinners. When I was little, my mom would sing and tell stories to my brother and me before bed, and then we would always pray.

My grandparents and mom would take us to church. I didn’t remember much other than that I was not allowed to pick my nose there, the pictures of a man hanging on a cross with bloody nails dug into his hands terrified me, and that someone named God lived in this building and I couldn’t help but wonder if He minded all the people walking in and out of His house.

Beyond my childhood, my family was not particularly religious. We would still pray and say grace before meals, but we never went to church, and we did not talk much about God. Throughout high school, I had a burning desire to know if there was a God. I had grown up with my best friend, who came from a religious family. They were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and went to church every Sunday, prayed often, and went to many fun church events. I tagged along to many of these activities and always felt slightly envious of the security and community found in her church. I wanted something like that so badly. I wanted to feel understood and not alone.

But I did not feel anything when I went to my church. I would go through spurts where I would attend with my grandma, but I always felt awkward and out of place in those stiff wooden pews. When everyone closed their eyes in prayer, I could not help the aching in my gut as I watched everyone feel something I was not a part of.

I tried many different churches. I went to a Christian church that worshiped on Wednesday nights, religious summer camps, and Catholic services with friends. I can recall services I felt touched by and quiet moments that seemed to skim the surface of something extraordinary. But my spark of curiosity never ignited into a flame because I never felt like I fit in. It was like an unexplainable spiritual yearning that no church ever seemed to satisfy.

Overall, I had tried church. I had tried praying. I had tried and wanted with every part of my being something larger to believe in. But it was not happening. There were elements of so many different religions I respected and found beautiful! So many beliefs that sang to my heart. But at the end of the day, I could not feel what they felt.

So when my friend asked me to pray, I sighed with the same feeling of not belonging that had resided in me for many years. I told him I had tried. I explained to him some of my experiences.

He promised me that if I prayed to Jesus, I would receive an answer. That it was very important that I tried praying to Him.

Just pray that your heart is open to Jesus, he told me. He had so much confidence that I would receive some sort of answer, and I met his confidence with equal spite. How could Jesus help me when I did not even understand who He was?

I mostly started praying to prove him wrong, but there was a small seed of hope and curiosity within me; a small flicker of belief that perhaps something would happen. I started praying every night, at first halfheartedly.

But then I started pouring out my soul. I started praying deeply each night. I prayed not for my friend, but for me. I prayed not to prove anyone wrong, but genuinely for help. I truly opened my heart, hoping Jesus might be there.

And one night as I prayed deeply, the same prayer over and over, My heart is open to you Jesus, suddenly, a light erupted from behind my eyes.

Startled, I opened my eyes, believing someone had entered my room and turned on the lights. But to my amazement, the pallid white light was all I could see. I blinked my eyes, wondering if the light would dissipate, but it flooded unwavering throughout my whole room.

Suddenly, a door appeared directly in front of me. I watched the door open, and more light flooded brilliantly into my room. Beautiful tendrils of light cascaded out of this white door that had swung open quickly, as if the power of the light could not be kept inside for a second more. I felt amazement and wonder and love. The door opened almost as quickly as it had appeared.

To read more of Lauren’s articles, click here.

The door slowly faded along with the white, golden light. I was left sitting upright in my bed, staring at my wall through the dark. Amazed and breathless, I slowly lay back down with a racing heart.

The image had penetrated itself into my heart and mind. There was no way I could pretend it did not happen and I knew it was not a dream. I had been wide awake when I saw it. Thoughts of wonder galloped through my head as I slowly drifted off to sleep.

The next day, I told a few people about my experience and it was lightly brushed off. But I knew. I knew I had received a vision. An unexplainable gift I did not yet understand but that would change the direction of my life forever.

And this was the moment my heart began to heal.

“Ask, and it shall be given onto you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened onto you” (Mathew 7:7).

Lauren Mckinnon

As a homegrown Portlandian feminist, Lauren Mckinnon sometimes wondered how she fit in as a new member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints — but through her testimony and everyday experience, she realized that no matter how different we may feel, we all belong in Jesus’ flock.

I come from a very different background and sometimes I struggle with finding where I belong in this Church. I grew up near Portland, Oregon and was baptized in Moab, Utah. Both of these places proudly harbor a lot of the dirtbag, hippie views I grew to love. Shortly thereafter, I moved to Logan, Utah and hit a culture shock like none other. Through my testimony and everyday experience, I know that no matter how different my perspectives and upbringing may feel, I belong in Jesus’ flock. I hope this can resound with you as well!

For Beautiful Little Jesse: Thank you for lighting the world with courage and kindness.

Sharing My Story

I have been asked to write this story three times.

My heart ached in the days coming and after. Sang it to anyone who would listen. Bled it all over the pages of scripture that I fumbled through so eagerly. The words tasted so good. I was sure anyone who read them or heard them would recognize the same sweetness I found. I wanted to share this beautiful gift with anyone willing to try it. I felt certain they would love the taste and fall in love the way I did that hot and dusty summer.

Time ticked by and I continued devouring the words, but sometimes they were not so sweet. Sometimes I found parts I did not understand. Sometimes I found myself in a place where I simply did not want to understand. Pride can be fickle and hard to shake, and as I moved from the beautiful home I had made in the summer to a new, foreign area, submerged in a completely different culture I had never known, my heart and my head often fought over who was right.

Honestly, I always felt like I was right. This is a battle I am still learning to overcome.

A New Home and Culture

In my new home, words were said that struck a chord. I watched people walk ways of life completely redirected from the way I was raised. My mother was full of light, with a kind and loving heart. My father had always watched over us and taught us morals he thought were true, so how did the sweetness of my upbringing harmonize with the sweetness of the truth I had learned, when the chords only seemed to crunch every time I met someone new?

My life, my childhood, my words, my thoughts, and my prayers all sounded and looked different from everyone else’s. The things I said, the way I dressed, my opinions, and even my simple mannerisms seemed alien. I felt alone.

The words stopped tasting as sweet. But I still loved them. I still read and learned how they fit like a perfect puzzle piece in my life, even when my puzzle seemed so different from everyone else’s. I clung to the truth I had learned when things were said that I did not understand.

In reality, it was not the truth that had lost its deliciously sweet taste — it was my faith. Heavenly Father knows us so well, but I think the other side does, too. I think the adversary played on my tendency to compare myself, my desires to fit in and have friends. I think he knew I still placed too much value on things that simply pale in comparison to the love of Christ.

And trust me, it is far too easy to compare when you are a homegrown Portlandian feminist who moves to small-town conservative Utah after being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for less than a month.

It was a culture shock to say the least.

Remembering Where it Began

And then I was asked again to share this story from a dear friend; a friend who shared some of those beautiful experiences with me that dusty summer in Moab. I smiled remembering how much I grew there and and how I had grasped the strands of love that God had placed before me. How grateful I felt for the blessings my Father had given me that summer. I remembered my friend’s smile, full of light and reassuring words of kindness: “From the moment I met you I knew you would become a member.”

To read more of Lauren’s articles, click here.

The next Sunday, it was testimony meeting. As I stood before the same ward that I was baptized in, in the very same room I was confirmed in, my heart ached. I looked across so many of the same faces who had watched me take my first steps into the water and announce my love for Christ, my desire to follow and serve Him. So many of the same eyes  were watching me now, almost a year later, share that same love I had clung to. I remembered how ignited I used to feel, how much I loved sharing my testimony with anyone who would hear it.

I was asked for a third time from a small, still voice inside me. Share the story.

Lauren Mckinnon

As a homegrown Portlandian feminist, Lauren Mckinnon sometimes wondered how she fit in as a new member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints — but through her testimony and everyday experience, she realized that no matter how different we may feel, we all belong in Jesus’ flock.