Becoming

Years ago, a friend mentioned she hadn't heard my conversion story.  This is a common enough question when members of the Church find out you weren't born into it, but the idea has always bothered me.  Often conversion is spoken of as a one-time act, a singular choice; some members of the Church talk about conversion as if it is only something that happens to those who weren't raised in our religion.  This simply isn't true.  Ideally, conversion is a lifelong goal, a process of spiritual refinement.  It certainly isn't limited to those raised outside the church; all of us are meant to be converted.

Dallin H. Oaks, an apostle of the Church, once taught that "In contrast to the institutions of the world, which teach us to know something, the gospel of Jesus Christ challenges us to become something." He continues with the story of the last supper, when Christ told Peter, 

 "'I have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not: and when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren' (Luke 22:32).  

In order to strengthen his brethren [...] this man who had followed Jesus for three years, who had been given the authority of the holy apostleship, who had been a valiant teacher and testifier of the Christian gospel, and whose testimony had caused the Master to declare him blessed still had to be 'converted.' 

[...] 

The conversion He required for those who would enter the kingdom of Heaven was far more than just being converted to testify to the truthfulness of the gospel.  To testify is to know and to declare.  The gospel challenges us to be 'converted,' which requires us to do and to become." (The Challenge to Become, 2000)

My conversion began incrementally when I moved to a small town in Arizona that was predominantly LDS.  As mentioned before, I wasn't raised in a particular religion.  I went to church with my aunts a couple of times when I spent the weekend.  Once my dad mentioned that he was thinking of joining a church with us but mostly to make friends and have some kind of social circle.  And one career day Dad thought it would be funny to send me dressed up as an LDS missionary, but carrying a book called Ethics.  I don't think anybody else got the joke.

The Church was just part of the landscape until I started dating a boy whose family had been inactive and was starting to go to church again more regularly.  After we'd been dating a couple of months, he called and asked if I wanted to go to church with him the next day.  I figured it was a good opportunity to see more of him, so I agreed.

I wound up attending church with him nearly every Sunday for the next two years.  I remember being a little nervous because so much of it was unfamiliar, but that faded over time.  I started reading the scriptures for the first time, from the Old and New Testaments to the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants.  I sat through the discussions--a series of lessons about Christ's gospel and church doctrine that are presented to those interested in joining the Church--at least five times with various missionaries. Only the last set was for me, specifically.

There were ideas presented that I'd never heard before.  The Plan of Salvation, given to help us become like our Heavenly Parents (yes, Parents).  The priesthood, which is the authority and obligation to serve and bless others in the name of God.  Living prophets, guides and warning voices meant to help us navigate the trials and obstacles of our contemporary lives.  Agency, the sacred ability to choose what we wanted in this life, and the responsibility for our choices. A Savior who wasn't some vague benevolent construct but a real person who knew me personally.  That there are pieces of truth in all religions, and that salvation isn't just for the special few.  The ability to receive personal revelation.  The gifts of repentance, atonement, and forgiveness.

In addition to the ideas presented, I got to know members of the church who were openly not perfect.  While my childhood friends and I had always scoffed at those who we assumed to be pretentious goody two-shoes, I actually found that most of the actual members were open with their struggles, their doubts, and their efforts towards their own conversion.  I met people who struggled with the dietary restrictions, who had addictions or criminal pasts, who struggled to meet the expectations of the gospel in various ways.  What they had in common was a desire to do better.

It also helped that I have always had a strong moral compass.  Things just felt right or wrong.  While I acknowledge that life isn't always so easily divided, the fact that the gospel felt right was a big part of my willingness to continue learning about it.

All of that didn't make it easier to decide to join the church.  My family was more or less ambivalent (other than one cousin who told me to "watch out for those Mormons.  They're weird.").  The real challenge came from the inner certainty that life would be harder once I joined, as well as reconciling some of the history and past Church doctrine like polygamy (which is not practiced in the Church today, but that's a discussion for another post).  Contrary to my father's ideas about churches, I knew that baptism wasn't just an invitation to social gatherings--there would be a real weight to the responsibility and obligation that I undertook when I made that covenant to follow Christ and take His name upon me.  I also struggled against my natural skepticism, an inclination to self-doubt that had been nurtured by my father.  Inherent faith is not one of my spiritual gifts.  Maybe I just wanted the gospel to be true.  Maybe I was searching for an anchor, any anchor, as my parents divorced and I teetered on the razor edge of adulthood and the vast unknown beyond.  Maybe the twitterpated, rosy feelings for my boyfriend were being transferred to things associated with him.  It was hard to know.  

There were two pivotal experiences that settled the issue.  First was a trip to Nauvoo with my boyfriend's family.  Nauvoo is a city in Illinois that was founded by the early members of the Church during their tumultuous early years, when they were getting harassed and evicted from other towns.  Ultimately they would be forced to leave to leave Nauvoo as well.  It remains a large part of Church history and identity, and the original city is much like other foundational historical sites like Jamestown or Williamsburg.  You can see the old houses and buildings, watch demonstrations of life back in the 1830s, and read the journal entries that line the road the early Saints took to the Mississippi River when they were forced from their city.  Most importantly, there is the Nauvoo Temple.

Temples are unique to Latter Day Saints among contemporary Christianity, but they have their roots in the old temples in Israel and the tabernacle among the Israelites.   They are not just weekly meeting-houses.  They are places of education, worship, and covenant-making. The Nauvoo temple is a recreation of the original, which was destroyed by arson in 1848.  It is a beautiful building.  I knew very little about Church history or Nauvoo then, and even less about temples. However, when I ran my fingers over the cool, polished white stone, I felt an indescribable silent peace.  It was as if I was touching eternity.

The second experience was a prayer.  I had been attending church with Rick for two years, and I was still on the fence about whether or not to join.  He asked me one day if I had prayed about it.  I said no, that I hadn't.  He asked why. I didn't know how to explain that I was afraid of receiving a confirmation.  He asked we could pray about it together.  Feeling awkward and on the spot, I agreed, but I asked him to say the prayer.  I'll never forget how I felt as we knelt and he prayed.  He asked that if these things were true that God would confirm them--and then he added that I would act on the impressions that I received, whatever they might be.  A heavy stillness filled the room; there was no golden glow, no choir of angels or heavenly voice, but I knew in that moment with a surety that the gospel was true, and that I should choose to be baptized.

And so I was.  I made the call to the bishop and the missionaries the next day.  My doubts were still there, but I couldn't deny what I had felt during that prayer.  That feeling carried me through the next several weeks as I explained my decision to my family, as a date was picked, as I sat through interviews and when I saw the shapeless white polyester jumpsuit I'd be wearing into the baptismal font. It even got me through arriving at the chapel to find that someone had forgot the fill the font earlier and I would be baptized in about 18 inches of water. (It worked out just fine.  My future father-in-law said the prayer and bent me back as far as we could go, but finally I just kicked my feet out and he pushed me under the water.)

That was a turning point in my conversion, when I finally picked up the mantle of discipleship.  It was the beginning of many decisions that would shape the next two decades of my life.  My conversion is still ongoing.  As President Oaks said, it is a process of doing and becoming where every day is another chance to try and follow Christ a little more closely.  Some days my faith did indeed fail.  Others, it did not.  Over time I have arrived at a point where I can begin to strengthen my brethren, to support them in their times of failure, to help take up their burdens and encourage them to keep moving forward.  I have come such a long, long way, and there is still far to go--but Christ will make the difference.

If you are interested in learning more, here are a couple of specific links.

Dallin H Oaks "The Challenge to Become" October 2000 General Conference The Challenge to Become (churchofjesuschrist.org)

More about Baptism Baptism (churchofjesuschrist.org)

And more about conversion Conversion (churchofjesuschrist.org)