The story of my conversion

I was not born a Mormon.

My mother was born and raised Roman Catholic. She made her First Holy Communion. She went to Catholic School as a child. She was from a Czechoslovakian community in Ohio. Her father was Chech, her mother was half Hungarian, raised by her grandparents. As a child I had a friend whom I insisted was a ghost. I knew she was dead. Being the oldest and only child at the time, Nonny was my best friend. My mother attributed the fact that I could communicate with the dead to the spiritual gifts that I inherited from my Bohemian ancestors who made their living as palm readers and fortune tellers.

My father was born and raised Southern Baptist. His uncles were preachers, and several of his cousins are preachers. In spite of the fact that his family seems to be deeply religious, there are many alcoholics. There is deep prejudice, not only towards people of different races, but even towards people from New England--you know, Yankees. No, the civil war is not over for them. Because of the fact that my father married a Catholic Yankee, his parents did not attend his wedding to my mother. They were married in a Catholic church. After my father left his abusive home at the age of 17 he joined the Air Force and went straight to Vietnam where he was a Medic. He never attended church again unless he was obligated to go for a family function.

While we were growing up, the topic of religion came up more than once. For a short time we attended a daycare where we always said grace on the snack. The words were, "God is great, God is good, and we thank Him for our food, Amen." My father took issue with the fact that we were thanking God for the food that he worked hard for. We heard many times about how hypocritical my father viewed the Southern Baptists to be. "They'll tell you not to drink because the devil lives in that bottle, and then take a swig of the whiskey they've got hidden under the pulpit when they think nobody's lookin."

Still, my mother thought it was important for her children to learn about God. There was a little Southern Baptist church about 3 miles from my home. The church sent a bus out to pick up the kids. That's where I went to church until the age of 14. I learned how to pray there. I learned about God and His Son, Jesus Christ, there. I learned to pay a full tithe there. I was baptized there at the age of 9. We begged my mom to come to church with us, and she came a time or two. She had a lot of tough questions that couldn't be answered. She was asked not to return.

We heard from my mother the questions she had about religion; things that never made sense to her. We heard about how mean the nuns were at the Catholic school she attended as a child, and how she was physically abused there. We heard about how many times she was punished for asking tough religious questions that couldn't be answered. She was told that she was just supposed to have faith and follow blindly.

By the time I was 12, I was the only family member still attending church. The bus picked me up and took me home, just like school. Then, at the age of 14, my father got in some deep trouble with the law. It was all over the news. I needed my Pastor more than ever, but because of the nature of the trouble my dad was in, he probably felt uncomfortable around me. I took it as rejection and left the Baptist Church.

I went to several other Baptist churches in the area. None felt right. I attended the Lutheran church for a year or so. I loved the sacramental wine. Meanwhile, I had become a full-blown alcoholic. Alcohol was readily available in large quantities at my house, and I drank heavily every day. Our family situation was dysfunctional. I was the oldest of 3 children, and it was my job to take care of them, fix dinner, and clean up. Both parents worked, and then just my mother worked for a while. After work my parents would meet up at the bar, and drink late into the evening. Neither one of my parents was a nice drunk. There was a lot of fighting and turmoil, a lot of dysfunction.

My younger brother belonged to a local Cub Scout Pack. We would go to the LDS Meetinghouse for Pack Meetings. Most of his friends were LDS. He kept missing events because the boys assigned to call him would forget. My brother decided that the only way to get those announcements that he kept missing was to go where they were being announced. He began attending the LDS church and was baptized at the age of 11. (Interesting how the Lord took weak things and made them strong)

While he was being taught by the missionaries, I would pretend to watch "Dallas" on TV, but I was really listening in on the discussions. I turned off the TV and began attending the discussions with my brother when the Elders showed the film strip, "Ancient America Speaks".

I had learned about an ancient Mayan legend in New Mexico history in the 5th grade. It was the legend of Quetzalcoatl. Having learned that most legends are based upon some real event, I had made up my mind at the age of 10 that at some point, the Savior had visited this continent. When I heard the story in 3 Nephi of how the Savior visited the inhabitants of this land shortly after his resurrection, I was hooked. I took the discussions. I erad the Book of Mormon. I prayed to find out if it was true. My answer was "yes", and I felt it so strongly that the feeling cannot be described. My parents wanted me to wait 6 months to see if I was really willing to stick with it. I quit drinking, cold turkey. I was baptized at the age of 16 and have been an active member ever since. I am currently a temple recommend holder.

Even though I left my tumultuous home at the age of 17, I will be forever grateful to my parents for letting me join the church. Even though I left the little Baptist church I grew up in, I will be forever grateful for the basic teachings I received there. I will be forever grateful that my mother wanted her children to learn about God. I am very thankful to be a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and I know without a doubt that this is Christ's church, organized the way he organized it the first time, restored to the earth after the dark ages. I am so thankful that the Lord chose to restore His church to the earth, and that Joseph smith had the courage and strength to endure all of the terrible things that he had to endure to bring it back. Finally, I am grateful for the New and Everlasting Covenant that binds families together forever, and that I am sealed to my husband and children for eternity. I proclaim these truths in the Sacred name of Jesus Christ. Amen.