This is My Story

Shana is speaking in Sacrament Meeting on Sunday about becoming converted to the Gospel.  She's asked for our stories of how we were converted. I'm not sure what she's asking for - of if the following will help her at all.

It’s not much of a story – but here goes.

After my parents divorced when I was 12, my mother became engaged to a young LDS man that had recently moved to this area from Idaho.  As they talked about their marriage plans the subject of religion came up.  I was raised in the Baptist church.  Mother attended the same church but she never became a member (she was raised in the Methodist church and she felt more comfortable there).  And after the divorce we did visit the Methodist Church but that only lasted for a little while.

After much discussion arrangements were made for missionaries to come to our house to teach us the lessons.  Our missionaries were a couple of dear, sweet elderly sister missionaries from Wyoming.  But I have no memory of when we were baptized or by whom or where. 

After our baptism, we went from a lovely little church not too far from our house in Irving to a run-down condemned church in Grand Prairie (what an adventure that was!).  And after the Grand Prairie ward was split we ended up having to drive from Irving to Oak Cliff to meet in the Stake Center  After doing that for a while we rented a building from another faith to use while our chapel was being finished.  And then finally we had a building of our own.

When I was baptized it was to make my mother happy.  Lee and I were told that we were being baptized – no questions asked. So my conversion story doesn’t start at the beginning of my time in the Church but more in middle. 

My conversion has never happened all at once.  I’ve found that it’s happened over time.  Like the song says, “Line upon line, precept on precept.”

I’ve never experienced any earth shattering moments when I’ve known that certain concepts were true.  Instead of a “burning bosom” I’ve received a wonderful feeling of peace.  After praying over something, studying my scriptures, or having a discussion with someone who knows far more than I do concerning a specific topic sometimes I’ll feel like a light has gone off over my head (light bulb!) whenever I’ve “discovered” that a certain something is true.  How did I know it was true?  Because of the influence of the Holy Ghost.  And it makes sense to me. The Lord’s Church does make sense.  Perfect sense. 

I have had some extremely spiritual moments. 

Kneeling across the altar and being sealed for time and all eternity to my sweetheart and his telling me that we could now “start making plans for the future.”

Or holding each of my babies in my arms for the first time and then looking into your father’s eyes while we’re both thinking that THIS is for all time and eternity. 

Getting to speak at Ashley’s baptism and understanding the reason for our needing to be baptized.  And the blessings that we receive when we do as the Savior has instructed us.

Watching your father giving a blessing and my being in absolute amazement at the things that he’s prompted to say because of the power of the Priesthood.  And his being an honorable, worthy Priesthood holder who is acting on the Lord’s behalf.

There have been times when I’ve felt my breathe taken away because of the truth that I was experiencing at that very moment.  I don’t know how many times I’ve looked at a sunset, watched a leaf fall in in slow graceful movements to its final resting place on the ground, listening to a thunderstorm, watching fog roll in over a mountain, seeing a strawberry growing wild in the middle of a beautiful garden. And knowing that all life on this earth is connected because of Heavenly Father’s guidance and direction to have this world created just so.  And to know that the beauty of the earth was created for me.  For me!  And for mine.  And for all that I know and love. 

I’ve heard the whispers of the Spirit as I’ve listened to hymns, testifying of the truthfulness of the Gospel.  I’ve read posts on blogs that provide witness to those things that I need to understand.  And I’ve had little ones in my lap who look in my eyes while we sing “I am a Child of God” and I’ll realize that I am a daughter of God – even though I’m hardly a child anymore.  But I’m still His child.  And will always be so.

And I've felt a guiding hand at that moment and known those little bits of the gospel to be true.

We’re told in the scriptures that we are to have joy in our lives.  Heavenly Father truly wants us to be happy.  And to return to Him.  And I know that this feeling of joy I feel occurs when I’m converted to the Gospel.  Joy.  Happiness.  Peace. Knowing that my Heavenly Father truly loves me.  And watches over me.

I’m still discovering, connecting and being converted to the Church and the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  I’m not a very good witness because I don’t have all the knowledge and/or understanding that others have.  This is a journey that I’ll be on the rest of my life.  And to be honest I think that I’ve done alright.  I have a much better understanding now of my spiritual journey.  I am not as impatient as I once was.  It's not for me to know all things at all times.  That’s not meant for me.

Baby steps.  That’s what I’m taking now is baby steps. 

And hopefully - before my turn on this earth is through - I’ll be able to lengthen my stride as I learn more and be able to witness more strongly and assuredly than before - that yes - I know that the Gospel is true.

 

Do it Now. Don't wait . . .

I’ve lost one of my heroes – Alonzo Shelley.  He was my bishop when I was a teenager. He and his family lived down the street and around the corner from me.  I got to babysit some of their kids before I went to college.  And after we had a family of our own - one of their sons was friends with my oldest and their youngest child was a friend to my older daughter.  Sort of a cross-generational thing. 

He was a good bishop.  And great father figure.  And he taught me a lot by example.  But the one that gained the most from our friendship was my husband Jim.

When we first met Jim wasn’t a member.  I was – but not a very good one.  I didn’t set the best example of the Church and/or its teachings.  However, somewhere, somehow, my beliefs intrigued him.  And he met with the missionaries.  Imagine their delight when they’d finish a discussion, ask “When can you meet with you again?” and his answer was, “What about now?”  Talk about “golden!”

JIm was baptized soon after that.  It broke his parents’ hearts.  His father was a deacon in their congregation and his grandfather was a part-time minister.  So this sudden change of religion did not sit well with them.  We had already decided to get married – hard enough on his mom as he was her only boy.  And now this.  I’m sure that they blamed the whole thing on me.  And it was hard on him, too.  He loved his parents.  And he wanted to do them proud, but they were certain that this wasn’t the way to earn that pride and respect.  They turned their hearts from him.  But only for a while.  

Before he left for basic training and whenever Jim would come home for visits, my then fiancée met with my former (by that time) bishop, Bishop Shelley.  On his front porch, with no one else around.  Just the two of them.  And “my” bishop was giving him a “personal priesthood interview.”  Asking if he was worthy.  Did he study his scriptures, tithe, say his prayers and honor his priesthood.  Did he attend his meetings?  Did he keep his covenants that he made at baptism?  Did he love me?  Did he honor me? 

And then Bishop Shelley would share words of wisdom, guidance and love.  I was, after all, one of “his girls.”  You have no idea what sort of impact this had on my husband-to-be.

So the years passed.  We got married and then moved with Jim’s assignments in the military and school but eventually moved back home.  Bishop Shelley and his family were still in the area.  And those bonds were renewed.  Jim & I both were busy with work, callings, family responsibilities, etc. so didn’t get to spend any real time with them.  But we got to interact with them during church and at ward functions and visits to the temple.  And Jim and I continued to learn from them.  Not so much by the words they said but by the way they treated each other and how they treated the other members of the ward.  With pure love.  The pure love of Christ.

Then Bishop Shelley got sick.  And sicker.  His illness took a terrible toll on him, his loving wife and their family.  And we all knew that the end was near.  And then?  He was gone.

I’ll miss him, but I’m so glad he’s no longer in pain.  And that Sister Shelley now has some relief, too. She was his primary care giver and it was hard on her to watch him as his health failed, the medicines taking away his strength and personality, and make it hard to help him.  But the Lord knew it was time for him to “return with honor” and he did just that.

I’m especially grateful that he had such a positive impact on my husband and on me.  I’m grateful that the good influence that he had on us has been visited on our children.  His words were taken by heart by a good man who did indeed become better and who followed Bishop Shelley’s example when he was called to be bishop. 

Although my heart is filled with gratitude I’m also sad.  But not for the reasons you’d think.

I should have told him, “Thank you”.  Over and over again.  I didn’t tell him that I loved him often enough and that I was glad that he loved me, too.  I’m grateful that he was always such a good example of choosing the right, but I never told him.  And I never told him how his “interviews” and moments with Jim were so appreciated.  And how he influenced a good bishop who in turn influenced so many others.

Is there someone like that in your life?  Someone that you owe a debt of gratitude?  That you need to thank and share with them what they’ve done for you and yours?  If so, tell them.  And thank them.  Before they’re gone, too.  And you have a hole in your heart because you didn’t share your words and thoughts with them.

Our lives on this earth are so short when compared with the eternities that are ahead of us.  And our lives are hard, too. Some harder than others. 

Soften hearts.  Renew ties.  Share love and kindness.  Forgive.  Repent.  Speak kind words from the heart.  And thank them.  Tell them how much they mean to you.  What they’ve done for you when they didn’t even know it.

You won’t regret it if you do, but you will regret it if you don’t.

Bishop Shelley – I love you.  And I will, always and forever, be your Robin Hood.  And you will always be “my bishop”.