As I reflect upon my own conversion story, it is a personal testimony about faith in God and in His son, our savior Jesus Christ. It is the journey of my life to learn about God’s true church. Perhaps most importantly, it is a story about the significance of missionary work – about our sisters and brothers with the nametags as well as every single member of the church.
The first time I attended a sacrament meeting at the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was about 25 years ago. My best friend, Dianne S*, had invited me to attend with her family, who were life-long members of the Church.
Dianne and I met in Miss B’s English class on my first day of high school in La Mesa, CA. We shared the same interests in being good students, running track and playing music; my preferred instrument was the flute and she played the piano. We spent many afternoons together, riding our bikes, working on English assignments and having fun being carefree young women.
I invited her to go sailing with my family one Sunday and Dianne politely declined, explaining that Sunday was the most important day of her week. She sounded busy as she described her church meetings, preparing for family time, studying scriptures with her sister and journaling frequently to keep the day holy.
At the tender age of 15, Dianne had a firm testimony and shared it me as she explained about Sacrament, Sunday School and Seminary. She invited me to join her on an upcoming Sunday, with the qualifier ‘but not this one coming up because it’s a Stake Conference and, well, they’re pretty boring for us.’
When I first stepped foot in the chapel, I felt like I belonged. I immediately knew God had led me here and I was in the right place for the first time in my life.
The following week, Dianne invited me to a Stake dance, explaining that they were chaperoned events with modest dress standards and wholesome music. I remember her explaining, ‘…and when you dance with boys, you need to have at least two Books of Mormon between you and him.’ Later that week, we went the first of many stake dances together and I had a great time. There were a handful of kids from high school whom I’d always liked because they were genuinely happy, friendly, and respectful to the teachers and other adults.
I started attending Sunday meetings with Dianne’s family. I vividly remember the first talk I ever heard during Sacrament. It was about how the central union between a husband and wife forms the basis of a family unit – how every blessing in our life flows from this important choice each of us makes in a partner – and most importantly, that we remain with our partner and children beyond the veil, sealed as a family for eternity.
Over the next couple of years, I attended church with Dianne about once or twice a month. I loved the uplifting music, thought-provoking talks and lessons about the gospel – and I feasted upon the word. At mutual, I learned how to do useful things like decorate cupcakes, set a table for a dozen or more and create origami invitations. I was frequently invited to Dianne’s family home evenings and loved that the family dedicated a specific day each week to spend together without the television or phone calls.
Her family set an example for me about the kind of home I wanted to build with my husband one day. Although I don’t consciously remember thinking about being baptized during this time – it was something we all just assumed would happen when I turned 18, I know that I felt “home” whenever I was in church, at mutual, or hanging out at school or a Stake dance with my LDS friends.
As we started our senior year, Dianne and I began to drift apart. Her world grew more spiritual and mine was more secular. My father wanted me to spend more time sailing on the weekends. I also had a heavy honors math/science course load, coupled with theater and other clubs, DECA, track, ASB/student council meetings, college applications, volunteering at the local hospital and preparing for AP exams.
Dianne was increasingly craving a deeper spiritual connection to her education and a larger LDS community, like what she saw when she visited her older sister at BYU. As soon as she had enough credits to graduate, Dianne left CA for BYU in January of our senior year.
I graduated in June and went on to graduate from UC Santa Barbara with my BA in film and media. As I was packing to move from California to start grad school at NYU, I received Dianne’s announcement that she’d gotten married in the Salt Lake City Temple. We were both starting our lives. Although we did not know it at the time, it would be nearly 20 years before we would be in touch with each other again.
Dianne was my first missionary. As a covenant daughter of God, she taught me the Gospel through the love in her heart and goodness of her life that she exemplified everyday. She never knew what a tremendous role model she was for me as a teenager. I’m certain her influence helped me to choose the right during some rather tumultuous years. Through her outstanding example, my personal standards of orderliness, modesty and integrity were created that I would adhere to throughout my life.
Once I finished my formal education, I moved to the UK in the early 90’s. After a few years of living and working in London at the BBC, I met a gorgeous blonde-haired, blue-eyed Brit who towered over me at 6’7. Andrew and I literally fell in love at first sight. After dating for a couple of years, we were planning our nuptials for January 30th, but he was offered a job in New Jersey that required us to be married in order for me to accompany him back to America. So we hastily altered our plans and were married, at my insistence in a small civil ceremony on a stormy Guy Fawkes night, in Lymington, England.
Like many women, the sacred celebration of marriage has always been very important to me. I had been taught about eternal marriage and I knew that I still had more to learn about the gospel. Being married in a church *someday* by the proper authority was an unspoken goal between us. And it had to be God’s church. I know that sounds lofty but we both believed in God as our Heavenly Father and in His Son, Jesus Christ as our Savior. Simply put – we didn’t want to mess it up.
Scarcely 2 years after returning to America, our small family (including a toddler) moved to Michigan. Our careers progressed. We met new friends. Years were gradually torn off the calendar of life. Andrew and I visited a few churches during that time, but, like Joseph Smith’s search, we too felt that none of them were the true church. In reading the Teachings from the Prophet Joseph Smith, I found a quote that perfectly describes how we felt:
“I cannot believe in any of the creeds of the different denominations, because they all have some things in them I cannot subscribe to, though all of them have some truth. I want to come up into the presence of God, and learn all things…”
Our family life, busy with school, activities, lessons and plenty of love, was missing something. I felt like we were going through the motions of life but we really weren’t living. I know now that we lacked a foundation of faith to pin our decisions against as parents and bind us together as a family. I knew my eldest daughter needed more guidance than my husband and I could provide. She was spiritually starving and, I now realize, we were feeding her secular cotton candy.
Even our marriage – the heart of our family – felt like it was weakening as Andrew and I endured wave upon wave of daily trials. Many of our personal hobbies were pushed to “someday” with the hasty excuse that we were busy with work and young children. As a couple, we went out less and less, and our robust circle of friends dwindled. Within our home, criticism began replacing support. The phrase, ‘grumpy mood’ entered our family’s vernacular. Andrew and I sought counseling and we learned new ways to communicate. But something at the core of our family was fundamentally wrong. The joy in our lives was gone.
In medical terminology, “Failure to Thrive” is a descriptive term for declining health, generally applied to infants and the elderly. The key indicators are: malnutrition, mental impairment and depression. When I reflect upon this dark time for my family just over a year earlier, I realize “Failure to Thrive” described our condition. Spiritually malnourished, emotionally impaired and collectively depressed, we needed help.
Just days after my eldest daughter’s 9th birthday, I got down on my knees and prayed like I hadn’t prayed in decades. It was a somber Wednesday morning in early October and I was running late to go to a job that had long since ceased to be meaningful. It felt like my heart was breaking because I knew everything going on in our lives was wrong but I was so lost, I didn’t know how to get back on the right path. I asked…no, I begged Heavenly Father for help. To provide guidance and direction to our lives. To show us a path we could take together as a family.
The next afternoon I had a meeting in that ended early so I was at home at the unusual time of 4pm. It was a treat to greet my daughters from the bus, give them a snack and help them with their homework when the doorbell rang. My entourage of daughters followed me to open the front door, revealing two clean-cut, smartly dressed young men with genuine smiles who introduced themselves as Elder Lewis and Elder Allison from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Honestly – my first thought at that very moment was: wow – that was quick! Followed quickly by the realization: He does know me – we have been found.
I invited them inside but they paused, asking if an adult man was at home. Rather than say no, I asked why and they said they couldn’t come inside unless a man over 18 was present. I said I didn’t think my husband would be very interested in what they had to say. He didn’t have to participate, only be physically present in the house. I suggested they come back in a couple of hours, which they did.
Just after dinner, I warmly re-greeted them and invited them inside. Andrew was in the adjacent room working on the computer when they started their lesson. By the end of the hour, Andrew was right next to me, drilling them with waves of questions and we both were grateful to accept two copies of the Book of Mormon. Now, at last I knew how far apart I should have been dancing at the Stake dances all those years ago!
I read the Introduction. I prayed. I read 3 Nephi 11. I prayed. I read Moroni 10. This was missionary work at its finest. And I prayed again. Immediately I received validation from the Holy Ghost that the Book of Mormon was true. I started at the beginning and read the entire Book of Mormon by the time the missionaries returned two weeks later for our next lesson. I prayed every night, secure in the knowledge that our Heavenly Father really does know every one of His children.
During our next lesson, the missionaries asked if we would start attending church as a family, “but not” they said, ‘this coming Sunday. Because it’s Stake Conference.” With this last twist of irony, memories began stirring of the first time I’d visited an LDS meeting house. I wanted to attend the Stake Conference and my eldest daughter wanted to go with me.
The missionaries welcomed us on Sunday morning when we arrived and introduced us to Brother and Sister L*. Despite living in a small town outside Ann Arbor for 7 years at that point and having two daughters in the public schools, the only family in the ward my daughter and I knew prior to joining the church were Brother and Sister L*. Our eldest daughters had done a musical together 6 months earlier and through their friendship, Sister L* and I had met each other. But the missionaries were unaware of this connection.
As the year drew to a close with General Conference, Thanksgiving and Christmas, we took weekly lessons from the missionaries with occasional visits from other members of the ward. I am so very grateful for the time each member spent with us during our investigation. For the testimonies shared; the lessons taught and the prayers made on our behalf as a family. We felt welcomed and loved by our ward family.
My eldest daughter proved to be a rather stellar student of the scriptures, delighting in the game she created called, “Stump the Missionary” with questions like, “How many women are referred to in the Book of Mormon? If John the Baptist baptized Jesus Christ, who baptized John the Baptist? That last one took a visit from the Bishop to teach my sweet child a wonderful lesson from the Gospel of Matthew.
As a new year approached, my daughter and I knew that we were ready to be baptized. The date was set for mid-January in order to finish our lessons but also because we were hoping that my husband would be ready to join us.
On New Year’s Eve, Andrew and I reflected about what a marvelous transformation the Church had quietly brought into our lives in such a short time. I asked Andrew what he was struggling with and he said he wished he had the faith I did. To me, faith in God is to trust Him. I know He is our Father. To have faith according to Alma 32:21 is to “hope for things which are not seen, which are true.” The instant I invited the missionaries into our home, our family’s suffering disappeared. Within days of our scheduled baptism, Andrew announced he would be joining us.
I realize now that the decline we experienced as a family was the work of the adversary, who would not give up on destroying our family. The week prior to our baptism, several members of the ward told me independent of each other, that they would be keeping our family in their prayers. I thanked them, not entirely understanding why it was needed, until the night before our baptism.
It was about 3am when I was jolted awake. The house was silent. And then my bedroom, which had moonlight streaming in around the shades and through a skylight suddenly started to turn pitch black. It became warm and stuffy – quite a feat for an oversized master bedroom with 11 foot ceilings in the middle of January with the heat turned down to 58. It was like an evil fog of humid darkness was taking over the room. And when I say dark, I couldn’t even make out the familiar outlines of the bookshelf or lamp on the nightstand next to the bed. Fear gripped me and words would not form or escape my mouth.
Suddenly I remembered all the prayers from faithful members of the ward and felt the warm inner glow I was starting to recognize as Divine guidance from the Holy Spirit. I quickly prayed to Heavenly Father for help. It felt like I was ejected out of bed towards my window, where I pushed aside the blind to let the moonlight flood the room. I turned around and the room was back to normal again, even feeling a bit cool. Before getting back into bed, I knelt and said a prayer of gratitude to my Heavenly Father.
The next day, Andrew, my eldest daughter and I were baptized as a family. Since then, my family has been blessed beyond measure. Perhaps more importantly for our eternal family is the realization I had that my family would not have survived this life intact without the many missionaries who guided our journey. I am so grateful to this church for bringing the joy back into our lives and helping us find the path.
Sharing the gospel is part of Heavenly Father’s plan and it is the responsibility of all who follow Him. Since becoming a member, I have taught lessons and helped prepare others, including my own mother who took the lessons and was baptized nearly a year after us. Our family was sealed in the Detroit Temple one year after our baptism.
The spirit of truth has touched my life and through me, my progeny for generations. Through my faith in Jesus Christ, I know that we are chosen sons and daughters sent here in these latter-days. I know that the Book of Mormon is truly the word of God. I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet. And I know that our Heavenly Father loves each of His children and listens to our prayers.
I bear my personal testimony these things are true in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
~ Lori Laurent Smith ~
http://www.middleagedmormonman.com/home/ LDS commentary satire humor mormon humorist religion
Amazing, absolutely amazing. I love what you said about “feeding her secular cotton candy”. That is awesome. I was always a believer of Jesus Christ, that was easy for me. It was the other stuff taught about heaven and hell that threw me off. I loved hearing your story and others feeling how each of us have a similar feeling when we entered the ward building for the first time.
HUGS
That feeling that something really important is missing in your life is what I think the Holy Ghost uses to prepare people to accept the gospel. I really enjoyed your testimony. Than you!
I love this. I think we might need to use it in our next FHE lesson about being better missionaries to our friends. Thank you for sharing!
Thanks MMM for these conversion stories! I can’t get enough of them.
What an amazing story! Thank you so much for sharing it!
Thank you for sharing this amazing experience. I have also found that the adversary does launch his attacks to try to prevent us from making important spiritual steps in our lives. You are right, prayers really do help us have the spiritual armor we need!
Thank you, Lori, for sharing your story. It bears a powerful testimony of God’s love. I imagine how excited Dianne will be to hear your conversion story. She’s the best member missionary I’ve ever read about. *hugs*
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Big hugs. Thank you!
Beautiful conversion story! We sometimes never know what our examples do for others.
Thank you, Lori. Your story is so inspirational. I think of all the times I could have been a much better Dianne and now I hope I can be the friend and example that you are.
Wow….Thanks Lori, my first thought when reading this was, “I need to share this with my older grandchildren so that they can understand how important their example is to others.” MMM, I’ve really loved all the conversion stories that have been shared this week, it’s been a spiritual feast.
I really should go get the kleenex before clicking on these posts!
Thank you so much, Lori, for sharing your beautiful story.
Beautiful Lori. Thank you for sharing.
What an amazing story! Thanks for sharing. Hugs to you and your family.
Oh my. I am trying to stop crying. Yours is the most beautiful testimony I have ever read or heard. I can relate completely.