How Firm a Foundation
Author's Note: Latter-day Saints are encouraged to keep a journal. I have to admit that I've never been much good at it. But I have been able to use this forum for much the same purpose. At the end of each month, I print out the entries for the previous 30/31/28(29) days and add them to a notebook. It's not quite the same, because there are some things I just don't feel comfortable putting out there for the whole cyber-world to read. But it works for the present time.
The reason I mention all of this is so that readers will be aware that every once in a while, I'll post something just so that it will end up in print for posterity (if any). This entry is one of those.
--
I've been thinking recently about how I came to be a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (colloquially known as 'Mormons', or LDS). It was at about this time in 1981 that the whole process started.
Let me say at the outset that I was set up. That's right, set up, and I walked right into it. Consider:
I was a troubled eighth-grader in December of 1981. (Yes, I know, that makes me old. Shut up.) I had few friends, a foul mouth, and a hot temper. I didn't get along particularly well with my parents, especially my father. Because I was more intelligent than most of my classmates (that's just a statement of fact, not a boast), I was a reasonably good student--unless I was bored. And some of my classes were boring me terribly, so I was struggling a bit academically. I was, in short, troubled.
At that time, my grandmother lived in Ely, Nevada. She would frequently come to visit us during the holiday season. She would drive to Salt Lake City, then catch a plane to Denver, where we would pick her up at the airport. Then, when she needed to go home, we took her back to the airport.
That was basically the plan on this occasion, but with one difference. Between Christmas and New Year's Day, we were supposed to join Mom's side of the family in Montana for a small reunion. I wasn't entirely thrilled about going, because thirteen hours in a car across Wyoming was not (and still is not) my idea of a good time. But Granny had a suggestion. She asked if I would be interested in flying back to Salt Lake City with her, then driving up to Montana from there. I was interested--mostly because I had never been on an airplane. So I agreed, and when we went to the airport the day after Christmas (as I remember), I had a suitcase too.
We landed in SLC and got our luggage, and then Granny offered to show me around town. We drove up to the state capitol and around downtown. She pointed out a lot of things, and it was kind of interesting. Then she asked me if I wanted to go to Temple Square. I didn't really know what that was, but not having any other pressing engagements, I agreed.
I should interject at this point that I knew Granny was a Mormon. I knew that my Mom was one too, although we'd been to church maybe twice in my lifetime. But I didn't know a lot about the Mormon church. All I really knew was what I had learned in eighth grade history when we talked about the settlement of the American West. (Actually, given the ineptitude of that particular history teacher--he had taught us that an artist named Gogan [not Gauguin] had cut off his own ear--it's a wonder I knew anything at all.) So when Granny told me that Temple Square was a sort of visitor's center for the Mormon church, I didn't really know what to expect.
We took a guided tour that started in the south visitor's center. I saw a number of displays that talked about the Mormon pioneers' trek to Utah. I also got to see a rather strange construct that looked like a fancy water tank on the backs of a bunch of cows, all covered in gold. The tour guide explained that this was called a 'baptismal font', and that it was part of a great plan for families to be together forever. I wasn't sure what to make of that.
Then we went into the Tabernacle. The guide told us about the choir and a little of its history. Then they did a demonstration of the building's acoustics by tearing a sheet of newspaper and dropping three pins and a small nail. It was pretty cool.
We walked outside, and I saw a big granite building. I was just starting to get interested in D&D at that time, so I thought it looked like a castle. I asked Granny about it, but she said we couldn't go into that building. I couldn't understand why not. (It makes a little more sense now.)
Then we went into the north visitor's center and saw some more displays. The tour ended upstairs in a room that featured a large statue of Jesus. The walls and ceiling of the room were painted to look like a scene from outer space: stars, planets, nebulas, and the like. It was very impressive.
During the tour, the guide mentioned on several occasions a special book and a man named Joseph Smith. I had heard of him; I knew he had started the Mormon church. The guide said that Joseph Smith had given the world a book about Jesus and that this book could help people live happier lives. The guide also said that copies of this book were available for free, and that if anyone wanted one, all they had to do was ask.
As we were leaving the big room with the statue, Granny stopped to sign the guest book. So I decided to sign it too. I put down my name and address and a couple of forgotten comments. Then, as I recall, there was a small box in the lower right-hand corner that said, "Check here if you would like more information." So I did. I was curious, and I thought maybe they'd mail me a copy of that book or something else to read.
Then we left, got in Granny's car, and headed north, and I forgot all about it.
A couple of months later, in early March, it seems, I was sitting at the kitchen table doing homework one night when there was a knock at the door. Standing there on the porch were two men in suits and ties and they wanted to speak to me. I had no idea who they were. FBI, CIA ... they could have been KGB, for all I knew. As it turned out, they were missionaries from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and they had come to deliver the book I had requested. And I was thinking, "Book ... book? What book? Oh, that book." So Mom invited them in, much to the chagrin of my father, and I sat down with them at the kitchen table.
They explained that the book I had requested was called the Book of Mormon, and that it was a book that taught the gospel of Jesus Christ, much like the Bible. They told me about Joseph Smith and how he had translated the book from the records of a civilization that had lived for more than a thousand years in the western hemisphere. They pointed out a few passages in the book and asked if I would read them. I told them I would. Then they asked if they could come back and talk to me again. I said yes, after making sure it was okay with Mom.
Visits from the missionaries continued over the next several weeks, and eventually I started riding with a local family to church in Greeley. I found a congregation full of people who accepted me and seemed genuinely interested in befriending me. And I found a peace in my life that I couldn't remember ever feeling before. By the end of April, I was ready to join the church.
Not so fast, my father said. It must be said here that at that time, he was not a big fan of organized religion in general and Mormonism in particular. (So why did he marry one? Go figure.) He told me I needed to investigate some other options before committing to anything--Reverend Schroeder's local Lutheran church, for example, or the Methodist church that most of my few local friends attended. He also gave me a book to read, Bertrand Russell's Why I Am Not a Christian. He made me promise to do a little research into some other churches before joining any of them. So I did--promise, that is. But I didn't really look into any of them. Something inside me told me I had already found what I needed.
Eventually, Dad relented under the pressure of my passive resistance...or something like that. So the day came, and my uncle Cal, a convert to the church himself, came up to baptize me. I still remember a few things about the service. One of the other youth in the ward, an almost impossibly attractive young woman named Melanie, played the piano. One of the hymns we sang was "How Firm a Foundation". Granny gave one of the talks. And Uncle Cal had to repeat the baptismal prayer at least four times before he got it word for word. And thus it came to pass that on June 18th, 1982, I was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
And then there's the epilogue to the story. As I was preparing to leave for missionary service in the spring of 1989, I was talking to my mother about how I had come to that point. I mentioned that it all dated back to that first plane ride with Granny. And she said the most remarkable thing: "Well, you knew that Granny and I set that up, didn't you?" I was floored. No, I had no idea that I'd been set up.
That's not a complaint, by the way. I am grateful for Mom's insight, for her recognizing that I needed something in my life and knowing what it was. Becoming a member of the church changed my outlook, my perspective, and my life. It brought about a change in my life has served as a foundation for everything that has happened since. Most of what is good and memorable in my life has come about, either directly or indirectly, as a result of that plane trip.
The reason I mention all of this is so that readers will be aware that every once in a while, I'll post something just so that it will end up in print for posterity (if any). This entry is one of those.
--
I've been thinking recently about how I came to be a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (colloquially known as 'Mormons', or LDS). It was at about this time in 1981 that the whole process started.
Let me say at the outset that I was set up. That's right, set up, and I walked right into it. Consider:
I was a troubled eighth-grader in December of 1981. (Yes, I know, that makes me old. Shut up.) I had few friends, a foul mouth, and a hot temper. I didn't get along particularly well with my parents, especially my father. Because I was more intelligent than most of my classmates (that's just a statement of fact, not a boast), I was a reasonably good student--unless I was bored. And some of my classes were boring me terribly, so I was struggling a bit academically. I was, in short, troubled.
At that time, my grandmother lived in Ely, Nevada. She would frequently come to visit us during the holiday season. She would drive to Salt Lake City, then catch a plane to Denver, where we would pick her up at the airport. Then, when she needed to go home, we took her back to the airport.
That was basically the plan on this occasion, but with one difference. Between Christmas and New Year's Day, we were supposed to join Mom's side of the family in Montana for a small reunion. I wasn't entirely thrilled about going, because thirteen hours in a car across Wyoming was not (and still is not) my idea of a good time. But Granny had a suggestion. She asked if I would be interested in flying back to Salt Lake City with her, then driving up to Montana from there. I was interested--mostly because I had never been on an airplane. So I agreed, and when we went to the airport the day after Christmas (as I remember), I had a suitcase too.
We landed in SLC and got our luggage, and then Granny offered to show me around town. We drove up to the state capitol and around downtown. She pointed out a lot of things, and it was kind of interesting. Then she asked me if I wanted to go to Temple Square. I didn't really know what that was, but not having any other pressing engagements, I agreed.
I should interject at this point that I knew Granny was a Mormon. I knew that my Mom was one too, although we'd been to church maybe twice in my lifetime. But I didn't know a lot about the Mormon church. All I really knew was what I had learned in eighth grade history when we talked about the settlement of the American West. (Actually, given the ineptitude of that particular history teacher--he had taught us that an artist named Gogan [not Gauguin] had cut off his own ear--it's a wonder I knew anything at all.) So when Granny told me that Temple Square was a sort of visitor's center for the Mormon church, I didn't really know what to expect.
We took a guided tour that started in the south visitor's center. I saw a number of displays that talked about the Mormon pioneers' trek to Utah. I also got to see a rather strange construct that looked like a fancy water tank on the backs of a bunch of cows, all covered in gold. The tour guide explained that this was called a 'baptismal font', and that it was part of a great plan for families to be together forever. I wasn't sure what to make of that.
Then we went into the Tabernacle. The guide told us about the choir and a little of its history. Then they did a demonstration of the building's acoustics by tearing a sheet of newspaper and dropping three pins and a small nail. It was pretty cool.
We walked outside, and I saw a big granite building. I was just starting to get interested in D&D at that time, so I thought it looked like a castle. I asked Granny about it, but she said we couldn't go into that building. I couldn't understand why not. (It makes a little more sense now.)
Then we went into the north visitor's center and saw some more displays. The tour ended upstairs in a room that featured a large statue of Jesus. The walls and ceiling of the room were painted to look like a scene from outer space: stars, planets, nebulas, and the like. It was very impressive.
During the tour, the guide mentioned on several occasions a special book and a man named Joseph Smith. I had heard of him; I knew he had started the Mormon church. The guide said that Joseph Smith had given the world a book about Jesus and that this book could help people live happier lives. The guide also said that copies of this book were available for free, and that if anyone wanted one, all they had to do was ask.
As we were leaving the big room with the statue, Granny stopped to sign the guest book. So I decided to sign it too. I put down my name and address and a couple of forgotten comments. Then, as I recall, there was a small box in the lower right-hand corner that said, "Check here if you would like more information." So I did. I was curious, and I thought maybe they'd mail me a copy of that book or something else to read.
Then we left, got in Granny's car, and headed north, and I forgot all about it.
A couple of months later, in early March, it seems, I was sitting at the kitchen table doing homework one night when there was a knock at the door. Standing there on the porch were two men in suits and ties and they wanted to speak to me. I had no idea who they were. FBI, CIA ... they could have been KGB, for all I knew. As it turned out, they were missionaries from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and they had come to deliver the book I had requested. And I was thinking, "Book ... book? What book? Oh, that book." So Mom invited them in, much to the chagrin of my father, and I sat down with them at the kitchen table.
They explained that the book I had requested was called the Book of Mormon, and that it was a book that taught the gospel of Jesus Christ, much like the Bible. They told me about Joseph Smith and how he had translated the book from the records of a civilization that had lived for more than a thousand years in the western hemisphere. They pointed out a few passages in the book and asked if I would read them. I told them I would. Then they asked if they could come back and talk to me again. I said yes, after making sure it was okay with Mom.
Visits from the missionaries continued over the next several weeks, and eventually I started riding with a local family to church in Greeley. I found a congregation full of people who accepted me and seemed genuinely interested in befriending me. And I found a peace in my life that I couldn't remember ever feeling before. By the end of April, I was ready to join the church.
Not so fast, my father said. It must be said here that at that time, he was not a big fan of organized religion in general and Mormonism in particular. (So why did he marry one? Go figure.) He told me I needed to investigate some other options before committing to anything--Reverend Schroeder's local Lutheran church, for example, or the Methodist church that most of my few local friends attended. He also gave me a book to read, Bertrand Russell's Why I Am Not a Christian. He made me promise to do a little research into some other churches before joining any of them. So I did--promise, that is. But I didn't really look into any of them. Something inside me told me I had already found what I needed.
Eventually, Dad relented under the pressure of my passive resistance...or something like that. So the day came, and my uncle Cal, a convert to the church himself, came up to baptize me. I still remember a few things about the service. One of the other youth in the ward, an almost impossibly attractive young woman named Melanie, played the piano. One of the hymns we sang was "How Firm a Foundation". Granny gave one of the talks. And Uncle Cal had to repeat the baptismal prayer at least four times before he got it word for word. And thus it came to pass that on June 18th, 1982, I was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
And then there's the epilogue to the story. As I was preparing to leave for missionary service in the spring of 1989, I was talking to my mother about how I had come to that point. I mentioned that it all dated back to that first plane ride with Granny. And she said the most remarkable thing: "Well, you knew that Granny and I set that up, didn't you?" I was floored. No, I had no idea that I'd been set up.
That's not a complaint, by the way. I am grateful for Mom's insight, for her recognizing that I needed something in my life and knowing what it was. Becoming a member of the church changed my outlook, my perspective, and my life. It brought about a change in my life has served as a foundation for everything that has happened since. Most of what is good and memorable in my life has come about, either directly or indirectly, as a result of that plane trip.
posted by Michael at
9:15 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home