June 16 is the anniversary of my baptism, the day I became a Latter-day Saint. It was 1971, three days shy of my 19th birthday. (Do the math; the upcoming birthday is a big one about which I am in deep denial.) For 2 years before my baptism I was an active, participating dry member of my college ward in Massachusetts and my Illinois ward when I was home with my (Protestant but not particularly religious) family.
I always had a spiritual bent and was raised in a wonderful, nurturing church community. I knew early what it was like to call Jesus my Savior. I knew what the song meant when it said, “Just a closer walk with Thee, Grant it, Jesus, is my plea. Daily walking close with Thee, Let it be, dear Lord. Let it be.” As the president of my Protestant youth group I even considered becoming a minister which was a radical concept for a girl to think about back then. (Ironic pause.)
My mother thought I was being swayed too much by my LDS best friend and the attractive young men with the name tags who taught me about their church at my friend’s house. My dad thought I was making too big a deal out of something that wasn’t that important. Because they wanted to make sure this wasn’t a whim, they asked me to wait.
So I waited.
I didn’t listen to the missionary discussions because I was dissatisfied with my spiritual life. I just really enjoyed conversing with people who also “got” who Jesus was. When the elders asked me, “If you knew God wanted you to become a Mormon, would you?” If God wanted me to, of course I would!
For many months I attended both churches, finding wonderful, faithful people in both places. One was not better, more righteous, more holy or more fun than the other. There were kooks in both places, too.
But the Mormons kept harping on this authority thing. Authority is not a particularly important concept to Protestants. Men having authority, as they suppose, had historically muddied things rather than clarified them. (Ask Martin Luther.)
Then one afternoon (October 2, 1969) when I was newly at college, I invited the elders over and during our dorm room conversation I had the most emphatic spiritual experience of my life to that point and was assured that, yes, God did want me to be Mormon and that there was something uniquely potent and, well, authoritative about the Priesthood in the Mormon church.
By “Priesthood” I didn’t immediately leap to “the men holding it.” It was the juice that ran the universe, for Heaven’s sake. (I mean that literally). It was how God got things done. It was the white pulse, the “oomph,” the “yes!”
I remember pondering that night with amazement that the God of the Mormons was the God of the Methodists, too, and the God I’d known all along. Cool.
And so, yes, I waited. Finally my parents realized this wasn’t a phase and agreed to let me be baptized.
In my experience, being a Mormon Christian is not for the faint of heart. Both dry and wet, I wrestled with cultural differences, conundrums about LDS church history, and intellectual snarls with the differences between “policy,” “tradition” and “doctrine.” Over time I recognized a perplexing array of issues that seemed to complicate rather than enhance the vitality of my life of faith. I saw a number of other Mormons (converts or pioneer stock) face similar challenges and decide to opt out. I once heard someone say “Women are either passive and stay in [the Church] or angry and get out.” Surely those aren’t the only choices.
These muscular exertions still continue these many years later, though I have become significantly more tranquil about my place in the thick of it. The good stuff is beyond compare.
I believe the words of another great gospel song, “There’s plenty good room, plenty good room, plenty good room in my Father’s Kingdom…so choose your seat and sit down.” It may not feel comfortable to everyone (does comfort really have to be a criterion?), but I’m plantin’ my backside, and I’m saving you all a seat.
Something happened in that dorm room that day that altered my spiritual blood type. If I tried to imagine that that didn’t happen, that I didn’t get that witness, I would be betraying the most reliable – the “truest” – core of my soul. As Jeffrey Holland said in the August 2004 New Era:
“Yes, there are cautions and considerations to make, but once there has been genuine illumination, beware the temptation to retreat from a good thing. If it was right when you prayed about it and trusted it and lived for it, it is right now. Don’t give up when the pressure mounts. Face your doubts. Master your fears. ‘Cast not away therefore your confidence.’ Stay the course and see the beauty of life unfold for you.”
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