Faith of Our Fathers

I don't remember much about my childhood. Many of my memories are tied to pictures, or stories I've been told... Only a very select few are things that are in fact my very own memories, and most of those are somewhat spiritual in nature.

This surprises me when I think about it, because I don't recall being a particularly spiritual child, and I struggled with my own testimony well into my twenties.

Nevertheless, those memories are real.

I remember when I was in the CTR7 Primary class that we learned about prayer, and that Heavenly Father answered prayers. Sometime not long after that, I lost my favorite outfit. I couldn't find it anyplace, and I really wanted to wear it for something specific. I said a prayer, and I looked again. It was hanging in my closet, underneath a sweater that I had put on the same hanger. (My mom might say this is impossible, because as far back as I recall, I wasn't very good at hanging up clothes... But this is how I remember it, so as far as I'm concerned, that is what happened.) At the time, I was excited that I found what I wanted, and I probably filed away in my brain "Oh, so prayer really does work!"

Later, when I was probably eleven or so, I remember going on a little hike with my younger brother and cousins in Park City. We were behind my Aunt and Uncle's condominium, and there weren't any adults with us. (Times have changed!) We got lost, and I wrote in my journal afterward about stopping to say a prayer with my brother that we'd be able to find our way back. We did, and another little memo was added to my faith file.

Despite these early experiences with prayer, I didn't exactly gain a testimony of most aspects of the gospel until I was much older.

I often wondered what was wrong with me. Where my friends said things like "I KNOW the Church is true" in their Girl's Camp testimonies, I felt uncomfortable using terms any stronger than "I want to believe." My friends seemed to feel certain of things I doubted. They looked forward to temple marriage and lots of babies... I didn't know if any of that was for me.

In high school, I made friends with a boy in my math class. We didn't talk about religion and I couldn't have told you if he was a Mormon or not until the day when I had to leave class early to do something out in the Seminary building. He asked where I was going, and I told him... and I will never forget the look of surprise on his face. "You're a Mormon?!" He quickly followed that with "I had no idea. You're always so nice to me." I thought often of that exchange. He and I remained friends until he changed schools the following year. His question and following statement bothered me. I was bewildered and somewhat embarrassed that he hadn't known I was LDS. I felt like I should be living in such a way that it was obvious to everyone who met me. I thought my religion should be clearly emblazoned on my sleeve. I was also bothered by his being surprised that I was nice to him, despite being LDS. I couldn't decide which bothered me more.

As a young adult, I was blessed with wonderful friends. I faced some difficult experiences, and held tighter to my friendships than ever before. I looked carefully at those around me, and tried to associate most closely with those who seemed happiest. That unfailingly brought me to Institute Women's Association activities and Friday Forums. I began to wonder if I should go on a mission... After all, I was 21, unmarried, and seemed to have no prospects of becoming married. I wanted to go, if only to get away from the things that were going on around me... But I knew there were some important questions I needed to ask myself first.

Did I really believe it ALL? Was I prepared to sacrifice? Was I interested in going on a mission for the right reasons? The answers were no. I wanted to believe, but I still didn't have faith in the really key elements of the restoration, and I needed that before I could be a missionary. I wasn't ready to go out into the world and make the sacrifices that would be necessary. I wanted to leave to get away, not to share my testimony with people I didn't know... I couldn't even share it with those I DID know.

I knew that it wasn't the right time, so I stayed home, and I began to earnestly take the advice of Moroni. I prayed. I prayed to know if it was not true. I prayed for answers. I prayed for faith. Those things didn't come as I expected them to, but I had heard someone once suggest that the only way to know if a principle like tithing were true was to fully live that principle. So, I immersed myself in church, I went to activities, I attended all my meetings, I read my scriptures, I prayed, I tried to find ways to serve those around me.

At 23, I sat in a Relief Society meeting feeling somewhat discouraged. I had worked so hard, and I still felt like my testimony was missing. I was particularly upset about this because I my dad had recently talked to me about my great heritage in the gospel, and I felt like I owed it to my ancestors to believe as they had believed. I felt like my lineage should have entitled me to an automatic testimony of the truth... but it clearly did not.

That day, we watched Joseph Smith, Prophet of the Restoration, and as we watched, my doubts just melted off of me like ice in a spot of sunshine.



It was the first time I felt truly connected with the faith of my fathers. I cried, and began to be able to say with surety "I BELIEVE."

Prologue

I've been blogging for years. I have written so much about becoming who I am, but I haven't written much about why I've become this person.

I want to be more open about the things that are important to me.

I want to learn about myself as I write about the things that matter to me.

I want to become more fully...

What I mean by that is a work in progress, I suppose. I looked at the word "fully" on lds.org, and I found that it is what I want to be.

Fully converted
Fully qualified
Fully comprehending
Fully engaged
Fully satisfied

I want to live in a way that I am not lacking or omitting anything. I want to be complete. I want to be whole.

I write very little, usually, about the things that are deeply personal to me. These things, however, are the things at my core. The things that make me who I am. The reasons.

I feel like in my blogging existence, I have never given a fully accurate accounting of myself. Here is where I'm going to try.