When Mormon missionaries begin to teach a person interested in hearing their message, the missionaries will encourage the person to pray.  For many “investigators” of the LDS Church, prayer is a brand new venture, and at first, they may be very uncomfortable about making the attempt.

That was the case for me.  I had never prayed.  My father was a rocket scientist and did not believe in God.  My mother claimed to be Christian, but I never saw her pray, never saw her pick up a Bible, never saw her go to any church.  My first prayer was simply to find out if anyone was “up there.”  Was there a God, as the missionaries claimed?  And if He did, indeed, exist, was He personally interested enough in me to answer my awkward prayer?  I knelt, and didn’t quite know how to begin.  The missionaries had given me some coaching – begin by addressing deity in a respectful way, and use respectful language throughout.  Give thanks.  Then ask for answers to questions and help with challenges.  Then close in the name of Christ.

I didn’t quite remember this counsel.  I just knelt there wondering what to say.  I was only fifteen years old at the time, and was seeking to fill a void in my very center, a painful yearning in my heart.  At that age I had already reached the stage of asking, “Is this all there is?”

I don’t remember beginning correctly.  I just knelt silently and let that void manifest itself, hoping this was the gateway that could open and allow it to be filled.  Finally, I just ventured…”Is there anybody up there?”

I received an answer!  I felt a spiritual conduit open above me, and love gushed through it.  “Yes, I’m up here.”  It wasn’t a voice, but an outpouring of love and spirit that I would never be able to question or deny.  I learned a great deal from that brief experience.  Not only was there a God, a truly personal God, but He stood ready to reach out to me at the very second I called on Him.  He knew I was there on my knees, trying to get some words out that would change my life.

After a couple more missionary lessons, I did not ask the Lord in prayer whether the Book of Mormon was true, because I received that witness as I began to read it.  If the Book of Mormon was true, then Joseph Smith was actually a prophet, an idea I found wholly consistent with the way the Lord worked in days of old, as recorded in the Bible.  Even at that young age, I thought it was nonsense to think that if angels visited the earth anciently, they could not do it in modern times.

I was baptized soon after, and never lost my faith.  Not that my life has been a straight path, but my faith has only grown.  In the ensuing years, I have met people who have prayed like I did in my youth, but who claim not to have received an answer.  I have puzzled over this, and I think I have found the key.

When Joseph Smith was fourteen, he attended revival tent meetings with members of his family whenever his farm duties left him time for such a thing.  His family were devout Christians, but unaffiliated, and in the northeastern United States at the time, there was a “Second Great Awakening” of religious fervor taking place.  Part of Joseph’s family was attracted to Presbyterianism, and others to Methodism, including Joseph.  But his confusion grew.  He could not make his choice by resorting to the Bible, because all the Protestant faiths relied on the Bible, but disagreed on doctrine.  Joseph retired to a cluster of trees to ask God which church he should join.  The Lord told him to join none of them, that He was about to restore Christ’s church upon the earth in its fulness.

The event that sent Joseph into that grove of trees to pray was reading the Book of James,  Chapter 1, verse 5:  If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.  The ensuing verses, however, talk about approaching God, doubting nothing.

I believe this is the key to receiving an answer, but I can tell you that at the time I prayed and received my own answer, I was skeptical.  We can doubt God, and we can doubt ourselves, we can doubt the missionaries, and we can doubt their message.  We can doubt the Book of Mormon could possibly be what Mormons claim it to be, but it’s still possible to receive an answer that can be life-changing.

I read about a person who received this sort of witness, the life-changing kind.  He is my example of going to the Lord “doubting nothing.”  He went to his knees at a private time and place.  I don’t know if he addressed the Lord properly and gave thanks, but I know he was already a Christian and accustomed to prayer.  In fact, his prior Christian affiliation was a stumbling block for him, because of his family traditions and conflicting doctrine.  But he went to his knees and humbled himself, acknowledging his inability to know, his inability to rely on prior teachings or family pressure to determine the truth.  Then he said, “God, I know you are there.  Is what the missionaries are teaching me true?  If you tell me it is true, I will give up everything to follow thee.”

And that’s the key.  The willingness to follow that answer received.

Another story is of African students who were in Europe studying, sponsored by a religious organization in Africa.  When they received through prayer their confirmation of the truthfulness of the restored gospel, they had to make a difficult choice.  If they chose to follow the promptings of the spirit, they would have to sever ties with the sponsoring church and lose their education stipend and their European residency.  Knowing the restored gospel was true, they took the leap.   They lost this sponsorship, the free education, and had to return to Africa, but they made the sacrifice, because they knew.  And they received their answer, because the Lord knew they would act.  That’s how we show that we “doubt nothing.”

I have met people who have received the witness, started down the road, and then abandoned it.  These are those called the “thorny ground” in the parable of the sower.  In these, the Lord would have worked His miracles, but they are distracted by things of no worth.

Joseph Smith doubted himself, but that made him humble.  He knew he had not the wisdom to discern which church was true.  He had faith, but had no idea God would actually show Himself in response to his feeble attempt to pray.  But he got up, and headed down a road of bitter persecution and even martyrdom, and a road to great joy.

Additional Resources

Basic Mormon Beliefs — Official LDS Church Website

The Meaning of Life

Jesus Christ in Mormonism

Mormon Temple Ritual

by Jessica

As a person born into a family that is a part of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I am not familiar with the conversion process. A convert is a person is not born into the Church, but is taught and brought into the Church at a certain time in their life. My mother was converted when she was sixteen years old. My dad was born into the Church.

There are certain benefits to being a convert. It can be compared to being a foreigner, moving to a new place. For example, I was living in Utah for so long, I felt like I had nothing to left to learn about the state, even though there is much out there that I don’t know. On the other hand, for a person who is visiting Utah, it’s a vast new experience that they want to learn everything about. So, they travel, they learn, and they study everything about the state to learn more about it. The same goes for the Church. Being born into a family that is LDS, the youth can sometimes feel like they have already learned everything they need to know about the Church, as they grew up. It can make us a little lazy.

The converts, on the other hand, are those who made the decision to join the Church and have studied many aspects of it to understand it better. Converts tend to learn more about the Church and can have a stronger testimony, because they have studied more in-depth into the doctrines of the Church. I’m not saying that everyone who is born into the Church doesn’t study as much as a convert, but it’s been found that converts are more active than the born Mormons.

As a young kid, I moved around a lot to different places, some outside of the United States and some in the United States. When I lived on a small Island called Cyprus, the branch of the Church I attended was very, very small. Meetings were held in a tiny apartment every Sunday. The Primary (children’s) class my sister and I were in, usually just consisted of us, or sometimes two other children. Most like those in Cyprus, are converts to the Church. The people in the branch the strongest members that I have ever met.

Like I said in the beginning, my mother is a convert to the Church and is one of the biggest inspirations to me. Her continuing effort to learn more and more about the Church, has taught me and her other children, deeper doctrines of the Church. I’m guessing that most people that are going to read this very article are either new to the Mormon Church, or are looking into it for a possible conversion. I urge you to do as much studying as you can of the Church, whether member or not. Taking the time to read and study the doctrines of the Mormon Church, will enlighten you in ways that teachers could not do.

I have found that even though I was born into the Church, I have had to become converted, to develop my own personal relationship with Christ, and to learn to understand and act upon the promptings of the Holy Spirit. This conversion process is ongoing and very exciting.

Alan Lew is a former engineer, of South African/Chinese origin and convert to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints

I was born January 14, 1960, in an area southwest of Johannesburg, South Africa.  Both my parents are South African by birth but from different ethnic backgrounds.  My mother’s father was Portuguese from Mozambique and her mother was mixed South African.  My father’s parents are both Chinese who arrived in South Africa in their youth.  I am therefore Chinese, Portuguese, and mixed South African.

In my early years, my family moved to a suburb in Johannesburg about 3 miles from the city center. We spent several years in the Doornfontein area, just a block away from aunts and uncles on my father’s side of the family.  We then moved to a neighboring suburb called Bertrams for a few years, after which my parents bought a home in Bezhuidenhout (Bez) Valley.  All these areas were close to each other and with each move our quality of life improved.

When we moved to Bez Valley I was still in high school, but wasn’t very happy with the school I attended.  During these teen years I started working as a waiter in a dinner/dance Chinese restaurant which enabled me to enroll at a private school and pay my own way through the last few years of high school.  Earning and paying my own way helped me learn to manage money to a degree.

During my second last year in high school we lost 2 of my brothers in a car accident.  It was quite a traumatic experience for the entire family, but especially for my mother.  Prior to this we were raised in a Christian home, but my parents were never members of the church they encouraged us to attend.  Their activity was limited to attendance on Easter, Christmas, and occasional Sundays.  When my brothers died, both Mom and Dad’s religious convictions deepened, and they were baptized in that church.  Even though I had stopped attending this particular church, because I was not completely happy with their doctrine and practices, I once again attended to appease my parents.  Just a few months later I decided that my religious happiness wasn’t ever going to improve in this church, and I stopped attending once again.  During all this time I continued to work at the Chinese restaurant and became friends with a young lady who played in the band.  Getting better acquainted, I learned she was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (a.k.a. LDS or Mormons), which I knew nothing about.  She was very open about what she believed and practiced, and I grew more curious.  I told her about my brothers’ passing and about my discontent with other religions.

One of the first things she shared with me was the plan of salvation.  It all made sense – There was a plan!  It wasn’t difficult for me accept that we existed before, that we are here on earth to get mortal bodies and prove ourselves, and that there’s a promise of return to our Heavenly Father if we prove valiant in the testimony of Christ.  A big part of the plan that struck home was the promise of eternal family – reunion with those gone before (and in fact with all those who pass through this life), as well as eternal increase.

Some of the other beliefs she shared with me were about our eternal growth, about the Godhead, and about the restoration of Jesus Christ’s Church and the Priesthood.

• I loved the idea that we could become like the Savior and Heavenly Father, experiencing eternal growth and the fact that we could attain what they have.
• The Trinity never made a lot of sense to me.  I was tired of being told that some things are God’s mysteries and we leave those alone.  The LDS perspective was refreshing – It was more a case of learning as much as we can because after this life, in addition to the spiritual strength we develop, our knowledge is all we take with us.  I loved the fact that people are encouraged to search for answers and that through study and prayer we could get personal revelation.
• It made sense to me that Christ would restore His church, and that it would be patterned after the same organization that He set up before.

Not long after we met and spent a lot of time in conversation, I met her family who belonged to the same Church.  There was something different about them.  There was a wonderfully strong familial bond fostered by the beliefs of this church they belonged to.  I grew more curious and more interested.  I loved the feeling I had around their family and I visited them often and almost always talked about the Church.

Sometime in second half of 1978 some of the church leaders visited S Africa for a huge (area) conference.  The Thomsons invited me to attend, and I went to one of the sessions with them.  A lot of the talks were a little over my head, but there was a certain “feeling.”  The week after the conference they invited me to attend church with them.  It was a little unusual to go to church for a few hours in the morning and return later in the day for more meetings, but it didn’t take long for me to get used to the routine.  Everything was very different to what I experienced at church before.  I met other members who extended welcoming hands – it was quite impressive that almost everyone knew each other.

After I attended church for a several weeks, the Thomsons introduced me to the missionaries, who were primarily serving amongst the Portuguese, but they fitted me into their teaching pool.  Most things they taught me were pretty much the same as I’d heard from the Thomsons, but there were new principles we hadn’t discussed.  I readily accepted what I heard and had no reservations about these things being true.  When I was challenged to baptism, it seemed the next most logical step to take and I accepted.  Since I wasn’t of legal age yet (in South Africa the legal age is 21), I had to get my parents’ permission.  Neither one hesitated, but I was cautioned by my father that it was “going to be a busy life.”  I’m not really sure how he knew that but his caution was duly noted. Little did I know!

I was ready to be baptized early December 1978, but the missionaries who taught me had another family they were hoping to baptize at the same time as I, so I waited.  This other family committed to a later date in December, then early January, then late January and kept postponing.  We then determined that I should go ahead without them, and I was baptized on February 3^rd 1979, with all the kids in the ward who turned eight.  It was both a heartwarming and a soul-nourishing experience.  After the baptismal service I went to work at the restaurant.  I felt different that evening – warm inside and a glow about me.  The next day at church I was confirmed and felt that warmth return.  I had felt the fleeting presence of the Spirit before but now it seemed to linger.

This is Wayne’s conversion story...

When I was about 22, living a life of alcohol, drugs, and contention with the girl I was living with, I wanted to find a way out of the misery. When I searched for solutions, all I seemed to find were ads promising love, fame or fortune.

One night, my girlfriend and I found ourselves on our knees. Something which we had never felt before had filled the room, a divine presence. The powerful feeling lasted for just a few minutes, but we both knew it was of God.

I began to feel and experience many miraculous things from that time on. A deep desire to read the Bible led me specifically to the New Testament. But, after about two months, these great and amazing feelings seemed to fade. Still, I desired to join a church and be associated with good people. My girlfriend chose not to act upon the spiritual experience we shared that night, and I moved out. The Spirit never lingered with her like it did with me. It seems the experience was meant for me and not so much for her.

From my studies, I had concluded that there must be only one true church and that this church would have to believe in the whole of the Bible. I set out to find this church with questions in mind, which had come to me while studying the New Testament. I was raised in the Anglican faith, so that was my first stop. I didn’t feel that the people I spoke with were able to answer even my first question, so my next stop was the Catholic Church. At this point, I was certain this must be the one, because my mother was raised Catholic, and I knew her to do no wrong. Again, I was not receiving answers that satisfied my thirst for the truth.

After about two months of talking with individuals from all kinds of denominations, I was on the verge of giving up my search and forming my own church. Oddly enough, the Yellow Pages turned out to be the source for finding the true church on earth. I looked up “churches” and searched for a name I thought might be what I was looking for. After talking unproductively to some Jehovah’s Witnesses, I noticed “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints,” or Mormon Church. The phone rang, and a Mormon janitor answered the phone. I proceeded to question him. To my complete and utter amazement, all of my questions were answered to my satisfaction. Somehow, even this janitor, with his knowledge of his faith, knew more about the kingdom of God than the trained clergymen I had spoken with.

After talking with the janitor, I remembered my mother saying to me that one of our neighbors was a Mormon, so I made the trip over to his house and found him home. I told him my story and he said he would contact the missionaries, and I left. I waited several days and then called the missionaries myself. They came over shortly after that and we talked about what had happened to me. They knew it was of God, and we had many wonderful visits as they prepared me for baptism.

The hardest thing for me was to give up cigarettes. I had quit after much effort, but had started again as I was to be baptized. I remember well, how I did not feel the Spirit at all at my baptism or confirmation, most likely because I had started smoking again. After about two months the Elders Quorum President and one of his counselors paid a visit, knowing about my smoking problem, and asked if I might want a priesthood blessing. I of course agreed, and not long after that I woke up one morning and automatically went for a smoke. I got a little angry at myself for that, and this was when the blessing took effect. I had no desire or craving for three days. After that, the cravings came back but I was able to withstand them.

Another addictive habit I had a tough time with was pornography. This was easier to overcome than smoking was, but it took much longer. I think this one is overcome through the passing of time. The more time that goes by, the more I forget the images placed in my mind until they are gone. I also realize this sexual desire is natural but needs to be controlled. Over time it gets easier, as one becomes more centered on the gospel of Christ.

After over thirty years as a member of the Church I cannot say it’s been easy. The first seven years I struggled very much trying to find happiness. After about three months, attending church services became very boring, and I often wondered why I was not feeling any joy or happiness. I was doing all that was required of me such as attending the temple and performing by callings etc., but for some reason, I was not feeling the Spirit. I knew I must be doing something wrong but could not see what it was. I stopped going to church for a long time. About six years ago I decided to give it a go again and started to attend some of the church meetings here and there. After over a year of luke-warm commitment I wiped the dust off of my scriptures and placed them on the table. Still wondering why I had not found the joy of the gospel, I decided I would read the scriptures in a different manner than the way I used to. I decided to try reading them the same way one would read a favorite book. I used to read a chapter a day. I started reading the Book of Mormon, and after about twenty minutes I started to feel the Holy Ghost. I thought to myself, could it be that this is what I had been doing wrong, not reading the word of God correctly? The next day I tried the same thing and found that my assumption was correct…Today, four years later, I still prayerfully read in the Book of Mormon, as well as other scriptures, and now enjoy the companionship of the Spirit almost constantly. Church is not boring anymore, and life is great. There are still struggles, but as I try to improve, it’s wonderful to feel God at my side…..

I was born in Washington, D.C. and had extended family all around.  I can remember attending family events and special events at synagogue when I was a small child, but I was too young to understand what it meant to be Jewish.  I knew that my family had its own, very colorful, culture and behavior, and that it was somehow different than that of our neighbors.  Still, our family celebrated Christmas and Easter—at least the secular parts.

When I was eight years old, my parents moved to Southern California.  My father was a rocket scientist and had left his teaching position at Johns Hopkins University to work at Jet Propulsion Labs.  When we arrived in Los Angeles, we were suddenly no longer Jewish, and faith was never mentioned again in the household.  My mother did say once in awhile, that she’d had a Catholic governess, who had baptized her, but my mother never once went to a Church that I recall.

At the beginning of each school year, all the students filled out emergency cards—whom to contact if our parents weren’t home, any medical problems or allergies, etc.  There was always a space on the card to list your religious affiliation, and I always left mine blank.  I simply had nothing to write there.  As I approached my mid-teens, I began to feel bereft.  Not only that I should be able to fill in that space, but that there was a huge hole in my life and in my understanding that was meant to be filled.  I began to attend various churches with my neighbors, and I enjoyed them all.

One Sunday when I was 15, I telephoned a girlfriend to see whether she’d like to attend a movie with me.  She very politely and thoroughly explained why she kept the Sabbath day holy, and how movie-going was not considered a Sabbath activity.  When I hung up, I felt embarrassed.  I felt that I should somehow know about the Sabbath and what you do or don’t do on that special day.  Shortly after, she invited me to a “Youth Conference” presentation at her church.  I had enjoyed every church function I had attended with my neighbors, so I readily said yes.  That empty place within me was growing more bothersome.  I desperately felt the need to fill it.

Indeed, I had been to many churches.  But when I entered this one, I experienced something profoundly new—a sudden and overwhelming feeling of absolute joy, which also seemed to have affected everyone in attendance.  I knew I was in the right place, and that my life was about to change.  Two sister missionaries began teaching me in the evenings at “cottage meetings,” which a number of the youth of the ward attended with me.  Watching the conversion process was as enlightening for them as being converted was for me.  Everything I was taught settled in like I had already known it all before.

I remember how frightened these sisters were to teach me the lesson on Joseph Smith and his “First Vision.”  I suppose many people had gone along just fine with their lessons until they got to that point, and then stalled when taught that a modern man had seen God the Father and Jesus Christ.  But for me, it was perfectly logical.  If prophets of old had seen visions, why not now?  It was more illogical to consider that visions had altogether ceased.  Why should they?  I remember the Sisters’ question, “Do you think you can believe that Joseph Smith really had a vision?”  My reply of “of course” was a great relief to them.

My parents fought me, but thinking that my conversion would only be temporary (I was dating a boy in the ward by then; they thought—new boy, new religion), they relented.  I was baptized a few months after I turned 16.  I joined the Church in 1962, and its teachings and spiritual power protected me from many of the upheavals of the 1960′s.

I’ve been a member of the Church for 47 years.  I married in the temple to a wonderful returned missionary, and we’ve been married for 42 years.  We have 6 children and 11 grandchildren—all active in the Church.  We’ve lived in 4 countries and traveled in many others, have exciting careers, great friends, and a lot of fun.  Of course there have been challenges, but the gospel and the True Church have the power to guide, heal, and strengthen.  I’ve learned personally that God loves me and has specific things He wants me to accomplish.  We live by the Spirit and follow its promptings.  Joining the Church was the best decision I ever made.

Conversion story of Richard Jewel Willoughby Jr.

The story, to be told correctly, needs some family background. My father was born in Independence, Missouri and was baptized a member of the church at 8 years old but was not active as an adult…read more>

Conversion story by Crystal Champion.

I am certain now that I have found the truth that I have been seeking for, for the better part of my life. I was not brought up in a very religious home and as a matter of fact rarely went to church for most of my childhood or teenage years…read more >

A Testimony and My Witness of the Lord’s Work in Fiji

This testimony is to President Inosi Naga and the wonderful saints from Fiji who are now living in Northern California and who will be participating in the wonderful commemoration of the 50th anniversary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the Fiji Islands…read more>

What God Sounds Like, by Allyson

I was raised in no particular religion; although my parents went between Unitarianism and agnostic, my mother now says that she is an atheist. My conversion story starts in July of 1982, in El Cajon, outside of San Diego, CA, where I was staying with my parents after the birth of my second son. It was a horrible time for me … read more>

I was born a Catholic by Susan Craig

I was raised a Roman Catholic.  Although I didn’t realize it at the time, my break with Catholicism actually began with the death of a baby brother I never got to know.  He was born in the early 60′s and died from a birth defect…read more>

External Sites with testimonies:

MormonsBelieve.org

Youtube.com/moregoodfoundation

www.blacklds.org

www.mormonconverts.com

I Was Raised a Roman Catholic

by Susan Craig

I was raised a Roman Catholic.  Although I didn’t realize it at the time, my break with Catholicism actually began with the death of a baby brother I never got to know.  He was born in the early 60′s and died from a birth defect.  I had been raised to believe that if a baby wasn’t baptized, he or she would never go to heaven.  And I never questioned this.  Some years later, I began to fear that my baby brother had not been baptized.  I didn’t know how I [could] be certain of this.

In September of 1972, my (divorced) mother had moved me, my sister, and my other brother to a new town so she could further her nursing education.  I recall coming home from school one day and seeing the newspaper which had a picture on the front page of two young men in white shirts and ties.  I didn’t read the accompanying caption and thought nothing of it.  Unbeknownst to me, my younger sister had become friends with a classmate who was LDS.  My sister was invited over to her home to meet the Mormon missionaries and she started taking the discussions.  But she didn’t stick with it.

She quit, and soon her friend asked if I’d like to come over and meet the elders.  I said yes, and started taking the discussions.  The elders got me to begin attending youth activities while they were teaching me.  Eventually I finished with the discussions but I kept attending meetings.  It was easy for me to believe in what the elders taught, and The Book of Mormon made such perfect sense to me.  They told me that it was God’s word to people who’d lived here anciently, and I was easily able to accept that.  It all made sense to me intellectually, but at that point in time, I didn’t yet have a spiritual witness that it was true.  I so hungered for that.  I couldn’t put it into words even, but I wanted to believe so much.  I felt deeply sad still.

I didn’t face any opposition from my family, but when my father called one day, I then found out that my mother had been telling him of my activity in the LDS church.  He asked me about it and I told him that yes, I’d been going to another church.  He then asked me; “Doesn’t the Catholic church mean anything to you?”  I wanted to say “No” out loud to him, but couldn’t, as I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.  But to myself, I had said no.  Catholicism no longer meant anything to me.  It held no light, no hope.  And after that, I still ached inside to have a confirmation to my heart, of the truth of what the elders had taught me.

And it finally happened one night as I sat in class at the church, with the other teenage girls.  Each classroom had a church picture on a wall.  The room we were in, had the picture of Peter, James, and John bestowing the Melchizedek priesthood upon Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery.  I had seen this picture countless times before and never thought anything of it.  Up until that particular night, I always paid attention to the lesson and the teacher.  But on this night, for some reason, I didn’t.  I couldn’t.

I found myself glancing around the room and my gaze rested upon that picture.  Only this time, I could not take my eyes off it.  I was unable to for some reason.  And no one noticed that I wasn’t paying attention to the lesson, not even the teacher.  And then my witness from the Holy Ghost came.  I was suddenly flooded throughout my body with the most wonderful and joyous feeling.  And in that instant I knew in my heart that it was all true.

I contacted the Mormon missionaries as soon as I could the next day and asked them to come over to our apartment.  I was very solemn when they arrived.  It was a momentous day for me.  And then I told them that I wanted to be baptized.  They were so happy.  They later told me that they were afraid I was going to tell them just the opposite.  They set my baptism for January 26th, 1973.  But because I was so eager, they moved it up a week, and it took place on the 19th.  As soon as I came up out of the water, my spiritual depression was gone.  I knew the answer to who I was and didn’t feel sad over that question anymore.

What God Sounds Like

by Allison

I was raised in no particular religion; although my parents went between Unitarianism and agnostic, my mother now says that she is an atheist. My conversion story starts in July of 1982, in El Cajon, outside of San Diego, CA, where I was staying with my parents after the birth of my second son. It was a horrible time for me, as their god was money, and they did their best to try and get me to divorce my husband, who had stayed up in Santa Cruz, CA, at college while I “visited” with my family in El Cajon. If we had known their agenda, we would never have agreed to my staying there, but I had had difficulties after my delivery, and as my mom was a nurse, it seemed the best option at the time. If I had been feeling better I might have been suspicious that they insisted on taking all the furniture that was mine or loaned to me by them with them to San Diego.

I ended up walking to the nearby 7-Eleven every day to call and talk to my husband about what a hard time I was having—I eventually found out that my parents wanted me to leave my husband, stay with them with my two young sons, and do housework for them and my sisters as a way to pay my way. I was treated despitefully and with contempt by my sisters as well, so I was in a constant state of turmoil and depression. When my husband came down to pick me up, after finding out their plans and behavior, he was told to get a job down there in San Diego in one week or forever take himself out of my life. His efforts were almost enough, but not quite, and yet he hesitated trying to take me back up to Santa Cruz in his old 54 international pick-up truck, because the alternator had been giving him a hard time all the way down.

He told me he was going to find the name of the local Mormon bishop, and go talk to him. My husband was an inactive convert member of the Mormon Church at the time, and had shared a little bit of what he had learned, so I told him to go ahead. When he came back and said the bishop had said he couldn’t do much, but he would pray for us, I did not think that would do much for us. Yet, staying at my parents’ house was unacceptable (and later I found out that my father was mentally ill, and was affecting the other family members in their behavior, so much so that the family all went their own way and my parents divorced. What would have happened to me and my children if I had chosen to stay I am afraid to think).

So we started to travel to Santa Cruz on a wing and a prayer, with all of my stuff that I could load on in the back of the truck and my two little ones strapped in between my husband and I. We had not even gotten out of San Diego when we started to have alternator trouble, and I felt like despairing. We made it as far as Del Mar, and then our lights started to flicker and go out. We pulled into an all night Sambo’s Restaurant. As I sat talking to my husband about our situation, and the fact that he was going to have to try and get a friend to forward us the money for the part while he worked on the truck all night, the first miracle happened. Even if we had had the money for it, we could not have stayed in any local Del Mar hotels because the horse races had filled them, and there were no rooms at the inn for our little family. A lady in the booth behind me turned around, and gave me a five-dollar bill. When I asked for her address so that I could send her the money when I got more, she said for me to not worry about it, but to “pass it on” to someone else in need, (which I have done several times since). That $5 enabled me to stay there with my little ones in a booth all night, because I could keep purchasing a little bit of food along the way to justify our staying. The second miracle was that my husband got the truck fixed and running, and we got up to Big Sur where we were able to stay with friends for the night, and then made it to Santa Cruz the next day. This all made me think about what the bishop said, and I started to believe in the power of prayer.

My parents sent me a letter disowning me not too long afterward, and I felt that I was in the pit of despair. Then my husband wisely told me that I needed the Relief Society, and that we were going to a Mormon Church the next day. I told him that I needed more than a social organization, and he told me that it was, but that they also teach me how to bake whole wheat bread! I thought that it was worth a try, since I had been searching for a church for a while, and knew I needed one, but hadn’t tried this one yet. So the next day we got the boys all dressed in their best and went to the little chapel in the Santa Cruz Mountains.

My newest son, at two months old, was a bit fussy, so I took him into the nursery to rock, where there was speaker to listen to the sacrament services with. As I listened to the first speaker, some older brother, a wonderful feeling came over me, and I felt like I was bathed in golden light. He did not talk about anything extraordinary, but tears of joy ran down my face as I rocked my little one in the old rocking chair they had there. I felt a powerful witness that there was something great going on in that Mormon Church, and as I watched the members dismiss into the lobby in a little while, I noticed that all their faces seemed to be glowing. I knew I needed to find out more about this Church, so when two young men in white shirts approached me (who seemed to be glowing more than the rest) I took the book they offered me.

I have read the experience of Parley P. Pratt, and I know how he felt when he read the Book of Mormon, for I had a similar experience. I did little else that week, except for take care of my children and read that book, as a thirsty person in the desert suddenly given fresh pure water, or a starving person suddenly granted a feast. I had most of it read by the end of the week and made the missionaries come back and teach me every night. My reasoning was that this book could not have been written by a farm boy with a third grade education, so it had to be of some origin other than man. “By their fruits ye shall know them” ran through my mind, so, based on what I had seen of the members, I decided that it was from God. I had already decided that baptism was the next step, after reading Alma’s plea at the water’s of Mormon, so when the missionaries asked me on Thursday if I had thought of being baptized, I replied yes, and I was ready to be baptized that night. They said that I had caught them flat-footed, and I needed an interview and for them to get the font ready, so would Sunday be all right.

So Sunday was set for the baptism, a full week after I had first gone to Church. On Saturday, I was having a few second thoughts, wondering if I had gone too fast, when suddenly an immensely loud roll of thunder sounded right overhead, out of nowhere. There were not even any clouds in the sky, no rain or other thunder, just this huge sound reverberating through our upstairs student apartment. It was so loud that my husband heard it from miles away, in the downtown area, and my eldest son, then two, came running up to me white faced and asked me “Mama, is that what God sounds like?” I told him I thought so, and decided to interpret it as a warning that I should, indeed, go ahead with my baptism.

The next day, we loaded all of us into the truck and headed down the hill to the highway. About halfway down the hill, the old truck, whose fuel gauge did not work, ran out of gas. Also, my husband realized that he had left his wallet back at the apartment, so he took my oldest son, leaving me with the baby, and started walking back to the apartment. I was sure we were going to be late for the baptism, but decided to exercise my new faith and pray to the Lord, asking him that if He really wanted me to be baptized into this Mormon  Church, would He please help us. A little while later my husband showed up with my son and gas. Someone had picked them up, heard that I was going to be baptized (not caring what church it was in), and gave my husband a ride to the apartments for his wallet, down to the gas station, and back to the truck! I decided that I needed no further witness of the truthfulness of this Church and an hour later I was entering the waters of baptism. Indeed, I felt the spirit of my recently deceased grandmother as I went to the chapel, as if she were sitting a little behind and above me. I later made sure to do her temple work, and wondered if she had been also helping me to make it there though all my trials, watching over me as a special mission from the Lord.

I am still a steadfast, faithful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, almost 24 years later, and have raised all my children in the gospel. My testimony grows more every day, and I still feel that the decision to be baptized was the best I ever made. One of my sons, the one who was a baby at the time of my conversion, went on a Mormon mission to the California Fresno Mission, of which our ward in Santa Cruz had been a part at the time, so I feel that we have sent back the blessings to that area.

I say this all in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

For More Information
WhyMormonism.com

Conversion story of Richard Jewel Willoughby Jr. 5 January 2006

The story, to be told correctly, needs some family background. My father was born in Independence, Missouri, and was baptized a member of the Church at 8 years old but was not active as an adult. My father joined the US Air Force and was stationed at Burtonwood, England, during the Korean War. My mother was born in Macclesfield, Cheshire, England, and had three sons by my father before they were divorced.

At age four I was raised in England with my mother and new stepfather. I knew nothing about my LDS heritage as I grew up and never came into contact with any members of the church.

My mother was Catholic and my stepfather never mentioned religion but was a hard worker and was a good influence. If I asked him to do something that he thought I could do for myself he would say, “Use your own initiative”. We never went to church as a family but when I was very young I recall my mother telling me that there was “God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost.” She said I can pray to God the Father and ask for what I needed. I could understand asking for what I wanted; a young child knows how to do that. She then said that you have to have faith. I didn’t understand that, what’s faith? Fast forward to age twelve and I am having a difficult time at school such that I felt I could not talk to anybody. I lay quietly in bed, tears in my eyes, no-one to turn to. I remembered my mother’s words from years ago and so I prayed as best I could to “God the Father.” In my mind’s eye I pictured Him as a grandfather, a real person. I started the prayer something like this: “God, I don’t know if you exist but please help me….” I don’t think that was very good faith but I did have my prayer answered.

I was attending a Catholic school at the time, though I wasn’t a member of any church. When I was taught about the Trinity I had difficulty with the concept; it did not seem to align with my experience of praying to Father.

At age 20 I wanted to meet my father as I had not seen him since I was 4. I didn’t know where in America he was living. I was visiting my home town of Macclesfield, where I noticed a church with a strange name – “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” It wasn’t an English church that I knew of, so I thought perhaps it was American. I went in and talked to a woman who was cleaning the floor. I told her I was looking for my American father and she took my name and address and told me that someone would contact me. Soon after, I received a letter from the Bishop of the Macclesfield Ward telling me that perhaps I should write to the genealogical library in Salt Lake City. My mother remembered that my grandmother lived in Utah and that she went by the name of Martha Harrison, after her second husband. I wrote the letter, mentioning my father’s mother’s name.

My grandmother was active LDS, my grandfather RLDS (now Community of Christ). Grandmother worked for the Church at Zion’s Printing in Independence, Missouri. When Zion’s moved to Utah in 1946, she came with her work. When my letter reached the office girl at the Genealogical Society, the girl knew my grandmother and called her. My grandmother wrote to me saying that my father was in England on a 14 week TDY with the Air Force. Richard Sr. wrote to me, and I immediately traveled south to meet him, unannounced. He had married twice more and his third wife, my stepmother, greeted me at the door. I talked with my father and he explained how he had kept out of my “new” family so as to not disrupt it but now things were different. We saw each other a lot until he returned to the United States.

I corresponded with my father and my grandmother. After some months, I asked my grandmother about the Church I went into in Macclesfield. She responded by mailing to me two pamphlets: “Which Church is Right” by Mark E. Peterson and “Joseph Smith’s Testimony.”  I did not attend any church but thought there was something to the Bible or else why do so many people have an interest in it.” However, I did remember in my childhood when all was despair I had prayed to God the Father and my prayers were answered. I also owned a Bible I  had purchased and read portions of it. I especially liked the book of Proverbs and liked many of the wise sayings. I was curious about the Ten Commandments and found them in Exodus and read them several times.

These two pamphlets were my first exposure to the Mormon Church. I was not interested in them, but I felt obligated to at least glance through the pages, because my grandmother had taken the time to send them to me. While lying in bed in January 1974,1 read through them very quickly to fulfill my obligation. I put them down and decided to sleep. However, I could not sleep and picked up “Which Church is Right” and read that cover to cover. I also read “Joseph Smith’s Testimony” cover to cover.

“Which Church Is Right” quoted Bible verses and was methodical and logical in its presentation. It was the first time that I’d thought of a church that way, though I didn’t have any real feeling about it. The prophet’s testimony was different. A paragraph that stood out was:

It caused me serious reflection then, and often has since, how very strange it was that an obscure boy, of a little over fourteen years of age, and one, too, who was doomed to the necessity of obtaining a scanty maintenance by his daily labor, should be thought a character of sufficient importance to attract the attention of the great ones of the most popular sects of the day, and in a manner to create in them a spirit of the most bitter persecution and reviling. But strange or not, so it was, and it was often the cause of great sorrow to myself. (Joseph Smith – History 23).

I thought it strange too, and identified with Joseph.

Another paragraph:

During the space of time which intervened between the time I had the vision and the year eighteen hundred and twenty-three—having been forbidden to join any of the religious sects of the day, and being of very tender years, and persecuted by those who ought to have been my friends and to have treated me kindly, and if they supposed me to be deluded to have endeavored in a proper and affectionate manner to have reclaimed me—I was left to all kinds of temptations; and, mingling with all kinds of society, I frequently fell into many foolish errors, and displayed the weakness of youth, and the foibles of human nature; which, I am sorry to say, led me into divers temptations, offensive in the sight of God. In making this confession, no one need suppose me guilty of any great or malignant sins. A disposition to commit such was never in my nature. But I was guilty of levity, and sometimes associated with jovial company, etc., not consistent with that character which ought to be maintained by one who was called of God as I had been. But this will not seem very strange to any one who recollects my youth, and is acquainted with my native cheery temperament. (Joseph Smith – History 28)

I was impressed that Joseph would admit to “foolish errors.”  To me, someone telling a lie would not say this so openly.

I now know that being “impressed” by these two paragraphs was the Spirit acting upon me. After over 30 years the deep conviction that I felt is still with me.

I wrote to the Bishop of the Macclesfield Ward and asked him about the Mormon Church and that I wanted to know more. He replied to my letter, inviting me to travel to Macclesfield and meet with the missionaries. I did so, and recall one memory from our first meeting. I was being taught the first discussion and my mind wandered. When I was a child my mother used to say in a kindly way that “I was off wool gathering” when I didn’t pay attention. The missionaries asked me a question about what was being taught and from then on I was attentive. After the first discussion the missionaries told me that there were missionaries in Crewe and that I would be taught by them.

I was shown the Book of Mormon and started to read it, finished the rest of the discussions, was introduced to the Crewe Branch, and was baptized by Reginald Marshall Amos, a member of the Crewe Branch, at Newcastle-under-Lyme 9th February 1974 a few days before age 22. I didn’t finish reading the Book of Mormon before baptism. I didn’t need to. A witness of the truth of the prophet’s story means that all else flows easily. The Prophet saw Jesus Christ and the Father, therefore there is a God (Heavenly Father) and the Son. Joseph translated the Book of Mormon; therefore it is the word of God. Joseph organized a church; therefore it is the church I should be a member of.

Soon after baptism I fell ill and could not attend and then fell into inactivity. I was sickly for two years, not being employed the whole time. I prayed that God would help me and if He did I would have the strength to return to Church. I received the help and I honored my commitment. To this day, even when I am in the midst of the most gigantic struggles I attend my meetings so that I will never again fall away from being with the saints.

When I returned to church I now had to be taught about and learn the gospel. I had to be taught the doctrines that are the foundation on which to build faith and understanding. I had decided to align with truth. Truth wasn’t coming to make itself fit and conform to my view of the universe. I had to move to truth and change me. It is not an easy process and that process continues today.

Some things were easy though. The admonition to store food and water I agreed readily with. I thought it just common sense to have some reserves, especially as a youth sometimes money was tight and I felt the insecurity of my family living from paycheck to paycheck. Having someone in authority too was just plain common sense. Though I wouldn’t always obey priesthood authority, I would still acknowledge it. I would shape up eventually, usually “using my own initiative”.

When I was seventeen I had seen the suffering in Biafra on the news and felt that I wanted to do something to help. I didn’t know what to do. I recall resolving that some day I would do something. When I returned to church the realization came upon me that there was something I could do that was beyond anything that I had ever hoped I could do. I could be part of building a kingdom – the Kingdom. I set to work with all the zealousness of a convert – at times over zealous – in my pursuit of making the world a better place. A better place built upon the correct principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ as taught by the Prophet Joseph Smith and the Prophet today. A better place because of mothers that teach that there is a Father that answers prayers, even though in my case I only had a particle of faith. A better place because a grandmother knew when and what to send to a grandson she had yet to meet.

No-one need ever be alone, that is my faith.