Conversion

Today (Friday), after reading a few articles in the friend, Yann asked me if I grew up going to Church on Sunday. I have never really shared my conversion story with them before, so I thought this would be a great opportunity to do so. I've explained to them that contrary to their dad, who was born and raised in the Church, I didn't. I told them my story, and withheld nothing from it and explained to them how I found Jesus and how the gospel has brought hope to me. Their reaction after I was done talking was overwhelming. They gave me hugs, they told me they were happy and proud of me. I don't talk about the old me often. I carry no shame for who I was. It was me! I didn't hate that person, I liked her.

Growing up I was quite a rebel, and still am sometimes. I had a strong aversion for everything that had to do with authority, and rules. By the age of twelve, I had tattooed (literally) the symbol of rebellion against authority on my left hand and was smoking tobacco at school without my parents ever suspecting. As years came and went, I was drinking alcohol, sometimes before I even made it to school in the morning, or in between classes. I maintained great grades in junior high and got my name on the honor rolls for a few years straight but by the time I was ready to leave for high school, I was skipping school like a pro forging my parents signatures. While I made it through high school and manage to graduate, the drinking was getting way too frequent, and sometimes I would go home drunk. My dad's love for me must have turned him blind because he always thought I was just sick and needed to rest while my mom knew otherwise. By the age of twenty, I had hit rock bottom. One night I went to a party with my siblings, and cousins and got so drunk that I couldn't walk anymore. That night changed something in me, and made me reevaluate my life. I didn't want to be that person that I liked so much. anymore. I wondered and asked myself what the purpose of my life was on earth. Where did I come from? Where was I going? Why was I here? So many questions. I knew I needed to change. Somehow I felt like my behavior didn't reflect the real me. Something was missing and I didn't know what. I was lost! I was angry at times. Sometimes I was scared.

A month after that crazy party, my sisters' friends, who were members, invited us to take English lessons with the missionaries from their Church. It was free they said. My sister, cousins, nieces and a couple neighbors and I decided it would be fun, so we accepted their invitation. Man am I ever glad I did. At first we went for the free classes but one day, my sister asked me to accompany her to a discussion with the missionaries. She needed a partner. I reluctantly went. I remember that day as if it was yesterday. We were seating on the bench outside the chapel, in the inside courtyard. I listened to the elders talking and remembered them asking my sister and I if we could read and pray about a verse in Moroni chapter 10 verse 4. Praying? It was a little bit of a "foreign" concept to me. The only prayer I knew was the Lord's prayer. I didn't know how to pray, and talk to a Father I barely knew. But I did. I couldn't really feel anything. I didn't know what I was asking about. We met the missionaries a week later, and they talked about eternal families, the plan of salvation. I remember feeling overwhelmed. I rejoiced at the thought that my family could be an eternal family. From that day on, I was reading the book of Mormon every time I had a break. Every time I wasn't doing anything, I was feasting on the words of prophets of old. My heart was full. My questions were getting answered. I earnestly asked whether the book and the prophet who has translated it were true. I got on my knee for the first time ever and prayed. The answer was so powerful that I felt a warmth going through me from the top of my head to my toes. A feeling I could never deny. I knew then that my life had a purpose. I knew that I wanted to be a member of this Church. After having done all the discussions with the missionaries, and studying with them, and even feeding the missionaries, and doing family home evening with them, my sister and I set a date. January 01, 2000 would have been the day but it turned out it wasn't meant to. My dad was furious about us wanting to get baptized so he threatened to kick us out of his house if we did so. While we were sad, we somehow felt peace too. So for four years, I held on to the book of Mormon and carried it with me everywhere I went. I read it. I knew it was true. I knew it brought me joy. I didn't want to let go of it. Those four years were challenging at times. We continued to see the elders, and continued to pray. I would sometimes feel powerless and lose sight of my goal to become a disciple of Christ that I occasionally would succumb to old habits. Never taking it to the extreme but still fully knowing that I was taking a step or two back.

A month after our first meeting with the missionaries, I met my sweet husband at a fireside. Our meeting was brief. As you know, we became penpal. One of the questions he asked me in one of his letters was about what my goal was in life. I responded that I wanted to be sealed in the Temple. I didn't know that he would ask me to marry him a year later. I never hid anything from Marc and he knew that I loved the gospel, that I wanted to be baptized but that I had to find the strength to stop drinking, and smoking. A few weeks after we got married, I went to my nephew's eighteenth birthday party. I had my last bottles of beers, and punches, and what used to be my favorite drink, whiskey, and cigarettes that night. It was fourteen years ago this month.

A few months after that party, I got baptized and was fully converted and commited.I will never go back to this life I knew. I love who I am today. My life has changed for the best. I wouldn't have been able to handle the trials that I had so far in my life if it wasn't for the gospel and its principles. For my beliefs, my faith. I still have so much to learn. I still have so much growing to do. I will never be perfect but I am trying to be a better me. I am not giving up on me. Life is good!