Helaman 5:12
And now, my sons, remember, remember that it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; that when the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, yea, his shafts in the whirlwind, yea, when all his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon you, it shall have no power over you to drag you down to the gulf of misery and endless wo, because of the rock upon which ye are built, which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall.
My spiritual journey started early in life. My mother took me, my two brothers and one sister to church every now and then. She had no attachment to the church we attended. It was just the church my grandparents had picked. I really didn’t know what the beliefs of that particular Protestant church were apparently, because when I witnessed a couple joining the church, I was taken aback by what the preacher said. I was still quite young, not even a teenager. This new couple stood in front of the congregation while the preacher read the formal doctrinal statement of the church, which included reference to everyone being born in sin. When the preacher said we must all do something in life to overcome that original sin or we will go to hell, I remember thinking that he was saying that those who die as babies would go to hell, because they obviously did not have the chance to meet the requirements for forgiveness. I looked at my mother sitting next to me and said, “I don’t believe that.”
I don’t know if that had anything to do with the change in our church attendance, but after that Sunday, I no longer wanted to attend any meetings there. At some point, my family started visiting various non-denominational churches, looking for something, but I was clueless as to what it was my mother was searching for. I believed nobody knew the truth, and I had no desire to sit and listen to someone teaching me as though they did. My mother believed that the non-denominational churches were admitting that no one knew the truth. I was not finding the answers to my questions, so I started reading all kinds of books on religion, and the more I read, the more questions I had. Being depressed at times, one of the biggest questions was, “Why am I going through this?” In other words, what is the purpose of life? I also wondered about where we came from and where we would go after life was over. I believed no one had the answers, but I thought if I read enough and thought enough about it, I might get an idea as to what the answers might be.
When I was 15 years old, I was in the tenth grade. The previous year I had missed 30 days of school because of depression. I was desperate for relief or at least knowledge. I experienced the first hinge point of my life when I found it. It was the beginning of everything I am now. Even at that stage of my life, I somehow instinctively knew that the only way for me to learn the truth was through personal inspiration. I was studying and pondering and praying without ever being told that was the way to get answers or even knowing that was what I was doing. I was driven by the need to find a purpose in the pain of depression. I was trying to determine why I had to suffer through this life and if it was worth it. I never expected to find the answer that I eventually received. I certainly did not expect to get it the way it came to me, and I never imagined it would have such a profound impact on my life.
It is incredible how vividly some events in life are ingrained on our memory. It is not just a thought but more like a movie clip that plays when the moment is recalled. They are not always the most important, exciting or breathtaking times in our lives. They are more likely to be rather mundane and seem quite forgettable at the time that they take place, like taking a book off the top shelf in the religion section of my high school library. I was looking for something for a class assignment. I don’t remember the assignment or if I even found what I was looking for. What I remember is seeing the Book of Mormon and wondering what it was. I have a very clear vision of myself standing there and reading the introduction to the book. When I read that it had come from an angel, I thought, “If that’s true, this is very important.” Since I was a reader, I knew that I had to read it to find out if it was true.
I checked the book out and started to read it as I would any book, cover to cover, whenever I could, as fast as I could. I read it when I finished my class assignments. I read it while waiting for the bus after school. I read it at home. I found it easy to read and very exciting. In fact, I had to share it with someone, so I told a friend about everything I read. She never showed any interest, but that had no apparent effect on my enthusiasm. I remember telling my mother about Helaman and the warriors who could not be killed. I thought that was amazing. Every story I read seemed to touch my heart. Nothing I had read before had ever affected me like this, but I thought it was just a great book, the best I had ever read, until I read the promise in the last chapter of the book.
Moroni 10:4-5
And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost. And by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things.
As a missionary, I was asked if someone can know the Book of Mormon is true without praying about it. Yes, they can. I did. As soon as I read that passage of scripture, I knew that what I had been feeling as I read the book was the Holy Ghost telling me it was true. When I read those verses, I felt the same excitement I had felt as I read the book. I felt the intense warm feeling expanding and pulsating in my chest and knew it was the Holy Ghost. I had never heard of the Holy Ghost witnessing of the truth in that manner before, but I knew it when I felt it. I was astonished to realize that my expectation of reading and knowing if it were true was realized in such an undeniable and fantastic way. It was the first truly spiritual experience of my life. It was unforgettable. Since then my testimony has been unshakeable. No one could ever convince me that I was mistaken. When the Holy Ghost lifts and fills your soul the way it did mine through the Book of Mormon, it is an experience that cannot be denied or forgotten.
I immediately told my mother that I wanted a copy of the book. She started looking for it but couldn’t find it in any of our regular bookstores. She went to a Christian bookstore and asked about it there. That was a dead-end. Then she saw a small announcement in the newspaper about the ward in our town dedicating a new chapel. The address and phone number were included. She called the church and asked how she could get a copy of the Book of Mormon. The man who answered the phone told her he would send someone out. The missionaries came to our house on Friday evening, October 22, 1976. As a member of the marching band, I was at the high school football game that night.
Sunday morning, October 24, I turned 16. My mother came to my room and sat on my bed. She said, “Happy birthday,” and gave me my present. I opened the most inexpensive and most priceless present my mother has ever given me. It was a Book of Mormon along with a Doctrine and Covenants and Pearl of Great Price. I was so excited. I asked, “Where did you find it?” She told me about the missionaries and said they wanted to meet me. Years later as a missionary, I realized how much they wanted to meet me. At the time, however, I had no idea. I was just thrilled to have the book that I knew had come to the earth by way of an angel.
I was completely out of the habit of going to church by then and had not even thought of taking that step. I had done the next best thing. Earlier that month I had watched one Sunday session of General Conference on TV and was amazed at how positive, uplifting and relevant the messages were. I met the missionaries the day after I turned 16, and when they told me I should go to church, I agreed to go. I was ready to do whatever they said. My mother, younger sister and I were all baptized on December 4, 1976.
I still suffered depression after that. In fact, there were times when it was much worse. It seems knowing the answers to all those questions about the purpose of life does not end the depression. Having the gift of the Holy Ghost does not end depression. Righteous living and an eternal perspective do not even put an end to depression. It could seem hopeless, but it is not. There is a purpose to everything we go through in life, and thanks to finding the gospel of Jesus Christ, I was on my way to learning the purpose of my emotional weakness and how to handle it.
