My Conversion Story

I was baptized and confirmed as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints when I was 28 years old. But that is not the beginning of my conversion story. My conversion story begins during the 1830’s in the early days of the church. My second great grandfather, Ira Jones Willes, was an early convert. He was tarred and feathered by the anti-Mormon mob in Missouri; marched in the Mormon Battalion; and upon his release from the army traveled with his brother, William Smith Willes, to northern California where they went to work for Mr. Sutter digging traces for his mill and they were among the 8 men present when the first gold was found that started the great California gold rush of 1849. Upon learning that Mormons were digging for gold in California, Brigham Young ordered them back to the Salt Lake area. My ancestor then led a party that blazed Carson Pass through the Sierra Nevada mountains and joined the Saints in their new home in the great Salt Lake basin. He then created a two page map entitled “Best Route to the California Gold Fields”. He sewed the pages together and sold them to the men rushing through the Salt Lake valley to California for $2.00 each. I have a prized copy of that map. Soon after his return he married Malissa Lott who had been one of Joseph Smith’s plural wives.

So with that rich family history why was I not a member of the church sooner than my 29th year of life? That is a sad story. When my mother was born in Salt Lake City, her mother died during the childbirth. My mother was my grandfather’s third daughter and he was unable to care for her in the sheep camps where he worked. She was taken to raise by an aunt and uncle who raised her outside the church. Although she knew of her family history, she was not a member of the church. My mother married a non-member and had seven children outside of the church. I am the oldest. My grandfather was in contact with my mother during all of this time and often sent missionaries to our home. I recall them in their suits, riding bicycles throughout the neighborhood but their influence was of little avail. As a child I had no knowledge of the church or any of the gospel principles. However, I did have a religious turn of mind and spent a great deal of time as a teenager and young adult contemplating and pondering many concepts of heaven and hell including what happens to those who never knew, heard of, or understood anything about Jesus. The idea that when we die we go either to heaven if we are good, or hell if we are bad made no sense to me. What was the dividing line? How many evil deeds did it take to be assigned for eternity to hell? And what was the justice in that? Or, if baptism was essential for salvation but one had lived in a time or place where Jesus was not even known, how could an eternity in hell be a just condition for those people? During my high school years I attended the Methodist church, sang in the choir where in view of my nonexistent vocal talents those members certainly earned their own version of sainthood. I was also active in Wednesday night youth meetings. But that was not satisfying to me. I have always read a great deal and during my time in the Air Force I found and read two very edifying books by Fulton Oursler, The Greatest Book Ever Written (The Bible) and The Greatest Story Ever Told (The Life of Christ). Through this and other study I became very familiar with Christianity. But my questions remained. Never the less, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints was the furthest from my mind. I simply did not make the connection. My knowledge of the church was so meager that that there was no place in my heart and mind for the spirit to leave a message.

I married when I was 23 years old and had three children, two boys and a daughter, who died when she was four months old. So it was now three generations of my family who were born or raised outside of the church. But God’s influence in our lives, and my grandfather’s prayers and persistence would begin to unfold in a marvelous way. One of my brothers was a member of the U.S. Air Force and while stationed in Japan he encountered a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints who taught him about the church. He was the first of my immediate family to be converted to the gospel. We were more than a bit nonplussed. My paternal grandfather whom my mother thought would be critical merely laughed and said, “What does Terry want with more than one wife?”. Of course, that was a typical attitude of my grandfather’s generation, and I must say even our own generation. But my brother’s conversion brought him close to our maternal grandfather who was an active member of the church. We all grew closer to him through my brother’s conversion. Then another of my brothers was converted to the gospel while serving away from home in the Army. Soon thereafter a third brother was also converted.

The first of my brothers to be converted, Terry, met a young girl in Salt Lake City and was engaged to be married in the Salt Lake City temple. My maternal grandfather, Charles Willis (he had changed the spelling of his name) and my step-grandmother were going to Salt Lake to attend by brother’s wedding and I and another brother, Victor, traveled with them. We could not attend the wedding in the temple with my grandfather and grandmother because we were not members of the church. But the entire experience was stimulating. I was able to attend the church visitor center at Temple Square for the first time. And during the long drive back to the Pacific Northwest my grandmother related her own conversion story to me. It is rather long and a proper subject for another blog post. It did not change my mind at the time. I still considered myself uncertain and unconvinced of the church doctrine that I had heard up to that time. But her conversion story softened my heart. It was quite spiritual and compelling. I credit my grandmother’s story with preparing me for my own conversion a few years later. Some time after that my mother was converted. There were still three siblings living at home including my brother, Victor, and they soon became members through my mother’s influence. I was the only one left. Me and my own children.

The Lord was not through with me yet. I met a returned missionary at work. His name was Darrell Mitchell and he had served his mission in Brazil. He regaled me with stories of his mission experiences and began teaching me the gospel in earnest. I began to read the Book of Mormon and to pray in accordance with Moroni’s words to pray to know if it was true or not. I received a confirmation in the form of “still small words” to my soul. I heard the words, “That book is true.”, and I couldn’t deny that I heard it. I had expressed to Darrell the concerns that I had held for so many years about the unjust belief that those who had never heard of Jesus and were unbaptized should spend eternity in hell. I told him that I believed that the idea of heaven and hell was involved with a “perfect knowledge” of our lives that we would have after our death and that our reward and punishment would be related to how we felt about what we had doneand God’s judgment of that. Darrell brought out a pocket copy of the Book of Mormon and read from verses therein that explained pretty precisely what I had told him about my own beliefs. I was astounded. I asked why he thought I had arrived at those ideas and he simply said that he thought I had been touched by the spirit. While I had not pondered enough about the church to develop a place in my heart for the spirit about that, I had thought extensively about more general aspects of faith and belief. I had been receptive to the Spirit of Christ which I now know is available to everyone who studies and ponders about those things. Then Darrell taught me about our premortal existence and our heavenly parents. He had a pocket copy of the church hymnbook and sang in a beautiful a Capella voice the hymn, O My Father. When he came to the stanza, “In heaven, are parents single? No, the thought makes reason stare! Truth is reason, truth eternal tells me I’ve a mother there.”, and as I heard those words the spirit testified to me so strongly that I knew for certain that it was true. I knew it at that moment. I know it now. And I will know it forever. I was converted. It was May, 1975. I was 28 years old.

But there is more. It seems that there is always opposition and that was true for me also. My wife was adamantly opposed to my baptism and church membership. She announced that she would not be married to a Jehovah’s Witness, a Seven Day Adventist, or a Mormon. She threw me out and bitterly prevented me from seeing my two boys for a number of years. I lived several hundred miles away and had little contact with them until they were in their teens. But through the church basketball program, and friends they met there, both of my sons were converted to the gospel. One of them served a mission. An accident at birth had deprived three generations of my family of their rightful place in the gospel plan. But through the ministrations of my grandparents, faithful church members, and the Holy Spirit we were all back where we were intended to be in our lives. This three generational saga is a powerful testimony to me of the importance of lineage and of our fore ordination and purpose in this mortal life. I pray that I will faithfully complete my life’s purpose. I write this conversion story in the spirit of love and charity in the name of our Savior Jesus Christ, amen.