I chose to write to the Ensign about my conversion story and how I came to know the Book of Mormon was true. My target audience is anyone that may be struggling with know the church is true. While I think that those similar to my age and circumstances during my experience may relate better, I fell all ages may be able to relate.
My Story
How do I know if the church is true? How do I find out? It was a question that I would never have to ask myself. I have never been the rebellious type. That was some of my brothers. I, on the other hand, loved primary as a child. I knew the words to all the primary songs and sang loud and proud. I knew all the primary answers. I said my prayers and enjoyed Family Home Evening … even when many of my siblings were being rowdy. When I finally reached the age to go into the Young Women program I was nervous of course, but I was excited. I was beyond anxious to get my personal progress book and jumped in feet first to earn my Young Women medallion. In class, I volunteered to read quotes and scriptures. My hand was often the first one to shoot up when a question was asked. I loved my Young Women’s leaders. I was in no way perfect, but in general, I had no problem obeying the rules and keeping the commandments.
Despite all of this enthusiasm, there was something that bothered me ever so slightly in the back of my mind. I knew all the right answers at church, but did I know that the church was true? Did I really have a testimony of the Book of Mormon? I knew that having a testimony of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon was more than just knowing the right answers; there was definitely a difference between the two. I had to find out if I had a testimony or if I just knew the right answers.
I was a freshman in college at Brigham Young University – Idaho, and it was time to decide if I had a real testimony or not. I accepted that gaining a testimony wasn’t something that anyone could do for me. I began by reading the Book of Mormon from start to finish; something I had never done by myself. My initial goal was to read the Book of Mormon all the way through simply so that I could say I had done it. Every night before I read, I prayed for understanding. I asked Heavenly Father to help me to understand the testimonies compiled in the Book of Mormon.
I had heard many people’s testimonies shared over the pulpit that described beautiful moments and life-changing, tear-inducing experiences that confirmed to the speaker that the Book of Mormon was true. After months of reading the scriptures, I still had nothing even close to that. I didn’t have a moment where I heard a voice speak to me and tell me the Book of Mormon was true. I didn’t have a dream of an ancestor visiting me telling me to read the book. I was born into the church, so I didn’t even have a story about two missionaries knocking on my door and introducing me to the Book of Mormon. What was a testimony without a tear-jerking story to go with it?
As I continued to read and pray, I became discouraged. Then one night, a second thought that had been swirling around in my mind off and on for months stuck with me. I remembered my former Young Women’s president getting up and bearing her testimony. She said that she had prayed for a long time to know if the church was true. When she received her answer she came to the realization that she had known all along. Had I known all along too? I got down on my knees and prayed. After days of praying and asking if I had known all along, I received my answer.
It didn’t bring me to tears, and choirs of angels didn’t sing to me in my dreams, but I felt peace. I felt joy. I had known all along. I knew the Book of Mormon was true. I knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I didn’t need big allegorical flashes of light or emotional moments that reduced me to my knees. I felt the Holy Ghost bring light into my soul and peace into my heart. That’s it. Just peace.
From this, I’ve learned that not everyone gets those big “aha” moments, and that’s okay. Sometimes a whisper will do. I know what I know, and I don’t ever want to forget it.
Sketches and images
My Small Hands 