As the 9-10 year old members of my Primary class journeyed (semi-reverently) around the halls of our church one Sunday, searching for clues that would help them piece together the coming-forth-of-the-Book-of-Mormon story, I couldn't help reflecting on my own, personal, Book of Mormon "journey."
I grew up in a family of faithful Latter-day Saints. Books of Mormon dotted our shelves.I remember laying on my front porch one summer afternoon when I was about eight, opening the book to page one and determining to read until I reached the familiar words of Nephi's faithful declaration: "I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded." (page six). It felt like I laid there for hours!!
I remember looking at pages of our illustrated Book of Mormon during lazy summer afternoons in Lake Powell.
I remember how excited I was as an older child to realize, on my own, without the help of a chapter heading (we had a lot of old Books of Mormon in my house), that many of the prophesies in 1 Nephi 13 detail events in early American history. "HOW COOL!," I thought. And how SMART I felt!
I remember the pink, rainbow handled scripture case that carried my first personal copies of the Bible and the Book of Mormon.
I remember the Big Hunk candy bar I received from our Primary presidency when I finished the book.
I remember that the pages and promises of the Book of Mormon were familiar to me as a child, it's characters and concepts, friendly.
And then, when I was thirteen, I saw five minutes of a movie that displayed Joseph Smith and Brigham Young in a totally unfamiliar (and I now realize, completely unhistorical) light. Just five minutes, and my heart and mind were reeling with feelings of doubt and discomfort, feelings that were completely foreign and completely terrifying to my young self.
What if that movie was right? What if my parents were wrong? What if the church....What if the Book of Mormon...What if the Prophet...
What if...
What if...
What if...
I did what any reasonable teenager would do: I silently secluded myself in my bedroom.
For a long time.
I laid down, but the softness of my lacy, light-blue bedspread didn't halt the train of turmoil that was crashing around inside of me. I couldn't keep the tears of doubt and disappointment from squeezing out of my closed eyes. I felt so much unsureness. For the first time in my life.
And so I finally did what I had, all my life, been taught to do in case of problems or questions:
If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that givith to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him." James 1:5
"And I say unto you, Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you." Luke 11:9
I prayed.
I remember that my prayer was terribly un-eloquent and choppy. I didn't know what to say. This was no blessing on the food, folks. I mumbled phrases like, "Heavenly Father, I feel awful." and "I don't know what's really true." and "I don't want to feel this way." and "I just want to believe in what's right."
I finished my prayer. And nothing happened. I still had tear-stained cheeks. I still had a furrowed brow. I still had questions and doubts and uncomfortable uncertainties surging inside of me.
A few hours later I put my distraught self to bed. As I reached for the lamp on the night stand next to me, I saw a bookmark I had been given at a church fireside some weeks previous. I picked it up, turned it over, and read words that still blaze in my mind's eye, words that were like an uttered answer to my cry for help, words that still induce the sting of tears, words from the Book of Mormon:
"Behold, if ye will awake and arouse your faculties, even to an experiment upon my words, and exercise a particle of faith, yea, even if ye can no more than desire to believe, let this desire work in you, even until ye believe in a manner that ye can give place for a portion of my words." Alma 32:27
And so began the great experiment of my life. I started immediately. Instead of carrying a reading book to school in my backpack, I took a copy of the Book of Mormon. I read the whole thing through, seriously and thoughtfully. At the end of the experiment came a subtle, un-glorious but undeniable conviction of the book's divinity. Evidence. Fruit. Tangible, although difficult to explain. "O then, is not this real?"
The official experiment ended, but the journey had only just begun.
I continued, and still continue, to find so much of my life in the pages of the Book of Mormon:
An adoration for and increased closeness to the Savior,
A cherished, clarified understanding of the doctrine of Christ,
A testimony of and greater appreciation for Joseph Smith's prophetic mission,
A sweet love for and deepened understanding of the Holy Bible.
And a treasured, though still fledgling relationship with personal revelation.
The light of The Book of Mormon has shown through every era of my life.
During my enthusiastic high school days in Brother Morgan's Seminary class, the Book of Mormon was excitement. I looked forward to every class and my testimony grew every time my teacher asked with sincerity "what could be better than studying the gospel of Jesus Christ?!"
During my days of college life and constant change, the Book of Mormon was familiarity.
During my days of newly-wedded bliss, it was a bond. It was discussion and togetherness.
A few years ago, at the side of my husband's hospital bed, when I had sucked my own optimism dry and fear was a constant, threatening companion, it was everything. A conduit of comfort, a life preserver that I clung to.
And now, daily, as a mother of small children, the Book of Mormon is motivation. A clarian call to teach my little ones about the life and mission of the Messiah.
It is, truly, Another Testiment of Jesus Christ. It is a purveyer of the Savior's doctrine and peace.
If you've never read it, please do!
