The 2nd Strand Of The Tapestry

I'm remembering and recording my testimony of how I came to realize my election, or a.k.a. how I came to know the Lord. I wrote a little about it before.

In 1997, we lived in Mayberry. Well, that's how it struck us. We lived in Salt Lake City, Utah, in a small, red brick house from the '60s where the neighborhood sidewalks were lined with large elms and some of our neighbors had raised their children in the same homes in which they now welcomed their new great-grand babies for visits on weekends. The area was called Sugarhouse, and it fit the description; the area was truly sweet.

Across the street from our house was the Edgehill Ward of the Mormon church. So close were we that most nights, we could hear the soles of the boys' shoes sqeaking as they played b-ball in the gymnasium. The Ward was the geographically-assigned church to the people of the LDS faith who lived in the surrounding few blocks. It was their meeting place for church and outreach functions to the neighbors, but not for the sacred, secret rituals which the church is known for -- those things happen in their temples.

Every Sunday morning, Husband and I would watch dozens and dozens of families climb the steps in suits and ties and dresses with heels in the heat of the day, and marvel that they were trapped now for 3 whole hours listening to who knows whom drone on and on about who knows what! We. were. so. glad. we. were. not. them!

But then I recognized something new one weekend. I saw the young family next door walking to church and I can remember seeing the four of them ascending the steps. I think she wore a pretty, conservative sea-green short sleeved dress and had her baby boy on her hip; he wore a sports jacket with dress khakis and held the hand of their 4-year old daughter who wore a bow in her still baby-thin hair. They looked so peaceful and together. They belonged. They were welcome. The social trappings of church were beckoning me. Community was calling. My Fifi was nearly 20 months old, and it dawned on me very heavily in that moment, that I wanted that sense of community for her.

So, that week I went to my local library to check out some books on the different protestant religions. I knew almost nothing about anything. Outside the very occasional VBS or Sunday school class with Grandma 5 states away as a youngster, my exposure to the Gospel began and ended with the "Jesus Saves" posters that I'd seen held up over the crowds at televised golf tournaments when Dad had possession of the remote control on Saturday afternoons. *yawn*

I think though, that I knew what I was not. Not Catholic. Not Mormon. I borrowed a few books to take home in the hope they would help me decipher the differences amongst the rest. And I knew what I was looking for -- I was looking for the group that would require the least of me because I knew that I didn't actually believe in anything...

The 3rd strand of God's salvation tapestry for me can be found here.