Why I Joined the Mormon Church (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints)

I was born on the 17th of April, 1965, in the French Hospital of San Francisco, California.

I do not possess a particularly acute memory, though a few early memories have always remained with me.

• I remember when I was a newborn and could not talk. I had no speech. I loved being held by my mother and only by her. On one occasion several women had gathered around as my mother held me. By the broad smiles and the excited, high tones of their voices I knew what was coming: My mother would hand me over to them to be held. Sure enough, I felt my mother's shoulder angle forward and her hands cup me to pass me over. I thought: "Oh no! No! I don't want to be held by others. I know! As soon as she (the other person) holds me I will start wailing until she hands me back to my mother." The woman who took me was so happy and tender in her address of me, but none of that mattered at the time. I sucked in hair, puckered my lips, then let a huge wail out with tears streaming down my cheeks. Stunned she quickly passed me back to my mother and, once I was back in my mother's arms, I immediately ceased all howls and tears, thinking: "Good! That'll teach them. I only want my mommy." 

(I'm the tyke on the right.)

I remember when I was maybe 4, my father sat us four kids down in the small room that my brother and I shared, a room taken up largely by two small twin beds (my brother and I are twins). My older sister and younger sister were present. My father asked us:

"Do you know who Jesus Christ is?" 

We sat still, afraid to answer. I had heard His name before, at the Baptist Church my father took us to every Sunday, but I was not really clear on who Jesus was.

My father continued and said something simple that instantly became the bedrock of my life:

Jesus Christ is The Son of God. Jesus is your Savior. Jesus came to earth to die for your sins, and for my sins, and for the sins of the whole world. He loves you, and so you have to love Him back. 

To myself I said: "Okay." And immediately I fell in love with Jesus. That love has never died.

(Again, I'm the tyke on the right. This is actually my sisters' room.)

But there was another memory that shaped the foundation of my life choices.

• At some early point, maybe at age 5 or 6, certainly no later than age 7, I recall already being in the habit of waking up every morning and recounting what I called to myself, "My Ten Things." This was a list of ten things that were important to me and meant to guide me through my life. 

I would often wake up and feel, not physically, but emotionally or spiritually cold inside. I felt a sense of sadness, a sense of loss and, just when I would feel despair coming on, I would light up with the recollection of "My Ten Things". I would recite them from number 10 on down to number 1. Reciting them made me feel good, and I would feel great hope. Then I would spring out of bed and get on with my day. I even recall once riding in the Thunderbird car that my parents had, and that feeling of loss and despair was coming on me. There, in silence, among my siblings but in my own concentration, I rehearsed "My Ten Things", and even there I felt relief.

Maybe because I was somewhat shy, introverted, and maybe in part because I already had the sense that my well-meaning yet overbearing father would somehow disapprove of my having this list and would mock me for it (sadly he had mocked me repeatedly for being "a strange boy", which for him meant unmanly and girly, which mocking he meant to "make me a man", but which only hurt me and served to make me guard against anything that would invite that sharp hurt), I never mentioned any of this until I was about age 21 or 22. My revelation was met with some disbelief. 

I never mentioned any of this to anyone in my childhood. When I was seven years old, and now in second grade at Mission Dolores Grade School, an all-boys Catholic school, and I now knew how to write, I began feeling an urging to "write the ten things down", that I was soon going to forget them. I balked at the urging: "I go over this every morning. How could I ever forget?" In part my fear was that if I wrote "My Ten Things", somebody might find them, and then I would be mocked for it. Worse, the ten things could be made public. I kept them to myself.

One morning I tried to rehearse "my ten things" as I did every morning, from number 10 on down to number 1, but I could no longer remember 10 through 8. I did not worry as the items from 10 through 4 were not terribly important, I thought. Still, the fear of having a written list fall into the wrong hands was greater than the fear of forgetting more of the lesser points. 

Then one morning I could not remember items 7 and 6. Still, I did not panic, and I suppressed my sense of urgency to write the remaining points down. 

Then I could only remember items 3 through 1. Even here I did not feel great angst as these were the really important items and how, I thought, could I ever forget these? 

Then one morning I woke up and these items were now gone from my memory. I was now almost in a panic. What was I going to do? These points were meant to guide me through life, and they were very specific items. I would be lost. Distraught I did something I have often relearned to do, despite my innate recalcitrance: Ask The Lord. I prayed fervently to The Lord. I remember saying this or something like this:

Lord, please help me remember "My Three Points", the most important of "My Ten Things". I will be lost without them. Please, I am scared. What am I going to do without them? Please let me remember them!

Right then and there they started coming back into my memory. As I recall I thought that they did not return in the full detail or exact wording as I had previously known them, but essentially they were back. Even here I did not write them, but unlike before, I now felt I would never lose my memory of them. To the best of my recollection, these were they:

• #3: "You have something really important to do in life, and it is focused on Jesus Christ."
• #2: "You will find it between the ages of 17, 18 and 19. You must accept it then. If you do not, it will be many years before you get another chance to accept it."
• #1: "You will know it when you find it."

As I grew older I found myself reciting the list less often, not every day, sometimes maybe not for several weeks, but probably on average at least once a week, sometimes more. That nagging sense of loss or absence, a sadness verging on despair, a sensation that something was wrong, something was missing, seemed always to hover around me. But when I would rehearse my list of "Three Points" as I know called them to myself, I would feel hope.

By age 11 I had come to understand the list somewhat differently. The list was the same, only the "it" was defined by the a noun phrase. When I made the change, I am not sure. Just like I cannot remember where I got "My Ten Things" from, only that by a certain age I already had the list, I cannot remember when I made the change in wording, but I remember why: I had suddenly received an insight as to what the "it" was. So here are "My Three Points" from age 11 on:

• #3: "You have something important to do in life, and it is focused on Jesus Christ."
• #2: "You will find the true Church of Jesus Christ between the ages of 17, 18 and 19. You must accept it then. If you do not, it will be many years until you get another chance to accept it."
• #1: "You will recognize it, the true Church of Jesus Christ, when you find it."

(All that hair.)

When I was 16 years old, I entered Sacred Heart High School, a Catholic all-boys school, in San Francisco. When I was a sophomore, in 1981, I was taking an American History class. The instructor held our interest and stirred in me a love of history. When we were discussing the period known as "The Great Awakening", he told us about the Mormons. I had heard the name here or there, but as I had never known a Mormon, this was a new subject. I had a sense that "Mormonism" was weird, or at least, the name sounded odd enough. He told us the following:

Mormonism was founded by a man named Joseph Smith. Joseph Smith taught that when God created the world, Adam and Eve disobeyed him and ruined the plan he had for this world. Finally God decided to send his Son, Jesus, to save the world, but Jesus failed in this mission. [The class gasped in horror at this heresy.] Almost two thousand years went by and then God decided to do something about this. He appeared to Joseph Smith and told him that it was time for him, God, to call a new messiah, and that messiah was Joseph Smith. Unlike Jesus, Joseph Smith succeeded in his mission. Mormons believe that Joseph Smith is their savior. 

I was enraged. This was an outrage. I loved Jesus, and how dare, I thought, anyone say that Jesus failed and that some mortal, sinful man is the savior of the world! But the teacher continued:

Mormons believe that God did not want Blacks to hold their priesthood. They say that God did not want Blacks to be priests in the Mormon Church. Finally in 1978 (just 3 years prior), their prophet claimed that God came to him and told him that it was now okay to let Blacks be Mormon priests.

I was even more enraged. They are racists, I thought, and they take cover for their racism by claiming that God is a racist and they were only following him. Right then and there I decided never to have anything to do with this heretical and evil sect called "the Mormons". And I was further distressed to know that they actually called their church, "The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints."  I thought that using the name "Jesus Christ" was a ploy to lure people in--their messiah was Joseph Smith.

When I was 17, at the (inspired) instigation of my mother, I enlisted in the United States Army Reserves. So in the summer of 1982 I went to Fort Dix, New Jersey, for boot camp. I was doughy, weak, and bitterly homesick. It was literally by my faith in Jesus Christ and by The Lord answering my prayers that I made it through Basic Training. When all hurdles had been successfully engaged, we were in the winding down days, just taking care of odds and ends until our graduation day and jubilant return to our families and civilian life. In basic training the army assigns each soldier a "ranger buddy", and you are to be with your ranger buddy at all times except for bathroom and bathing breaks. My platoon was cleaning our M16's to prepare to return them to the armory. My ranger buddy, Kevin Dagrava, told me, "I need to get more pipe cleaners. I'll be right back." I agreed. The pipe cleaners were only about ten feet away. After some time I noticed Dagrava was still gone. Our drill sergeant was around, and we could get punished for not being with our ranger buddy. I stood and began looking for Dagrava. I saw him off maybe 40 feet away. Feeling huffed but trying to suppress my anger I walked up to Dagrava. He was talking to two soldiers I did not know, but I only really focused on Dagrava. I said, "Dagrava! I've been looking for you. Sergeant First Class Lane's around!" Dagrava said, "Oh, I'm sorry! I was just talking to these soldiers from the next company over. They're Mormons from Utah."

(James Weller on the left, and Vincent Kevin Dagrava on the right.)

Immediately I felt a sick sense of panic: These are the guys that worship Joseph Smith and that hate Blacks. But when I looked at the two soldiers, what I saw made me think, to use the phrase from the sixties' television show, "Lost in Space": "This does not compute." Their faces seemed to beam light. They looked holy, and beautiful. Immediately I felt a draw to them. My mind was telling me they were from an evil organization, but my spirit felt like leaping towards them. As Dagrava and I walked away I wished that these Mormons had been in my company so that I could get to know them and get more information.

The following year, 1983, when I was 18, I went to Fort Benjamin Harrison, Indiana, to complete my AIT, Advanced Individual Training. When I arrived I was informed that my training class was delayed for about 3 weeks. This meant that I would miss nearly 3 weeks of my first semester of college at San Francisco State University. I was offered the choice to remain and complete my training, at the cost of delaying college by a semester, or return the following year. I opted to return the following year.

But while I was out there for almost two weeks, I met a soldier by the name of Leah Day. Leah stood out from everyone else in our company, and from anyone I had ever met. Others also mentioned that Leah was different, quirky, but a good person. She was the most level-headed person I had ever met, good head on her shoulders, genuinely kind, and grounded. Leah was also Mormon and Black. I remember thinking: "Well, I'm chucking everything I was ever taught about Mormons out the window. If Leah is Mormon, then all that stuff I was taught cannot be true because Leah is a good person, and Leah is nobody's fool."  Leah told me that she attended Mormon services on Sunday. I told her, "I'd probably like to go with you sometime." She guardedly say okay, as if she wasn't sure I was serious. I was at the training only during one Sunday, as I recall, and I saw her going off to Church. She looked back at me, and I was too shy to ask to come along, but had she invited me, right then and there I would have hurried to join her. The occasion was lost, and within days I returned home. I planned on completing this training a year later.

I loved San Francisco State University. However, I had an inner struggle: I had resolved not to act out on homosexuality, but the urges in me were growing stronger. All around me there were gay men who were "out" and flaunting their pride and freedom. Never before had the option of joining the gay lifestyle been so accessible. I remember struggling a lot over this issue. On one occasion, it was a Sunday, I was returning from my monthly weekend drill at Oakland Army Base. As I drove my Toyota Tercel onto the Bay Bridge, I began to wonder whether I should just embrace my sexuality and "come out." I was lonely and never dated, and if I chose to embrace the gay lifestyle, I would finally know be able to kiss, date, hold hands, make love. I decided I would do so--I would come out and at long last experience intimacy, sex and love, with men. Immediately a weight was lifted from my shoulders, oddly, not just as an expression, but I felt as if a burden was actually lifted. At the same time I felt strange, like something dark or distorted was coming over my eyes. At this moment a quiet, light thought graced over my mind:

What about Jesus?

I thought to myself: "That's right. I love Jesus. I cannot do this. I know this goes against His commandments." Immediately I felt the burden return to my shoulders, and the veil of distortion I had felt coming over my eyes dissipated.

Now  I felt panicked. I was 19 and I was nowhere near finding the true Church of Jesus Christ. And according to my "Three Points" if I did not find the true church by age 19, and accept it, it would be many years until I got another chance to accept it.

I considered dropping out of college to devote myself to a full-time search for this church. But then I considered how absurd such an action would be. Where would I go? How would I go about searching? [The pre-computer age.] My eyes turned toward my upcoming Advanced Individual Training. I began praying to The Lord asking Him please to put a Mormon in my company so that I could associate with him, ask him questions, nonchalantly tease the truth out of him. There was something there, something about the Mormons, but I didn't know what.

When I went back to Fort Benjamin Harrison in the summer of 1984, at age 19, I kept my ears open, attuned to any mention of Mormons. To my delight there was a Mormon assigned to my class, and he was in the next-door dormitory room to me, so we were hall-mates as well. His name was Robin Dickerson. Robin was from Utah, a returned missionary, married in the Temple, father of two daughters. He was a strong fellow, buff, blond (like so many Utahns, it seemed), and different. For one thing he wore odd white underclothing under his military issued clothes. I actually liked the design and meant to ask him how I could get some, though I never worked up the nerve to ask.

Robin was friendly, engaged, deeply Christian, but different in a good sense that I could not explain how, only perceive. I would plug him with questions about societal events, world events, philosophical questions, none of which was overtly religious, but all of which for me spoke of the sincerity of his or anybody's religious conviction. These matters also spoke to me of the truthfulness of their faith. My thinking was, "If you really love Jesus and you have the truth, you would believe X and not Y." Robin always believed X, whereas most of the other Christians in class generally believed Y.

(Robin Dickerson, just as I remember him.)

When we were only days from graduating, when we had passed all of our exams and were now just working on practice modules and such, we were all busy at our electric typewriters (pre-computer age technology), and I remember pausing for a moment and looking over my left shoulder toward Robin Dickerson. I thought, "What makes Robin so different? He is confident. He knows who he is and where he is going. He even has The Holy Ghost with him! I can see that in him. But how did Robin do it? How did he get this way?"

Maybe two days before our graduation and return home, my roommates, giddy with the news that we all had permission to go off post and eat at a (non-military) restaurant, like Burger King, asked me to come along. I waved them off saying I was tired and wanted to read and rest. That was a lie. I wanted time alone to ponder and pray. Once alone, I began my musing:

What makes Robin this way? 

Why is Robin so confident of who he is and so sure of his life?

Why is Robin happy? 

How did Robin get this way? I wish I could figure this out.

At that moment a thought graced across my mind with a notion so powerful that I was lifted from perplexity to excited hopefulness: It is because Robin is Mormon.

Never had it occurred to me that it was Robin's faith and his Church that had made him who he was. I thought Robin was just smarter than me, that he had somehow figured life out. But now I was running with this thought:

"If Robin is that way because he is Mormon, then if I become Mormon, I could become the same way! That's it! I will become a Mormon!" 

Then I began to be pelted with doubts. These doubts, it truly seemed, were not arising from me but where coming at me from some unseen force:

• What if they don't like you?
• What if they reject you?
• What if they're racist?
• What if they're a cult?
• What would your father say? He would not approve.
• Just go back home and back to what you were doing. You can be Christian alone. You don't need a church.

I was being filled with fear and dread at every thought that came at me. But when the concern came about my father's disapproval I seemed to snap out of this state and said, "Wait! That's not a bad thing. That's a good thing!" I continued, "What's going on with me? A minute ago I was happy, I was thrilled, I felt that I had finally found the true Church, and now I am filled with doubt. I don't want to go back to the way things were; I was miserable. I always do this, second guess myself. I'm not going to do that this time! I will ask The Lord. The Lord knows. If He tells me to join the Mormon Church, I will do it, because The Lord knows the truth." I prayed quietly in my mind:

"Lord, a minute ago I thought I found the true Church, your true church, but now I just don't know. If you tell me that the Mormon Church is true, I will accept it. I will embrace it. I will join, be baptized, and be the best Mormon I can be. I don't even know if they accept converts, but if they don't, somehow I'll convince them to let me in. I just need you to tell me it is right. I am afraid of getting caught up in a cult, of getting brainwashed, or of making a mistake. I have been looking for it, [the true Church], all my life. You know this. If this is it, and if you tell me that this is it, I will accept it, and I will let them reteach me everything, because maybe I have been mistaught a lot of things. As long as there is one thing that I was not mistaught--that Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world, the only Savior, and that there will never be another savior besides Jesus--as long as the Mormons believe this, I can join them, if you tell me this is it."

(This is the very spot where I prayed, taken possibly the very next day.)

Immediately I felt joy and happiness come over me. I was alone, but I said out lout: "I found it! I found it! I have found the true Church of Jesus Christ, and it is the Mormon Church! I am going to become a Mormon!" Giddily, like a school child, I began practicing introducing myself as a Mormon: "Hello, nice to meet you. I am James. I am a Mormon."

Within minutes I knocked on Robin's door. Just a day or two before we had had a disagreement over whose room deserved recognition as the cleanest, and I had been quite rude to him. At first he thought I had come to bother him, but I apologized, and he responded very kindly. I then told him that I wanted to become a Mormon, but I needed to hear from him that Mormons believe in Jesus Christ, that He alone is their Savior. He confirmed my requirement. We exchanged addresses and phone numbers.

Two days later, on Friday, August 31, 1984, I flew back to San Francisco. On Sunday, September 2, I looked up The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the phone book (pre-Google days), dialed up the Bishop's office and told him that I wanted to become a Mormon. He let me know that services started at 4 PM. Nervous and shy, I showed up and was met by a silver-haired elderly couple who were serving a mission. They offered to teach me, and I accepted. That Sunday they taught me about Jesus Christ, familiar Christian beliefs, only they taught me to pray to Heavenly Father. There I began a new relationship, as I had hitherto only prayed to Jesus. A week later, on September 9, 1984, they taught me the First Vision. Immediately I knew it was true. I was so buoyant as I raced home, feeling like I was on a cloud. Joseph Smith had seen The Father and The Son! There had been an apostasy but a Restoration as well!

On September 30, 1984, at the age of 19, I was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, baptized and confirmed by Elder Earl Funk, taught also by Sister Mona Funk. I had told my twin everything the Funks had taught me, and the day of my baptism, before I even went to Church, my brother told me that he too wanted to get baptized.

And that is how an inspiration given to a little boy came true, that by age 19 I would find and accept "it", the true Church of Jesus Christ. And that, dear readers, is how I became a Mormon. And now that I have blogged about my experience I can actually say my experience is actually textual.

(I joined the Church in 1984. In 1986, at age 20, I was on a mission in Guatemala.)

(And thanks to The Lord continuing to assist me, at age 51 I am still and ever will be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.)