no longer in the dark and lost

I've been having all sorts of fun following the assignments of TravelinOma. Yesterday, when I read the poetry assignment, I was stumped. I decided to think about it. Then the workers came to dig up the front of the house to locate the leak. Then the plumber came to fix a broken pipe. Then..then....then. Well, I never did write about poetry. Now repentant, I'll write today about being lost.

"I didn't realize I was lost until______." Mr. Doyle asked me to take the missionary lessons. I'd attended church with the Doyles off and on for nearly ten years, and I was only 13.

My first meeting with the missionaries was wonderful on two counts. First, I heard the Joseph Smith story in its entirety and really listened for the first time. I gained a testimony of this visitation quickly. Since I'd always believed in a tangible God and the idea that God speaks to His children, I didn't need to overcome any doubts. I just knew from the burning feeling in my heart that this was truth.

To a thirteen-year-old boy-crazy girl, the cute missionaries were like sweet icing on my cake, especially Elder Stevens. My goodness he was handsome. With his puppy-dog eyes and his dark feathered hair (it was the 70s), he was my ideal of the perfect man. We met every week for a few months. Slowly, I came to realize that these missionaries had something to give me that led me out of the darkness.

What sort of darkness? I lived in a nice middle-class suburb, attended a large public school, played the violin and softball, sang in the chorus at school, had plenty of nice things and enough to eat. My parents were like most parents of my generation--they loved me as well as they knew how--they supported my interests--they provided very will. My extended family on both sides were a big part of my life. So where was the darkness? How was I lost?

Sunday was just another day. Surely we had fun going to hockey games, pistol matches, movies, visiting relatives, but there was no real interaction with God. Belief in Jesus Christ was an accepted fact, but we didn't pray or read scripture or associate with any believers--except when I decided on my own to go to church with a friend. If I begged, sometimes my mother took me to the old pioneer church that my great-grandparents built.

With the missionary's help I found Him; not just an intellectual knowledge of the possibility of His existence but a relationship with my Father and my friend. I learned that the rules of life or commandments weren't there to ruin my fun but to protect me and make me happy. I learned to overcome weakness and repent through the power of Christ's Atonement. I learned how to treat others and myself with charity. I learned to refuse to get offended. I learned that everyone on the earth is a Child of God. I learned that He listens to and answers my prayers. I learned to love His Word. I was no longer in the dark and lost.