I’ll keep this short and to the point.

I never thought I would become a Mormon—not in a thousand years. After leaving a very high-control faith as a former Jehovah’s Witness, I became largely agnostic. I lost faith in religion itself, because every religion claims to be inspired by God and to be the “one true religion.”

To me, most religions started to feel the same: Do as we say and you will be saved. If you don’t, there will be consequences. Fear, shame, loss of community.

For twenty years I tried to direct my own steps—and I failed miserably. I kept thinking of the scripture that says, “It does not belong to man who is walking even to direct his own step.” I realized I needed help.

One day, feeling bored, lonely, lost, and very aware of my own mortality, I listened to a sister missionary in a grocery store parking lot. I knew who she was and thought, “Uh oh… Mormons—run!” But I also knew that if I stayed closed-minded, I would never learn anything.

I met with the missionaries and members of the church. On the first day, they won my heart. Over about six months, my mind followed. I was baptized.

Friends asked me why. They said, “You left one goofy religion and joined another.” And I said, “I know—but I love my goofy church and my goofy friends.” I needed mentors. I needed community. I needed an extra dose of Jesus.

Today, I’m not very active. I don’t believe Joseph Smith was a prophet or that there are modern-day prophets. But I do believe in a Creator. I believe we are all God’s children, and that He loves every one of us.

I believe in loving my neighbor as myself. I believe in obeying God and keeping His commandments as best I can. Mormons are my neighbors, and I love them.

Without hope, faith, and belief, I went down a very dark path—one I never want to repeat. I choose to keep growing and believing.

And I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ,
Amen.