My One and Only Sibling

Apparently last week was "International Siblings Day" Facebook. After looking it up on Wikipedia, I discovered that it wasn't invented by Facebook, and I felt bad that I had missed the opportunity to tell the world about my amazing relationship with my brother. My one and only sibling.

The Book of Mormon works in mysterious ways. So does our Heavenly Father. When I was learning the lessons getting ready to be baptized, my brother was also undergoing an immense amount of repentance and pain. Heavenly Father began to soften my heart towards my family again. In particular, towards my brother who I had shut out of my life during his involvement in drugs and then prison.

When I was repenting and contrite upon my knees asking my Heavenly Father for forgiveness, I was also asking Him to bless my family, especially my little brother who was suffering the worse loss a person could imagine. Not only the loss of his child; but the loss of a child, barely an adult, for whom he already felt guilt in regards to his absence while that child was younger. I could not imagine his pain.

I was impressed, since it had been many years since we had even spoken, to write a letter to him. Since I was aware that he had previously investigated The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, I was also impressed to include a Book of Mormon.
The other items I included with my letter were a book of stamps so that he could write anyone he wanted to, as well as one self-addressed stamped envelope. I wanted a reply.

The letter with the Book of Mormon reached his residence at an inpatient facility that was mandated by his probation. His return letter indicated that he was also on the path to a baptism. His, by a church near his treatment home.
My brother and I continued to correspond for his remaining time in treatment. When he returned to the area, against the advice of many who remembered the demonic influences in his life and how he embraced them, I decided to meet with him and get to know my little brother again. It had been decades since we had spent a good amount of time alone. The last time we spent time together at all was during a holiday and it ended in disaster and drama.

My little brother was born to our mother and father when we were living in Port Townsend. It was 1970, and I was almost 4 years old. When our parents divorced almost a year after his birth, we remained with mom. It was the two of us against the world. Usually also against our parents, using one against the other like typical children of divorced parents in the 1970s. Only I was allowed to beat up my brother, and I would beat up anyone else who tried. Yes, I was the type of big sister who volunteers in her baby brother's kindergarten class. I loved that kid.

Life in our lives wasn't easy. An angry, abusive step father as well as a biological father who vacillated between being absent and being the worse types of abusive were the father figures we had. Our mother loved us and loved God. She tried to expose us to many different churches so that we could choose for ourselves. This was quite a difficult task, when if we mentioned to dad that we had attended one, we could end up with not only a spanking, but a ring-side seat at a yelling match from hell between our parents. But we attended anyway. As many times as dad asked each of us to deny our God, it was only with a wink to each other and our fingers crossed. Me saying my prayers for forgiveness as well.

Through the typical drama of abusive homes of divorce in the 1970s and 1980s, my brother and I had each other. We could talk about anything. Satan had his way, in many ways in our homes. Finally, a fog of drugs and abuse took my brother from me.

As he furthered his way into the drug world, I separated my young family from his. As his family was being raised by other people, I kept him in my prayers. Then there would come short times when he would sober up, or attempt to hide the fact that he wasn't; and seek to come around. It broke my heart every time I was forced to shut him out of our lives. For my children's sake, it was all I knew how to do.

It was my little brother who called me on an August 2000 morning, to inform me of our father's suicide. Neither one of us had been informed officially, our father's only children, and we were not informed until 10 months after  his death on the weekend of my birthday in 1999. After tearful hours on the phone with his widow, I learned that the timing was not coincidental. In the 15 years that I had not seen or spoken to our father, his abusive obsession with me had not wavered. Our father's suicide was 50 years after his own father had taken his life when our father was 4.

Major Depressive Disorder, among other challenges, run in our family. Both my brother and I have dealt with this challenge ourselves. After our father's death, my brother and I saw each other a few times. He was in and out of prison, and I was raising a family. Our mother kept on me to get in contact with him through the years, but it wasn't until that Book of Mormon that I was impressed to do my best to fix what Satan and our temporal father had attempted through his abuse to tear apart.

Through the summer after I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, my brother and I began to spend a lot of time together. It was the first time since childhood that we had really had the opportunity to get to know one another. I, for one, found in my little brother a friend I never imagined. Someone who knew me, as I knew him. Someone I could give another chance to. Someone I wanted around me.

After a summer full of blessings of the new friendship of siblings, we were put to the test. In October I had been impressed that I had $300 put aside to spend on transportation and I had been frustrated at my lack of a car.  I asked my brother to come with me to see if I could find a car to finance. I had the afternoon before an evening meeting at the Family History Center for my new calling.

As we walked, we crossed a double train track. There was clear visibility both directions for at least a quarter mile. We crossed without hesitation. The Holy Ghost was a wonderful companion while car shopping, and amazed my brother by witnessing to us certain flaws to watch out for in each car. I was happy I had prayed that morning. Everything was wonderfully clear.

On our return trip, after having no luck in the auto venture, we came back the same way. Only this time, there was a train stopped on the tracks closest to us. We looked down each way, the train was at least a quarter mile long in both directions; I thought to myself it was going to be a long walk.

While I was thinking this to myself, my little brother did what he had always done while I was in charge of watching him while we were kids: embraced his impulsivity. He said "let's go" and proceeded to go under the train, stopping to get up between the train tracks before leaning under the train, to beckon me towards him.

I was in absolute shock. I don't remember speaking at all. I do remember how wide my eyes got when I felt Satan attempt to take my brother. I heard a witness by the Holy Ghost: Come BACK NOW!!!! I frantically motioned for him to come back.

For one of the first time in our lives, my baby brother actually listened to me. As he ducked and went back under the train, we felt the ground begin to rumble; before he was standing upright on my side of the tracks, a train was passing at an extremely rapid pace on the track that my brother was nearly standing upon seconds before.

If I had followed him, and not acknowledged and obeyed The Holy Spirit, neither my brother nor I would be alive today. We were so blessed to spend the holidays together for the first time in years as a family with our only living parent, one of my children, and two of my grandchildren. We are a family and we are blessed.

With our grandma, Margaret Ellen Savage Rebman in the 70s

I did end up spending that $300 on transportation, but that's another story on the pile for another time. It, too, is a long one.

Converts Are Like Butterflies - A Book of Poetry in Blog Form

I have been working on editing the poetry from the first year of my conversion for a while now.
Some poems I have shared here, some I have shared on other blogs.

Most I have not shared at all.

As I am finishing the editing of the poems, readying them for the book, I have created a space just for them.
The book will be called, "Converts are Like Butterflies: Poetry of Testimony", and the blog is the same.
Converts Are Like Butterflies is the blog where you can watch as I prepare the poetry I have written in the past year for publication.

Please feel free to comment with input.

The dates of the posts will be the original dates that the poems were written, so make sure to check in the past, as I will be "back-filling" them as I get them edited.

Thank you for taking time to read this, may your day be blessed with the Love and Lighte of Christ!

Saturday Night – Herding Oxen

My Saturday nights used to be pretty eventful. Sometimes, in fact, back in the LBC (Life Before Church), Saturday nights went on so long, Sunday morning got involved. Sometimes, there was even breakfast.

When my new friends in my new church explained that the only reason for breaking Sabbath was if the “oxen were in the mire”, I took it to heart. I interpreted that as if something that was life or death for a living being, it needed to be taken care of. 

Being so new in the Gospel; I didn’t want to break my observance of the Sabbath & my reverence towards my Heavenly Father for little things that could be taken care of Saturday or Monday. There are six other days in the week, if it couldn’t be done by Saturday night, it can be done on Monday…. right?!

Thus began my exciting Saturday nights…. herding my oxen away from the mire.

I spend Saturday; most especially Saturday night, making sure that I have taken care of little and big things that could become bigger and more immediately important on Sunday. I also take care of those chores that will eat at me while I would rather be sitting and studying my Scriptures or watching a General Conference talk. Or even sitting in quite meditation, pondering after a prayer.

A floor that is begging to be vacuumed or mopped, or an item of clothing I would like to wear to church not being clean;  is NOT a reason I WANT to break Sabbath. I have NO DESIRE whatsoever to break my observance of the Sabbath. So, I spend Saturday doing those things that may have been annoying me since Thursday; but will definitely put me over the edge of annoyance on Sunday if not taken care of on Saturday.

In this way, I will always have busy Saturdays. My oxen and I have a standing date. Kinda like the one I have with my Heavenly Father and Lord and Savior with the Holy Spirit on Sundays.

Have a Blessed Sabbath!

Faith of a Bishop

A congregation
Files in a bit late --
The Sabbath
after Christmas
Has the benches a bit sparse.

Aaronic & Bishopric
in a quiet, yet slightly
troubled stirring.
An Aaronic
Priesthood holder
quietly motions to the
Bishop at the podium,
"PLEASE delay,"
Desperation and concern
color his young face.
A worried chorister
agrees in doubtful
confidence with the Bishop
as he gives her quiet direction.
I watch my Bishop --
A man full of faith --
Say a silent prayer
Then ponder
for a quiet moment,
as the congregation
sat in vapid anticipation;
Then cue
to begin
the Sacrament hymn.
Those of us
paying attention --
Those of us
in a front row --
Took notice
of the faith
of our Bishop

To begin
the Sacrament hymn
Before the
bread
had arrived.

As we began
the second verse
of the slow
and reverent words --
a door opened --
bread passed through.
Sighs of relief
were heard;
more than a few.
The faith
of our Bishop
burned strong
in my heart,
as I heard
my own
message from God
about a new start:

Have faith -
say a prayer -
Then softly and gently
push doubt & doubters aside --
this one isn't their ride.

To the Latter - Day Saints

To those
who have felt
His Healing touch;

To those
who know
we've been
Given much.

To those
who
have glimpsed
His kind face,

and those
who
have stepped away
from the race:

Keep biking,
Keep walking,
Keep soldiering on;

Keep learning,
keep loving,
keep singing 
His songs.

One day
in His Glory,
Will drop
All to their knees.

Someday soon
ALL will witness
Why WE Believe.

Post General Conference Ramblings

I find it funny that some people have said that the Latter-Day Saints are like a cult. I find humor because of the fact that although when i had the change of heart, I had a desire to judge others and isolate myself more from those not in the church.
I was counseled by the Lord, and lead to scripture and church teachings that taught me that is against the church's teachings.

In fact; to love ALL is the mandate.

To strive to become Christ-like in ALL actions, but especially to love thy neighbor as He loves us. We are ALL children of God. We are ALL Christ's siblings.

Christ is the ONLY perfect child. The rest of us are sinners. We are imperfect. We are mortals. But we can strive to be worthy of the title of "saint." We can ALWAYS listen to that small, quiet voice, the guidance we are granted by our keeping our covenants. We can choose the right, walk in the light and bring that light to EACH and EVERY being that we touch in our lives.

I love having the opportunity to show God with every choice I make; that I am proud to be His daughter.  Nothing else, really matters.

This weekend, as I listened to President Monson, The Prophet, speak at the General Conference; I was moved to tears on many occasions.
I know that he is the living prophet. Not that I doubted, but I know every time that I have seen him. He has the connection. The "force" is with him.

The women of the church move me with their words. The story of the carpet scripture, touched my heart in many more ways than I can express.
The talks about virtue and redemption hit home.
As I spoke with friends who watched it, we shared how we each felt the answers to our prayers, as if those talking were answering each of our questions; no matter how different the questions. That is the magic of the Lord. He knows. He KNOWS how to touch each and every one of us.

Full of the white light of the holy spirit tonight. It was a glorious general conference.
I wish His holy love and light to all. It is a blessing to be alive and full of God's glory.

Adult-converted Mormon older "mid-single" Woman AKA: just me

Adult converted older "mid-single" Mormon woman. What a mouthful, what a phrase. Stereotypes, anyone?

From the point of view of WEARING that particular label, as it were, I can ONLY tell you what it means, from MY point. The willing label-wearer.

I came from the background of a person who had a personal relationship with God, and had asked for Christ's assistance on MANY occasions. I also have been answered in one way or another, all my life.

When I desired to come closer to Christ; I asked in prayer how to achieve that goal. I was answered in a personal revelation.

Due to the fact that I sought out the church, rather than the church seeking me out (although some would argue this fact due to the simple truth that the church and it's fallen members seemed to haunt my life this past decade) I may have a different experience than many adult converts. I am only writing about what I personally know. This is MY take on MY conversion.

One of my biggest frustrations, currently, is etiquette.
WHERE is the handbook??? I feel like I am missing a required manual!!
I watch the Relief Society Presidency messages on MormonChannel.org. That helps, SOME. But not all.

What do I talk about, when?? With whom??? 
What is okay, what is going to get me looked at like I have purple spots and a green horn?!

Being a single adult older woman just entering a society that is so centered on family presents a set of awkwardness all it's own. It helps having my granddaughters in the church with the other side of their family being members.

Even before I joined, from fallen as well as current members, I heard the phrase, "the church is true, but the flock are human" or MANY variations such as "the Book of Mormon is true, but the flock have strayed".

Even as a new member, I STILL get the "flock are human" phrase ... sigh. I know we are all human. But, as a "flock", now that I am part of it, I think we need a new "tag line."

Can't we at least ATTEMPT to live up to being a "covenant people?"
I am doing my best. That, to me, is the most important part of my conversion: the COMMITMENT to LIVING the covenants I have made with the Lord!

I STRONGLY desire to live EACH one of the commandments; from here on out.

In that end, I desire to be around people with the same goals. To live up to the promises we made when we were baptized.

The commandments are very simple and well-laid out. In black and white. One thing I have been pretty good at, most of my life, is doing as I am told.

I rallied against it, yes. Sometimes rather loudly. God knows me well, He knows I have an opinion. So He gave me the gift of articulate communication.  It all comes out in the end. I do what I am told, then I either celebrate or complain; either way, I have an opinion about it. Some things never change.

Now, to the things that DO change.

For the last few years, especially since I have not been working at a state job (on disability since 2002); I have not worn a lot of dresses. The skirts that I HAVE worn, could barely be considered belts. 

This is something that not many of my church friends understand about me. Modesty has NEVER before now, been an attribute of my dressing.

Therefor, I first had to eliminate items from my wardrobe that I would no longer need. Halter tops and miniskirts and miniskorts went first. THEN came the underwear that is ONLY required for non-modest apparel (strapless bras, etc.).

Then, to purchase clothes. I was very blessed to have been gifted a few skirts by generous new church friends. Then came the issue that I would have to find something to wear UNDER them. Since I was unaccustomed to wearing skirts, I also owned no slips.

God answered my prayers with cooler weather: I could layer the skirts, since they were similar colors, and wait until my Social Security came in to buy a few slips at a thrift store. It worked wonderfully.

The silly practicalities of becoming the person that I want to be. God has filled my heart so completely with this change; that seeing people running around the streets not even close to how scantily dressed that I know I have been, embarresses me and humiliates me. I feel sorry that they don't honor just how special their bodies are.

This is so different for me. Many people will never understand. I hope some do. The "change of heart" that is spoken about by so many, including in the Book of Mormon; is SO true, and so wonderful.

In the end, I believe that those of us who CHOSE to come to the church as adults, have a LOT to offer the church. We bring with us an enthusiasm for the scripture and for a virtuous life. Many of us have tasted all we ever wanted and more of sin; we LONG for what many born into the church take for granted: righteousness.

We came to the church to fill that hunger, that longing, that had been there since we were born. We have come home.

How Did I Get Here: My Journey to the Church

I first visited a Mormon Church in Shelton when I was a small child. One of my mom's friends was Mormon, and was watching my brother and me on a weekend and we attended church with her and her family.

What do I remember about it? Not much, only that I had to have a long dress (I wore my Easter dress) and I ended up committing a horrid sin later that day on the way home (I used profanity) and my bottom got a beating. I was about 7 or 8 years old.

The next time the Latter Day Saints crossed my path, it was in the form of my best friend. I met him a bit over three years ago. His family had been in the church for many generations. He, himself had held many positions within the church, but his immediate family had drifted away from the church for various reasons.

When I met my twin granddaughters in July of 2010, just days before their second birthday, I was also given the information that their maternal grandmother, Mary, and their mother were members of the church.

My granddaughters were born into the church. It was a realization of an obligation on my part, but it took me another two and a half years to really recognize it. Their father, my son, had never been a part of their life, and it was for the best.  However, I intended to be a part of their life as much as I possibly could.

 

As I traveled across the country and back, visiting friends and learning about myself and my country as well as the people in this world; the church reminded me it was waiting for me. A "wrong turn" put me in front of the Twin Falls, Idaho Temple on such a gorgeous day while I was beginning a trip across the country in 2011, that I felt compelled to take numerous postcard-quality photos of it.



Then, on my way back to Washington in 2012, during a rather difficult part of a depressive state, I saw the Angel Moroni peaking above a hill next to the northbound freeway just north of Independence, Missouri and I pulled over and cried, having known the stories about the Mormon persecution in Missouri. It felt like a redeeming; that they made it back, and were NOT hiding. It was a wonderful feeling.

When I began reading about women motorcycle riders (riding is one of my great loves), I read a book called "Riding in the Shadows of Saints: A Woman's Story of Motorcycling the Mormon Trail" by Jana Richman and in it I learned about much of the history of the Mormon Trail as well as her journey away from the church.

I ended up renting a room from my best friend's sister's family after a horrid event in my life early this year, and I was interested in going to church with them. They were attending an LDS church. They invited me to go along, but every time I was getting ready to join them, the house ended up in upheaval and I shrunk back from the chaos, submitting to the unseen forces that were attempting to keep me away from the church.

When I ended up in a place by myself. I was gifted with time to pray and consider. I began researching the life of Emma Hale Smith, Joseph Smith's wife. Being a woman; I am drawn to the women. Especially the righteous and reverent moms. Their struggles pull at my heart. When I heard that she buried her sixth child on a February 7th, I cried tears upon tears; that is my daughter's birthday.

After considering her story, as well as the copy of of the Book of Mormon that I had downloaded, I prayed about which church is the true church. I knew that Emma had left the LDS Church and had been part of another church altogether.

I investigated, and found that the church that she spun off of the Mormon church, did, in fact, have a branch nearby. And they used the Book of Mormon still, as well. This confused the matter, for me. So, I was left to pray on the matter.

And pray I did. I called out to our Lord on my cold wooden floor of the attic room I was camping in. Lord PLEASE show me the way and the TRUTH!!!

I was answered. VERY directly.

You belong in the True Church. The True Church is that which your granddaughters are already a part of. Follow them so that you may one day lead them. Their very salvation depends on your choices.

Although I have felt the hand of the Holy Spirit in my life all my days, NEVER have I been directed and led so loudly.

I received another message that morning in that cold attic, as I knelt on the wooden floor:
If you do not convert and repent, you will no longer have the gracious guidance that the Holy Spirit has granted you thus far.

WHAT?!?!?!  NO more quiet voice to guide me?!?!?! I was terrified to loose my connection to Christ.

When I got up from my prayers; I immediately called Mary (my granddaughter's other grandma) and asked her if she could have missionaries from her church get me into contact with the right people so that I could learn more about the church that I was being called to, by the Holy Ghost, Himself.

You see, I had been calling every number that I could find on the Internet in my area for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, but there was no answer and no machine to leave a message; every number I called just kept ringing. UNTIL I prayed, and called Mary. I wasn't meant to make this change alone.

Mary was overjoyed at learning about my personal revelation. I felt a bond with her that I had never previously felt. Sisters in Christ, we were to become very soon.

That afternoon, I was visited by two wonderful and joy-filled sister missionaries. They brought me my own Book of Mormon, my first. Within a week, they had me on the path to baptism. My lessons became more frequent as my baptism neared, and with each lesson I became more excited.

It is almost embarrassing how much joy I have gotten from reading the scriptures. I literally feel euphoric when studying scriptures, both ancient and modern.

I keep a very detailed journal of my personal experiences, and soon I will share more from my spiritual journey as well, but for brevity's sake, I will say that the ENTIRE experience has been more enlightening that I EVER imagined!!!

My baptism was on March 23rd, and I was so thrilled to be confirmed as a member of my ward on the 24th.

The photo I am attaching is the Sister Missionaries with me at my baptism. I will always love these wonderful young women who have given me the most loving welcome to the true church that I could EVER imagine.
Not only did they begin my learning of the scriptures, with the Lord's guidance, they introduced me to one of the most wonderful friends I could ever imagine having.

Thanks to all of my new church family, as well as my friends and family who have been by my side during this confusing part of my transformation (I have keep many things "close to my vest" during this time).

Sending the white lighte of the Holy Spirit to all, so that perhaps some may also read, and know for themselves that The Book of Mormon is another Testament of Jesus Christ. I have prayed to know the truth, and I was told that I am on the true path of righteousness. I invite all to join me on that path.