What Brought Me Back to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints

The Beginning

My name, Elisabeth, is the germanic variation of the Hebrew name, Elisheva (אלישבע). The meaning of my name is translated roughly to "consecrated to God" (we can do a Hebrew lesson later). This name, let me tell you, has proven to be the most beautiful, sacred aspect of my life.

God has been far kinder to me than I will ever deserve. Certainly, when I am in the celestial kingdom, I will be even more humbled having a full understanding of what all he's done on my behalf. I need to acknowledge that before I start this story. God is so merciful.

I was born into the church. My mother's a descendant of Danish pioneers who came to America with nothing but faith and then walked across the country to help settle Utah and build up the church. My dad, a marine descended from Irish immigrants, converted to the church when he was about 23 years old. I was raised with stories of brave, faithful people who were continuously brave in the face of adversity. I had a huge legacy to live up to, and I told myself over and over again that if I ever came across opposition, I'd be brave like those who went before me, no matter what. Most importantly, I'd never abandon the faith that so many people suffered and died to build and defend.

My youthful vows of faith were rather short-lived. Due to many unfortunate circumstances, I spent my younger years in survival mode most of the time. As my need to survive increased, my exposure to the gospel decreased. My mother slowly slipped away from the church for her own reasons, as many did. My sweet, hard-working dad was a single dad trying to make ends meet for his four young children during the recession, and while he made sure our grandpa brought us to church every Sunday, he had little time to do much else for us spiritually. With little understanding of what the gospel was actually about, I decided not to believe in the church during my early teen years.

The First Reckoning

By the age of 17, I'd moved from a small, virtually Godless (trust me, visit there and you'll be using the same words!) town in Northern California to my hometown in Idaho, which was full of all walks of spiritual life, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints being especially prevalent. 17 was a difficult year for me. I was on the verge of adulthood, I was experiencing a deep depression and serious illness (then undiagnosed, so of course I was still being pushed way too hard and given too much flack for my exhausted state). I was terrified that I'd end up unfulfilled and useless. Moreover, I had no real relationship with any of my family for a million different reasons. It was a dark, hard time.

One night around February of 2015, it had all become too much. Graduation was speeding towards me, the pressure from home was immense, and I had no idea what I was going to do. Enough was enough. I'd been under so much pressure and I felt so hopeless, I decided to end it all. I'd been dealing with suicidal thoughts for years, almost a full decade, and that was the night I broke. I laid in bed that night actively formulating exactly how I was going to kill myself. A thought entered my head to say a prayer, and I quickly dismissed it. It's just my brain trying to survive, digging into an archaic root of my being. Pay no mind, back to planning. A second time, the thought to say a prayer came, a tug in the center of my psyche. Why would I do that? I don't even believe in God. That would be useless, nevermind awkward. And again, it's just my brain flailing its arms, trying to save its own life. Forget it. Finally, a third time, right when I'd figured out exactly what I was going to do to end my life, the thought to pray came again. It stood out from the rest of my thoughts in such a profound manner that I was almost afraid to ignore it anymore. "Fine," I thought, "I guess I'll pray. All it will do is prove once again that there is no God, and then I can get on with this."

I awkwardly stepped off of my bed, shaking a bit, and got onto my knees. I realized I'd forgotten what it was like to pray. I closed my eyes, bowed my head, and prayed, "Dear God...uhh...or Heavenly Father, you know how I've been. I don't know if you're there, or if you'd even want to hear from me after everything if you are. I hope my praying to you doesn't make you angry. I'm just praying to see if you're still there, because I felt like that might be the thing to do."

Before I could finish the prayer, or figure out what to say next, I felt the most real, distinct, comforting feeling I think I've yet felt. It was as though someone was kneeling by me, wrapping their arms around me in the most loving hug. For those of you who've experienced the spirit before, you'll know what I mean when I say I heard the Lord tell me, I'm here, I'm listening. I'm here with you, I love you so much, I'm so proud of you. To this day I can't say those words or remember that experience without tearing up or feeling overwhelmed by the spirit confirming that he is still here, he does still love me, and he is most certainly still proud of me.

I crawled back into bed, abandoning my morbid plans, convinced that God was real enough for me. I spent the next two weeks investigating multiple religions and spiritual ways of thought. Inevitably, I found myself investigating the Book of Mormon. It felt good to read it again, and I decided to go to church for a Sunday to see how I felt. The spirit was so strong that Sunday, confirming that my honest and humble question of the church's authenticity was not in vain. The next Sunday I found myself sitting in the chapel before stake conference. I felt the spirit testify to me, "this is where you belong. You will raise your children in this church". From that day forward, I knew the church was true, and I was dedicated to living the gospel the best I could. God is so, so very merciful.

The Stumbling

Despite God's mercy, I went on to waver. There'd been a couple of people in my life who made me feel like I wasn't being a good enough saint for the silliest things like not preferring white, not believing certain things (which I'd later discover were debunked by general authorities) and of course, tolerating certain people (basically anyone outside of the church). I found myself getting caught up in the "what-to-do's" rather than focusing on the gospel like I should have. I was so worried about accidentally doing something horrendously wrong or offensive to God, that my eyes were off of Christ and onto the world, and I hadn't even noticed.

Soon, the time came where I was preparing to enter the temple. I was throwing myself into studies, but again searching more for "commandments" than I was actually searching for God. Looking back, I can tell you that what I thought was proper scripture study was really just me searching for more "me" in the scriptures, neglecting to remember I'm supposed to live my life like Christ. It didn't help that I was still facing endless criticism from particular parties about every single thing I did. I went into the temple feeling fear about my worthiness. I was filled with more anxiety than I was the spirit.

I can honestly say that despite all of the losses, abuses, and fears I've faced in my life, the feeling I had when exiting the temple was the absolute worst of them all and while I didn't know what I'd done to deserve it, I absolutely blamed myself. I was hurt. I felt like all of the "inspiration" I'd received up to that point had been meaningless, wishful thinking. I felt my identity as a beloved daughter of God torn away from me. While I recognize now exactly what sort of blessing was being brought about by this temple trip, and continues to prove to be the catalyst for massive blessings, I couldn't comprehend anything at the time other than the hell on earth that had possessed my heart. We often can't see anything else aside from the trial we are in while we are fighting through them.

After a month of internal battles, I decided to step away from anything concerning God or religion. I wasn't going to think about being a spiritual being, or God, or what would happen after death, or what was right and wrong. I was just going to do whatever brought me peace. At first, it was just a simple breather. Then, it turned into an indefinite break (which was compounded by new, rather extreme illness symptoms making it a hassle to really go anywhere). The pushback from others for me taking a break brought out my porcupine spikes, and eventually, I'd determined I no longer wanted anything to do with the church and eventually resigned altogether thanks to certain pressures and circumstances.

At first, my exit was peaceful. I'd felt no disdain for the church as a whole, and I loved so many of its members. I even watched general conference out of habit and a desire to keep up with what would be happening in the lives of my friends. However, I quickly felt isolated and wondered if I could find friends with other people who might understand where I was coming from. This would prove to be a large mistake.

The "Ex-Mormon" community I'd stumbled into was full of obsessive, angry, hateful people. I can't tell you how seriously obsessed some of these people were. They'd made full-time careers out of bashing the church and disrupting its members. They kept a finger on the pulse of the church and its leadership at all times. My generally supportive attitude towards the church was immediately frowned upon. Being completely inundated by a constant flow of negative attitudes towards the church absolutely turned me bitter, and soon I began to find myself drowning because of them.

Consecrated to God

In July of 2019, I was officially bored of being angry all of the time. It was so old. I had a whole life to live, and I was exhausted of hating. I knew I was missing out on extraordinary friendships and family relationships and it was entirely my fault for missing out on them. I was even less inspired in all of my writing ventures. All of the wisdom I once had was gone, and I was a far more bitter and immature person. The place I knew I needed to start at was deep-rooted anger I had towards some individuals who'd come into my life and had been nothing but disrespectful to me.

Recognizing all of this, I decided to pray as an experiment for help to forgive these people. Kneeling I said, "Dear Heavenly Father, I know that I've neglected and abused the mercy you'd extended to me before. But if you are still there, I'd like some help to turn over this anger and frustration to Christ. I'm so frustrated that anyone would feel free to be so awful to me after I'd done all that I could do to be kind to them," I'd started the prayer. Then, maybe a bit indulgently, I asked, "also, God...if you're there...if you could help me understand why I'd had such a hard time in the temple, why I felt so alone...I'd appreciate that help. If not, that's okay." What I felt after the prayer was nothing short of a miracle. I felt with warmth in my heart a gentle joy, recalling the past when I heard the Lord say "I'm here". A series of clarity surrounding the people I'd been angry with and what I can and should do to bring peace to our relationship came like water bursting from a dam (because I was ready for it to and willing to put in the work). Furthermore, an answer concerning my temple experience came in the form of a memory of something an extraordinary man of God I'd once worked with said, "three socks". While the connection to this phrase and my experience is not something I think I should explain, I can tell you that God had once inspired him to impart some great wisdom to me, and I immediately felt I was clear on why it all had happened, and that Heavenly Father did still love me. (A note about this man and the "three socks". I believe, firmly, that were it not for him and his sweetness, I might have been fully swallowed up by the bitter waters the "ex-mo" community was drowning me in. He'd once been helped in a great way by personal revelation, and I had nothing but love and respect for him. I could never bring myself to discount or explain away his experience that he'd shared with me. He'd become my tether back to strait and narrow path in a very profound way.)

In addition to this, I'd never stopped questioning an experience I'd had years prior that was a very personal, extraordinary, sacred experience. I will not publicly share the details of what I'd seen and felt, suffice it to say that I received remarkable heavenly help from people who love me very much. I could not forget or explain away this experience, try as I might. I knew in my heart that night that I'd be making my return to the church. I reached out to the sister missionaries in my area and began reading the Book of Mormon all over again. I felt the scales being lifted from my eyes. I informed loved ones that I was going to go back to the church, that there was no discouraging me from it, and they could take it or leave me. I deleted any and all ties I had to hostile influences who would disrespect my progress. I have not left since.

Heavenly Helpers and a Divine Heritage

Looking back at my life, I'm filled with gratitude as I recognize the hard work Heaven has put into preserving me. I've been blessed with a spirit that responds to divine guidance. I've been blessed to have a heart full of integrity, because of the examples that have gone before me. My pioneer ancestors, my great-grandmother Elda who faithfully and kindly raised 6 large boys on a small farm faithfully with my great-grandpa Levi, my Irish ancestors who fought for their new home, my father...all of these people have left a strong impression on me from a young age. I credit all of these people for my development into a person who does what they know is right, the second they get the opportunity to do it.

Heaven has always reached out to me. No matter where I stray, Christ always comes to shepherd me home. I sometimes feel like I'm getting off easy, like I was getting all of this help as a reward to my ancestors for having honored their covenants. I can't tell you how much the Lord has intervened in my life, only that I'm deeply humbled because of it.

Reading and listening to my family's history, I'm moved by the remarkable experiences they've each had, as well. While I again can not share these beautiful and sacred experiences out of respect to them, I can say that heavenly helpers have walked beside my family for generations. I know that everyone has access to this same source of help, too. I'm sure if I asked, a number of people would have multiple stories to share. Many more would tell me that they believe, but still desire to feel an undeniable, sacred experience.

I want to address those who are wondering, "when will I get my extraordinary experience". Many mistakenly believe that God reaching out to us so boldly is a sign of favor, or more accurately, favoritism. They ask what they've been doing wrong and others so right. I want you all to know that Heaven only extends these sorts of experiences to people who need them to continue on their path of righteousness, either physically or spiritually (or because their experience will help to convert someone else in their life). Moreover, we often tend to recognize them only after some time has passed. If you have not felt that Heaven has done big things to help you, it may be because you've been doing a great job without requiring such boldness to continue. Furthermore, sometimes when Heaven is moving large things for our good, it seems like everyday life, or we dodge a potential tragedy so well that we'd never know there was one to begin with! Again, this is a sign that you are already perfectly responsive as you are. Please don't feel that you are unloved or abandoned simply because you don't have huge, biblical spiritual experiences on a daily basis.

The Power of Prayer

Something we can all learn from my experiences is the power of prayer. It was only when I was ready to see and hear what was right in front of me that I was blessed with peace and help. I demonstrated my readiness via prayer. Prayer was my way of exercising my free-agency for the better. Without my choosing to pray, to approach Heavenly Father, I would not have made the progress I did, because I wouldn't have known what to do in the first place. We absolutely must pray if we want any improvement to happen in our lives. Please, bring your troubles, hopes, dreams, deepest emotions and most secret thoughts to the Lord. It is the only way you can come out triumphant.

My experience with prayer has taught me a lot about the restoration. I've learned that God still answers us, just as he answered Joseph in the sacred grove. My experiences have strengthened my testimony of the restoration. I believe that Joseph did, by the mighty power of prayer, in humility, seek God's will as to which of the existing churches he should join. I believe that Joseph was answered in a bold, moving way. I believe that Satan tried to interfere with Joseph's reception of this answer, as he has interfered with mine, personally. I believe that Joseph heard Christ, that he found ancient scripture, hidden away to be brought forth to serve our days and convert us to Christ. I believe that because of Joseph's desire, my life, the lives of my ancestors, and the lives of my children will all have been greatly blessed. I am so grateful for prayer. Prayer truly brings about mighty works.

I want you all to know that you will never stray so far that God would not have you sit at his table again. You are never so far gone that repentance isn't an option. If you have left, you can come back. If you have never believed, you are welcome to ask for help to believe. I ask you all to pray for your testimonies to be strengthened. Seek the Lord in all things. Be willing to go and do the things the Lord commands.

I hope that my experience and testimony can be a comfort to those who love someone who's left the church. Today, they may hold nothing but seething anger towards God and his church. They may be more interested in things of the world or feel that they'd have to give up precious vices in order to come back. They may have left due to hurt or misunderstanding. No matter the circumstance, have hope. Give them your unconditional love while the Lord works on them. Be an example of a loving, faithful follower of Christ. Be a safe, non-judgmental person they can turn to with questions, concerns, and even confessions. Your gentle ear could be the key to retrieving them. Allow them to come to know God's never-ending love for them through you.

Let my experience be a lesson to you. God will test each and every single one of us, in many ways. These trials will hurt-a lot. There will be an abundance of doubt, suffering, and loneliness. There will come times where we feel abandoned and unheard. God doesn't allow us to feel these things for his own sick, sadistic entertainment. Rather, he allows these things to happen for our own growth and benefit, much like how he allowed Christ to be brutalized and crucified for all our sakes. Please, do not allow hard times or difficult challenges to have more power and influence in your life than the teachings of Christ. Do not stray away from the iron rod in belief that those in the great and spacious building are somehow wiser and more enlightened or having more fun or living with more purpose than you can by traveling to the tree of life. If you are considering leaving the church, for any reason, let this be your sign that you need to stay. We know that these latter days are the days of immense trials, where the wheat will be separated from the tares. Do not mistake a lack of comfort for a sign that God isn't there and does not care for you.

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