My conversion story

On Sunday, I had the opportunity of giving a talk at Church and I shared my conversion story. Since I typed it up...just in case I forget any detail, I thought I might share it with you too.

It’s been almost 7 years since I joined the Church, but my relationship with God and Jesus Christ started long before that. I was born in the Polish town of Krakow during the Cold War; when I was still a toddler our family moved to Paris, France with the intent of immigrating to the States. For financial reasons, we never made it out of Paris and I grew up in what is considered the most romantic town in the World, although I personally cannot testify of the truthfulness of that statement. My parents were non-practicing Catholics; however, when I was 5, my mother was searching for a greater purpose in life and she found God in the Assembly of God. From that point on, we went to every church services which were held on Tuesday and Friday nights and twice on Sunday. Every time we went to church, I felt at home, safe and at peace. Mine became a love story between Christ and me: I found joy in listening and singing hymns, participating in the church choir and participating in the yearly “March for Jesus”, where we would gather with other congregations and walk through the streets of Paris singing hymns and handing out pamphlets and Gospels of John. Although I was being teased and shun at school for my love of the Gospel, I knew that He mattered most and that I could always find refuge at church.

Years later, my faith in the Lord was unshaken but I was thirsty for more…I had known about the Church for years since my sister had joined when I was 7, but I did not even think of giving it a chance as I had been told it was fraud and obscure sect. When I ended up moving with my sister and her family, I gave myself the mission of showing them that they had been blinded by the “teachings of men” and I thought that it would be best for me to know what they believed in order to prove them, Bible in hand, that theirs could not be God’s church.

For 2 years, I had many a Gospel discussions with my sister and agreed to meet with the missionaries. At times, I could feel the burning of the Spirit within me, testifying of the truth, but every time, I would repress it, out of pride. Each time the missionaries invited me to read the Book of Mormon, I refused to open it, convinced that, if it had led so many astray, it must have some satanic compelling power. At last, I decided I should read it with the Bible open, side by side…with the intention of finding some contradiction to the teachings of the Bible.
I realized, after a while, that it was a fruitless endeavor: not only could I not find any contradiction, but my heart was also closed to the promptings of the Spirit. So I knew I had to humble myself and turn to God, and actually trust in Him to guide me towards the truth.

It was at that turning point that I started attending BYU: that first semester, I attended a BYU ward, even accepted a calling and gave a talk in sacrament meeting, despite not being a member of the Church! By the end of the semester, I had planted the seed of faith, but I did not yet have a testimony of the truthfulness of the Church, of the divine calling of the Prophet Joseph Smith, or of the Book of Mormon as scripture. I was driving back to my sister’s for the summer and I was compelled to earnestly pray for guidance.

I said something like this: “Heavenly Father, I am so confused. I feel so happy and peaceful when I talk with the missionaries as if they were telling me something that I already knew deep down inside, but I am scared to get baptized, because I do not want to commit unless I am absolutely sure that this is the true Church. I need your help, please tell me if it is true.” At that very moment, I heard a voice inside of me and the unmistakable burning in my bosom. And the voice clearly said: “You already know the answer to that question.” I cannot describe the overwhelming feeling of joy that filled my entire being as I started to cry.

As soon as I arrived at my sister’s, I picked up the phone and called the missionaries. When they came the next day, I immediately told them of my desire to be baptized, and a couple of weeks later, I entered the water of baptism.