Refiner's Fire and Spiritual Candles
I grin sheepishly as I step out of the dressing room in my incredibly stylish white jumpsuit. Yes, I could give John Travolta a run for his money if I were going for Saturday Night Fever style. Well, not really. If I were to walk down the street in it, I would be subject to strange looks and muffled giggles, but in this situation, it was the clothing of choice.
My bishop, a wiry man who is quick to smile, invites me to sit down. My boyfriend, Orion, quietly sits beside me and slips his fingers into mine. He's making the same fashion statement that I am, his dark hair and deep brown eyes contrasting sharply against the brilliant white. The bishop and another man quietly explain the procedures. They are solemn, but I still catch a twinkle in the bishop's eye as he converses with us. Orion repeats the words they tell him several times, his calm voice gliding over the syllables. They show me the program, and I approve. We say a prayer, and then we go into the chapel.
"What are you going to do today?" asked my father as he guided the van around the mountain highway's sharp curves.
"Well, first I think we're going to go see a movie, and then we're going to go to Deseret Book," I replied casually as I turned the page.
"What's that?" he asked warily. He glanced over at me, and then his gaze flickered to the leather bound book in my hands before returning to the road.
"It's a bookstore that sells all sorts of Mormon books and stuff." I tried to keep the same casual tone as before, but a little apprehension had clung to the words as I said them. I turned the page and pretended nothing was wrong.
"Well, you're not going to buy anything there, right?" His tone had been commanding, not inquisitive; it was a statement, not a question.
I mumbled something about a Tabernacle Choir CD as I listed all the other stuff I needed in my mind. I knew better than to argue, so I turned my attention back to Alma and the Zoramites.
Orion and I slide in the pew next to his parents, and we take out our hymnals to sing. The words do not register very well, and I can barely sit still. I have been anticipating this day for well over a year, and it is absolutely amazing to see the subject of so many dreams played out before my eyes.. So many people are here tonight - we cannot even fit into the font room, so we are all in the chapel. As we sing, my grin becomes an immovable part of my face.
My dear friend Sister Gray steps up to speak. I know that this is difficult for her, as she has been on oxygen for the past year and has never been one for public speaking. As it is, even after the podium is lowered, she has to stand upon a box and still strains to reach the microphone. She chuckles before she begins, and I think that she looks a lot like a female version of Santa Claus: jolly, round, and dressed in crimson.
She begins telling about how she first met me and all our talks from the past year. She tells of my eagerness to learn, my desire to come to seminary, and the books I borrowed over the past year. She recounts our visits, and then steers the topic toward testimony. She admonishes me to never forget where testimonies come from, and to keep nourishing mine for the rest of my life.
"So what you're telling me is this Holy Ghost came and told you that the Book of Mormon is true." My mother looked at me dubiously, her arms crossed over her low-cut pink camisole.
I straightened my Honor Code-worthy brown velvet dress, and tried to stand a little taller. "Um, well, yes. I've prayed about it, and I know this Church is true. This is my testimony." I put that forth, feeling a little more confident. President Kimball, had said, after all, that no one could argue with a testimony.
President Kimball had obviously never met my mother. "So why didn't the 'Holy Ghost' come visit me while he was out running around telling people this 'church' was the right one?"
"Well, ah…" I tried to spit out the answer. I knew what it was, but whenever these things started, my mouth turned to lime green jello and was pretty much useless. The stark walls and beige carpet swam around me, and I could see that I wasn't going to get anywhere that night.
Brother Egbert steps up to the stand next. He smiles, and I prepare myself to be entertained, because Brother Egbert is never serious. Even as a Sunday School teacher, he has always been quite adept at bringing laughs into a learning situation.
Brother Egbert, however, is serious today. He stands at the podium, dignified, towering where Sister Gray was almost too short. He tells of the Pentecost, when the Holy Ghost first descends in tongues of fire among the apostles, and he related the necessity of the laying on of hands. He tells me of a fungus that is the largest living organism in the world. It appears to be many separate entities, but it is all interconnected. He tells me that this fungus is like our lives and community. We are all interconnected. The Church, while it has many parts scattered throughout the world, is still connected to be one living organism through the saving gospel of Jesus Christ. He grins lopsidedly as he tells me that now I'm part of the fungus.
"Beth, it's a cult! Why can't you see that?" Mom raged. "No real Christian church would prevent a mother from seeing her daughter's wedding. What goes on inside those temples anyway? What's the big secret?" Her words were a bit slurred; she had been drinking again.
"Mom, they're not secret, they're sacred!" I exclaimed, desperately grasping for something, anything that would make them understand. "There are some things that are just too special to talk about. It wouldn't be right to hold these up in front of everyone to be mocked and degraded."
"If it were that special, wouldn't you want to tell everyone about it?" Before I could answer, she began hissing words at me again. "You just answer me this -- are you going to get baptized into that church?" She spat the word "church" as if it were the remains of a fly that had flown in her mouth.
"Yes," I replied softly. I braced myself as tears leapt unbidden to my eyes, because as I uttered this single word sentence, I knew I was also sentencing myself to dire consequences.
Her next words hit me one by one like bullets of a machine gun. "Then you're not our daughter anymore."
I slowly descend into the water, gingerly taking the tile steps one by one. The water is surprisingly warm, and I am actually quite comfortable in it. I walk toward Orion, and he looks at me as if to ask if I was ready. I nod slightly and smile. I hold his wrist, and he raises his hand to the square.
"Elizabeth May Siler," he pronounces, "having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.
" I grab my nose, and he pushes me under. I am totally immersed in the warm water for just a moment, and then he brings me back up. I blink a couple of times and clear the water from my face. A smile is born on my face, and it slowly grows into the biggest grin I have ever had. I give Orion a hug, although we're both soaking, and I turn towards the stairs feeling the most wonderful sense of cleansing and accomplishment.
I took one step, two, four, faster and faster until I was running to my room, racing as fast as I could, futilely trying to get far away from the pain and hurt that were churning inside me. I flung open the door and collapsed on the floor. I lay there, my body convulsing with the powerful emotions that were festering inside me. I wanted to hurt myself so I could change my emotional agony into something I could understand. The best I could do was to dig my fingernails into my palm.
I watched myself go through these actions and emotions as if I were a distant observer. I knew that I should stop this madness, get a hold on myself, but I couldn't. It was like the real me was separated from this wretched shell of a human being, and I couldn't do anything.
After what seemed like ages but was only about an hour, I managed to pull myself up. I looked at my hands. The imprints there had not been deep enough to draw blood, but they wouldn't be going away for awhile. As I realized what I had done to myself, I buried my face in my hands and wept.
I step slowly into the dressing room, where Sister Moore, Cindy and Shannon are waiting for me. At this point, I can't hold it in anymore. I begin to weep, but not in misery as I had in months past. I weep for joy, for accomplishment, for finally reaching the milestone that I have been yearning to reach for so long now. Cindy hugs me, holds me. Her face is wet with tears, and she tells me over and over how happy she is for me.
The three women help me to get dressed, and support me as we walk back to the chapel, tears flowing like a mountain spring. My grin so wide it almost hurts to maintain it. I do not see the walls or floor or anything around me as we walk, nor do I hear the words that my friends say. The only thing I am aware of is the three words on rapid-fire auto-repeat in my brain: I did it.
"No, please don't go," I pleaded silently. "Please stay, just a little bit longer." The Holy Ghost had come during my meeting with the district president. It was so wonderful to feel it there with me, and I had returned to work feeling as though I was bursting with light from every pore in my body. Now, about twenty minutes later, I was coming off of that spiritual high. I was beginning to feel the same blandness as I usually do, the same disconnected feeling that had become so familiar.
"Please stay. Please stay." I repeated these words over and over, begging the Spirit not to go. He gently reminded me then that I had not yet received that gift, and then he silently slipped away. The hollowness was too much to bear, and I wept for the loss, finding comfort only in the fact that it would not be much longer.
Trembling, I ease onto the hard-backed chair, and seven priesthood holders in black suits gather around me. These men have treated me like a surrogate daughter for so long, and none of them lack a smile on their face. They form a circle and lay their hands upon my head. Orion begins to speak, telling me to receive the Holy Ghost. I listen in wonder as he continues into a blessing from Heavenly Father. It seems almost unreal for this young man I've been dating for such a long time to have the authority to pronounce these words upon my head, but he sounds different from how he usually does. His voice is softer and more measured, and I know he is speaking for God.
I am expecting a great spiritual lightning bolt to hit me, but that's not what happens. Instead, it feels like a match is lit, and the flame grows ever so slightly until I have a candle burning in my soul. It's very slight, and I could miss it if I'm not paying attention. I am, though, and I know that I never have to be alone again.
I hug each of the men in the circle, and Orion helps me down off the stage. I had stopped crying earlier, but I have begun again. I make no effort to contain myself, and Shannon hugs me as the service winds to a close.
I was in no condition to pray coherently, and the scriptures obviously could not help me here, but I knew I needed some way to connect with that divine power or I would be faced with my tears and misery all night. I felt like Alice in the rabbit hole as I tried to grasp something to keep me from plummeting into the mindless state of despair I had visited too many times. My mind latched on to the one hymn that held any meaning for me at that point, the only hymn whose words could bring any comfort.
I opened my mouth and began to sing the best I could, considering that I was shaking and I was still choking up sobs. Nonetheless, the words came out and I began to feel solace. "How firm a foundation…"
"… ye saints of the Lord Is laid for your faith in His excellent word." The congregation sounds like a chorus of angels. I can barely form the words, I am so overcome by emotion. Tears flood my face as I remember how it was this hymn alone that sustained me during all those long hard months, and I am so grateful that I finally made it. I no longer have to endure that burden. I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.
My parents are not present. Rather than celebrating this joyous event, along with my 18th birthday, they have chosen instead to sulk at home. Although I am almost overwhelmed with this evening's events, I can't help but remember that I will be leaving home tomorrow. I will be a new person in a new home, and yet their disapproval shall linger as a wisp of smoke from the angry fires lit months ago.