My parents converted to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (LDS or Mormon, for short) faith before they met each other. Some church members set them up on a blind date, they liked each other, got married in the St. George temple, and then my older brother and I were born. There was no question about where I would get baptized.
In my LDS faith, those of us born in the Church are usually baptized around age eight (as I was - many more brothers by then), and we uses full immersion as our form of baptism.
However, there was some question (at least in my mind) as to whether or not I could pull off the immersion part. I'd had a couple of near-drowning experiences as a young child, and I felt very fearful in deep water. Couldn't swim at all. Hated that underwater sound of bubbles and water rushing and the burning smell of chlorine.
A Little Dicey...
The font I was baptized in was in a building on Temple Square in Salt Lake City. My father and mother made extra sure that we'd only have to do it once. My long hair was pulled back, and I wore a white jumper like the boys and bare feet (I think about eight of us were baptized on the same day from our local area). It wasn't as pretty as the white dress the little girl who also got baptized the same day as me wore, but I wasn't taking any chances.
My father performed the ordinance. He said the prayer, and my fingers readied themselves to clamp down on my nose. When it was time for immersion, he pushed me down so far that I lost my footing in the font, and a moment of panic bubbled up inside me. I kicked my feet, but only for a second, and suddenly he lifted me back into the open air, and I had done it!
The baptism is supposed to represent death and resurrection into a new life, and in my case, it felt almost physically like that, having to push past that fear of drowning in what amounted to something like a very large bathtub in front of lots of people. No aspect of that came easy to me. It was another four years before I learned to swim, but at least I made it past that hurdle.
I remember celebrating with my friend Justin afterwards on the grounds of Temple Square. Justin was an African-American boy my age, whose mother was friends with my mom as well. I believe Justin might also have been baptized that day, although I'm not sure on that point.
My mother told me later that his mother really struggled with the thought of having to tell him that he wouldn't be allowed to hold the priesthood, as other boys in our congregation did, when he turned 12. African-American men and boys weren't allowed to back then. But just a few months later, that restriction lifted, and my mother and I both wept with happiness when it did, for Justin's sake.
Confirmation
The second part of our ritual of baptism involves a blessing from priesthood holders that takes place either that day, or on the coming Sunday. For me, I had to wait until Sunday.
The bishopric (one of the three leaders of our local congregation - there are usually three) called me up to the stand in front of the church. I looked as the huge stained glass window depicting the First Vision grew larger in my view - Joseph Smith in a grove of trees, looking up at Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, who had both appeared to him. I loved that window so much, and I didn't get a lot of chance to get this close to it.
My father and some other priesthood holders from the 17th North Ward (the name of our congregation) stood in a circle around me while I sat on a folding chair. They each placed one hand on my head, and another hand on the shoulder of the person next to them. My father voiced the prayer.
The first part of the prayer is the same for every person baptized, and ends with the words 'Receive the Holy Ghost'.
When my father said those words with his hand on my head in that circle, a strange sensation, like tingling, entered from the top of my head and flowed like water all the way down to my toes. I still remember that, years later.
I don't remember the rest of the blessing my father gave me that day, nor was it recorded...except in heaven, I guess. We don't record those blessings, because they're pretty sacred, although some might write highlights of them down if they can write fast. But from that day, my church considered me a member in full fellowship with the adults, so it's a pretty important rite of passage in some respects, as well as an important covenant we make with the Lord.
And After That, Another Historic Moment...
My family incorporated an additional family tradition for every child that got baptized. Mom and Dad would take that child (only that child, mind you) out to dinner at the Sizzler.
This made such a huge impact on me, and at age eight, the most exciting part of the whole day. We were so broke that eating out at a restaurant was on the same level as a visit to the Taj Mahal. Plus my brothers had to stay home with the babysitter - just me! Whoo-hoo!
I got the steak and lobster platter because that was the one that was in all the commercials.
Then my parents did something that literally changed the trajectory of my life forever.
They gave me a present.
And it wasn't even my birthday! Well, it was sort of my birthday...my faith birth-day, I suppose...
It was a book of poems, and a red book that said 'Journal' on the front of it.
Over the next few weeks, I read all the poems. Kept that poetry book until just recently, in fact. For decades.
I still have the journal, as well as the others I bought and wrote in since. That day officially began my life as a writer.
No comments:
Post a Comment