Personal History - Religion Throughout the Family

Disclaimer - Fact and Myth Often Coincide in my Brain

Let me first say that I'm still practicing telling these stories. Since they're coming through me now, instead of others, their accuracy may or may not be spot-on, but I'll try to get as close as I can.

If something here is glaringly wrong, please let me know. Nicely. I'll fix, if it needs fixing, or I'll make a note that I'm human and not always right. Which is kind of what I'm doing right now as well.

In short, don't believe absolutely everything you read online. Just good commonsense advice.

I'm a second-generation Mormon, and happy with my choice. My parents joined in their early 20s, before they met each other.

My Dad's Conversion Story

My father's family was Presbyterian, officially, but they didn't seem particularly religious, especially as they grew older. When the children were young, they went to church schools. My father joined the military, and met someone who was LDS who influenced him in that direction. His aunt Kathryn Dilley had joined the Mormon Church many years earlier, and sent missionaries to teach her brother and his wife.

My grandparents decided not to join when they learned about our law of paying 10% of all our earnings (tithing), but my father joined after he became an adult.

My Mom's Conversion Story

My great-grandfather, Clinton Harvard Stockwell, and his family were members of the Church of No Name, and before that, his family were Methodists.

The Church of No Name is an interesting story - they're also called Two By Twos, a Protestant Church from Ireland originally. They don't seem to have a whole lotta doctrine on purpose, and they have a lot of meetings.

It's a home-based religion mostly, based on Bible teachings. My great-grandfather would come home from his work in the mill in Tacoma, where he lived, make himself a cup of hot chocolate, and sit down at night to read the Bible. My grandmother would sit with him sometimes.

There were some indications he had some doubts about his faith, because he would tell my grandmother at times like this that the Lord's true church was out there somewhere, and she should look for it.

She did, for many years. She drove more than a few Baptist missionaries crazy with her 'devil's questions' about prophets, priesthood, and other items of interest. Still, she kept asking.

My mother joined the Catholic Church in her teens, as most of her Hispanic friends in Arizona were Catholic. Meanwhile, my mother's older sister Carol married a young Navy man with a teensy alcohol problem.

One night he wrecked his car after a bender, and spent a long time in the hospital. His near-death experience propelled him towards religion, and he and Carol took the LDS missionary discussions. My mother sat in with them. While they didn't continue on toward baptism (Wink decided he didn't want to join if he couldn't be in charge, and my aunt didn't want to give up smoking), my mother finished the discussions and decided to get baptized.

His Catholic priest heard she was taking the missionary discussions, and reprimanded her for it. She told me she might have returned to Catholicism if he'd been nicer about it, but there it goes. She moved on and didn't look back. My grandmother (the one with the devil's questions) had all her questions answered by the LDS missionaries, and joined the church after her daughter did.

M grandmother's husband, my stepfather Loring Fowler - his father was a Methodist minister, and he wouldn't join the LDS faith out of respect for his father's beliefs, but after he passed away, my grandmother had him sealed to her in the temple.

Did They Accept? Didn't They?

It's LDS doctrine that, while temple work can be done in proxy for those who have passed away in this life, it's still their choice as to whether or not they can accept that work, so we can't know for sure if they've accepted it or not.

My grandmother also had temple work done for her father - the one who told her to keep looking for the Lord's church at night, while reading the Bible.

A short time later, she was sick, and called for a blessing. While the two priesthood holders laid their hands on her head to bless her, she later reported the sensation of three sets of hands instead of two, and she strongly suspected that her father had accepted the temple work done on his behalf, and had joined the prayer circle from the other side to try and help her.

Further Back

Beyond that point, we can only guess what religion our family members were, based on historical patterns.

Most of my family members were from the Northeast part of the United States (New Jersey, Connecticut), so it's likely they were largely Protestant. I have one family member who was tried as a witch in Connecticut during the time of the Salem Witch trials, so perhaps she was at least wishing she was Protestant, or even Puritan, if she wasn't.

Back beyond that, they were perhaps Catholic or Protestant, since most of them lived in England, Ireland and Scotland, and perhaps fighting each other.

Hubby's Family

My hubby's family came largely through Mexico, Ireland, and Europe, so chances are most of them were Catholic. The Catholic Church historically had a significant influence in these areas. It was politically correct to be Catholic, and sometimes dangerous not to be, so at this point, we suspect Catholic on his side.

Personal History - The Story of my LDS Baptism

When was I baptized, and what was my religion?

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.