Remember me? I was that little girl who wandered barefoot into your services that day in Goldfield, Nevada. I was eight, so it was in 1960 or 61. You guys were so nice to me–you exemplified Christianity.

That was the loveliest little church, sort of out of place in the Nevada ghost town that Goldfield is–do you think some rich silver miner built it? I suppose it’s a historical building. To me it was a haven from the storm.

That day I decided to go to church, I left my mother,  a Mormon alcoholic (more commonly known as Jack Mormon), passed out on the only bed we had–I often wonder how on earth four kids and an adult slept in one bed. I can’t remember what led me to get up and decide to go to church, but I’m so glad I did.

Do you remember that I won that chalk drawing of the crosses on Golgotha? You taught me “The Old Rugged Cross”–I will always love that song. You taught me from the heart about Jesus and His love for us. You told me that it probably wasn’t a good thing for a little girl to shout “Jesus Christ!” every time she stubbed her toe or stepped on a nail. You taught me to pray.

I vividly recall praying for God to help me stop taking his name in vain and being aware of the need to repent. Thank you for that. What with my father being gone or drunk, what with my parents shouting vile obscenities at each other, what with my father punching my mother repeatedly with his fists, I didn’t get that message at home, that’s for sure.

Guess what? I stayed a Christian! We moved all over the country in our white trash lives, but wherever we went, I went to church. Oh, I don’t even remember all the denominations I was a part of as I tried to be a good person despite living with constant sin at home. Methodists–I remember, they are good people, good people. Catholics, well, I don’t remember the people much, but I really enjoyed those services, sort of dark and quiet and solemn. But reverent. Pentacostals, now that’s a crazy bunch of people–highly entertaining and friendly, though– you gotta give them that!

You’ll die. I’m a Mormon now. True-blue Mormon. I wonder if you thought they were a cult. Hmmm….did you know that my mother was the descendant of Mormon pioneers? Why, her great grandmother was in the Martin Handcart Company! Her great-great grandfather was the first stake president in Parowan, Utah!

What the heck happened to her, you ask (notice I said heck)? Boy, that’s a long story. Her parents left their home and abandoned the teachings of their parents (both born in the covenant) (Oh, sorry, that means they were sealed in the temple, it’s a big deal in Mormondom). I guess that’s sort of biblical, do you suppose?

Partly because of you and people like you, I determined early to abandon the teachings of my parents and live a good life. To be honest and clean and good. To love and follow Jesus.

You know, though, that’s not enough. I don’t mean to offend you, my dear old friend, but there’s more to it. “It” being that good news of the gospel you taught me about.

Guess what? We lived with God before we were born, and guess what else? We’re going to live with Him again! Everything has a purpose. I know you believed that, but I’m not so sure you really understood where we came from, why we’re here, or what marvelous possibilities await us in eternity.

Somewhere deep in my immortal soul, I knew that. Because when I was finally taught the principles of the true gospel of Jesus Christ, by those missionaries in Long Beach (my parents wanted money from the Mormons–how many churches have a welfare plan?), I recognized it. I didn’t learn it so much as I was reminded. Everything made sense to me then.

Of course, I didn’t become all Mormon-y right away. The apple didn’t fall very far from my parents’ tree and it was inevitable that I would repeat many of their mistakes. But ultimately, I returned to the orchard of my Mormon heritage.

I live in Utah now. I have a family, heck, I have eight grandchildren! I can safely say that none of my children ever wandered into a church barefoot while I was passed out. You wouldn’t believe how different I am from my mother, how far I’ve come from that two room house in a dirt town in Nevada. Heck, I live in Utah, right in the town where my ancestors settled!    I came home.

But, my dear, dear friend, I will always be grateful to you for those first seeds of faith you sowed in me. I will always be grateful that you were true to your Savior and chose to serve your mission in a place that was truly nowhere and I suppose you got little thanks or reward for your efforts. Please know that to the day I die, I will be grateful to you and will honor the goodness in you.

A lot is made about the differences in religion–what’s true and right. I believe my religion is true. But I also believe that your faith was true and I believe that God is going to reward you in ways that you can never dream. Oh, brace yourself, you have no idea what’s in store for you!

What? Oh, me, too, I’ve got to be somewhere. Didn’t mean to keep you, but it sure was great to run into you. Bye now, my friend, good to see you. Thanks for everything–hey, guess what? I know for a fact that we are going to meet again!