My Name is Duffy, and I'm a Mormon

Have you ever seen those "I'm a Mormon" ads on TV or on highway billboards? http://mormon.org/people

 

Members of my Church create these vignettes to share their beliefs. I happen to also think that they make the face of Mormonism more relatable, as people who are curious can see that we're just like everybody else.

 

Today some wonderful women from my church were visiting me and we joked about the "I'm a Mormon" tag lines we could put up with our varied and colorful family histories...  so while I don't have an "I'm a Mormon" video or write-up, I do have a story.  Here it is:

 

 

Act 1, Scene 1: Dairy Queen located in Scottsdale, Arizona

 

I’d been on the job for barely two hours. At fifteen, I had a spin-off of nepotism to thank for my relatively high-paying job in the fast food industry. A neighbor to whom I’d given several years of babysitting service recommended me to the owner of this franchise, who called me up one summer afternoon as I was stepping out of the shower and asked if I could come in at two… and bring black pants.

Black pants. In the middle of July. In Phoenix, Arizona. I rummaged. Came up with a pair of flare-bottom pants from the depths of my closet. Begged a ride and found myself in ritzy Scottsdale, serving ice cream and observing the change in shifts. All of a sudden my trainer, Celeste, was gone and three young men entered. One came up behind the counter and introduced himself. His name was Aaron and he wasted no time in insulting my pants. As if he could tell bell bottoms from flares. (As if there was a difference other than twenty years and semantics).

His next words caught me off guard. “I’m Mormon. What are you?”

“Umm,” I guessed at his meaning. “White?” He appeared Caucasian as well but there was no telling with these Scottsdale, rich-kid types. Could be he was referring to some abstract line of ancestry that entitled him to old wealth. Who knew?

“No,” he smiled. That smile. It melted my heart then and there. “It’s a religion.”

“Oh. In that case, I’m Jewish.”

And thus began two and a half years of afternoons and evenings serving ice cream, debating and flirting by turns, and learning about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

Background:

My Mother was raised Lutheran, in the sense that she was dropped off at church and picked up again during the period when she was to prepare for catechism. My Father was raised Episcopalian. They took turns with the offspring: I was baptized Lutheran as an infant and my brother was dedicated Episcopalian just shy of four years later.  At one time we were apparently Quakers, and during my 6^th year of life, my mother, brother and I lived with her sister and brother-in-law, non-denominational Christians who put us to bed every night with Bible stories, song and prayer, and for whom Christianity was a way of life, as much as a Church they belonged to.

Within a year of my parents’ divorce, however, our Mother had remarried a man who abused us emotionally and physically for 15+ years. Church attendance was spotty the first few months and finally died away to nonexistent. He worshipped football and beer on Sundays and she worshipped him.

As for me, I was searching. Outwardly I claimed not to believe in God and fought my Dad and stepmom, Kathy each time they suggested going to church during our visits. The issue was never forced. Inwardly, I kept up an ongoing dialogue with Deity, in whatever form I understood Him. Mostly my prayers were petitions better received by a Genie and formed in a covering-the-bases type of way, in case Someone was inclined to grant my wishes. In middle school I wanted to join a Discipleship group at one of the local churches, a group of teenage girls who got together to study and talk about the Bible and how its lessons applied to them, but my role models were atheists and agnostics and I kept that desire locked inside.

 

Two and a half years

Aaron worked only summers and the occasional weeknight during the school year when someone called in sick and no other replacement could be found. When he did work, it was almost always the same shift- or at least an overlapping shift- as mine. Our coworkers found reasons to leave us in the same part of the store together and we found plenty to talk about. Being of the son of two attorneys, his skills in debate far outweighed my own but I continued to bate him if only to hear his answers. What at first sounded ludicrous (a mother who stayed at home with her four kids? Surely her husband was a tyrant, oppressive, a horrible and mean man to make her a homemaker instead of utilizing her law degree!) eventually penetrated my stubborn and hard exterior, got past the defense mechanisms, and settled in my heart where it was recognized as good and true.

Beyond teaching me about his religion through our ongoing, lively debates, Aaron employed every technique he could think of. “Oh, you’re taking an Anthropology class and need to study a different culture? Study mine! You could start by coming to church with me this Sunday.” (I declined).

Two years older than me, he was an ambitious (if not overly-zealous) member-missionary preparing for a full-time proselyting mission. Of course I shot down all of his attempts and never let on my interest in the gospel beyond for argument’s sake.

One afternoon Aaron pulled me aside in the hall, out of range of customers and coworkers alike. “What do you have against the Church?” he asked me. “You’ve learned enough now. Why won’t you come to church with me?”

It was a moment of truth. So I gave him the most important answer (leaving out that I didn’t own any dresses that weren’t sleeveless and hated wearing skirts and dresses anyway). “All the Christian churches have the same Bible, and they all say its true, but they each have different interpretations of it and each think they’re right. How do you know Joseph Smith didn’t do the same thing with your Book of Mormon? Maybe it started out as true (I was willing to grant that much, for I’d felt the Spirit of Truth stirring in my heart) but he could have changed it.”

All this in a single breath. I wasn’t earning any points for logic and reasoning. Mostly, I was scared of the enormity of what I had been learning. Aaron’s answer?

“All anyone has to do to know the Church is true, is read the Book of Mormon and pray about it.”

I’m pretty sure he said more. There were offers to loan me a Book of Mormon. To listen to the discussions at his home. At the DQ if I wasn’t comfortable coming to his home. And so on.  It was that sentence however that penetrated deep in my heart and stayed, ready to be called to remembrance at the appropriate time.

As it happened,  I had had a tremendous and growing crush on the boy with brown eyes, a smile that lit up a room, and dimples even deeper than mine ever since the first day we met. He asked me out. I was 17 and he was 19.

In typical Mormon style, we went miniature golfing. Less than original, but I didn’t mind too much. He had finally asked me out! As he was dropping me back off in the DQ parking lot (for all my parents knew, I was out with girlfriends that night, not on a date), he gave me the rundown of dates he’d planned for us for the next two weeks. Family home evening, and attending his farewell were included… essentially, a whole lot of churchy stuff! Just as a horribly cruel person might say to a cancer patient, “I only went out with you because you were dying,” I told Aaron “I only went out with you because you’re leaving on a mission.”

Ouch! It wasn’t what I had meant to say, but it was all I could find the words to say. I wanted to date him; I didn’t want to go to church with him.

A few days passed, Aaron collected his last paycheck and left on his mission. He didn’t even say goodbye to me! I was crushed. I was righteously indignant. I never wanted to speak to him again....

More importantly, I was able to separate my liking him from my interest in the gospel. And so, when weeks passed and I realized that the store was no longer the same without him, that I missed the light and happiness and radiance he emitted, I knew that I was missing the light of the gospel and not just a cute boy.

I argued with myself: on the one hand, it feels right. On the other hand, they have funny underwear. But on the other hand, they treat women with respect. But on the other hand, the holy underwear thing is really weird. But the other hand…

Finally I went online and ordered a free Book of Mormon, making sure to check the box that said “do not send missionaries.” I so wasn’t about to be brainwashed by missionaries before I knew for myself if it was true or not.

 

Two Months

The Book of Mormon came the day I moved out, which was the day after my 18^th birthday. I secreted it out of the house and then kept it hidden from my roommate at my new apartment. I had finished High School a year early because I knew I was going to be kicked out; it was the easier route than trying for matriculation. So I went to the local community college during the day, and worked nights at the DQ. Every night after working the closing shift, I’d drive the 20 minutes home with my windows rolled down, enjoying the cool desert air after dark. Then I’d curl up in bed with my paperback Book of Mormon and read until my eyes burned, until I fell asleep. It was the thing I most looked forward to. I pondered what I had read during the drive home at night, looking forward to what came next, and always it just made sense to me. It clicked. It felt… right. Familiar. Almost like remembering something I had known before, and forgotten. That kind of coming-home familiar.

It took me two months to finish the Book of Mormon, then I kneeled and with faith in Moroni’s promise, asked if it was true.

 

In the midst of the Two Months

Here is where I have to backtrack. Aaron was on his mission. I didn’t know any other Mormons. And I had questions… a lot of questions! For instance, was it true that Mormon's believed women had to have a certain number of children to get into heaven? Was the number 4? That’s how many his Mom had.

I wanted the answer straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak but I didn’t know any other Mormons and I wasn’t speaking to Aaron, who incidentally had laughed heartily but neither confirmed nor denied the rumor that Mormons believed women had to have at least 4 children to get into heaven. So in the midst of these two months when I was reading the Book of Mormon for the first time, I went online and entered a search for “Mormon women email” or something like that. I ended up on a website for Mormon Women Writers. It was a website where LDS women contributed recipes and homemaking tips and so forth. It had 6 editors with their email addresses all listed. I composed an e-mail explaining that I was investigating their church and wanted to ask some questions of a Mormon woman about how women were viewed and treated within the Church, then I sent it to all six e-mail addresses. Five e-mails came back to me as undeliverable. One went through to a woman named LuJane in an obscure town in Eastern Washington called Palouse. She was inactive, at that time a practicing Buddhist in fact, and didn’t feel comfortable answering my questions. So she printed my e-mail and gave it to her visiting teacher, Terrie Teare.

A day or so later I received an e-mail from Terrie, explaining her relationship to LuJane and saying that if I’d send her a list of questions, she would do her best to answer them. And answer she did! We started e-mailing on a daily basis, so many were my questions. One time I asked “What are scriptures?” and she explained that it’s the name for Bible, Book of Mormon, Doctrine and Covenants and Pearl of Great Price all put together. Then she asked my color preference and sent me the Quad Set of scriptures I have now. By the time I received my answer—I knew that the Book of Mormon was true and that, because I knew it was true, I needed to be baptized-- we were so close to each other through our writing that she asked if she could crash on my couch a couple of days so she could attend my baptism.

Anyway, backing up again. Here is the sequence of events:

1.       Meet Aaron; work together; learn about Gospel

2.       Go on date with Aaron; decide never to talk to him again; separate liking him from interest in Gospel

3.       Order Book of Mormon; begin reading

4.       Have too many questions and no available Mormons; seek answers online, find Terrie

5.       Still reading Book of Mormon… finish and pray, learn that it is true

6.       Go to Church; take missionary discussions

7.       Terrie flies out for my baptism

 

Continuing the tale at Number Six

Okay, so have you ever heard it said that if a story is told in perfectly chronological order without any going back and adding detail, it’s an almost certain sign of a falsehood? Well clearly I’m not making this up, because its all out of order!

So going back… after I found out that the Book of Mormon was true (and that’s a treasured personal, spiritual experience so I’m not going to go into more detail in this writing) I decided that I was accountable for this knowledge and that I therefore needed to be baptized. And in order to do that, I needed to go to Church. So I called up my boss and asked for a Sunday off… plus every Sunday from now on. When I was hired, it was with the understanding that I would be working either Friday or Saturday night, and every Sunday. No exceptions. Well, there was one exception: a guy named George that got Sundays off for Football. But he was the only one. Everybody else was needed on Sundays. It so happened that my boss, Susan, had been raised a “Jackmormon” (her words) and while not interested in the Church herself, was pleased on my behalf.

She reminded me that I knew when I was hired that I’d have to work Sundays. I told her I understand and that I’d be looking for another job and would let her know as soon as I found one. She reciprocated that Church was more important than football and that I could have Sundays off from then on; if they needed another body, George would just have to deal.

So I had a little help with figuring out where to go to church and what time. Actually this was yet another tender mercy of the Lord.  I didn’t know about the online meetinghouse locator, but I remembered that Aaron had said his church was right across the street from his high school, and I knew that was just around the corner from the DQ where we worked.  So the Sunday before my anticipated trip to church, I drove over to the LDS chapel he had referenced after work.  I was just exiting my car with the intention of checking to see if the service times were posted on the door when a man exited the building and introduced himself to me as “Bishop Bailey.”  Yup, Aaron’s Dad.  I explained to him that I knew his son and wanted to attend church the following week and he asked where I lived.  After giving him my cross streets, he exclaimed that I lived very close to his parents and gave me directions to my meetinghouse, with the instruction to go to the 9a.m. service and ask for the Baileys. 

As it happened, the following Sunday was January 3^rd, 2003. Bishop Bailey had forgotten to take into account that the wards swap meeting times at the new year, but in so doing, had sent me not to his parents’ ward, but to the correct ward nonetheless. 

During Sacrament meeting I saw a girl that I thought I recognized from High School, but wasn’t sure; I hadn’t known any of my classmates were LDS (I later found out several classmates were and finally understood that Jen’s Dad dropped her off every morning at Seminary, not the cemetery, to walk to school).  The girl I recognized also recognized me, and was a fellow flutist in our high school band, Cortnie.  She took me to Gospel Doctrine and then to Relief Society where she introduced to me to the Relief Society President, Sister Gee.  "Hi, I’m Duffy. I read the Book of Mormon and I know its true so I need to meet the missionaries so I can be baptized.” I said it really, really fast.  I do that when I’m nervous.

Sister Gee’s jaw may have dropped inwardly but outwardly she remained cool as a cucumber. “I’ll you get you their number…  Elder Britt and Elder Blevins.”

Elder? I thought. Old men?  Nevertheless and despite my concern that I was going to be inviting 90 year-olds to my home, I called them up and left a voicemail explaining that I’d like to learn more about the church.  Elder Blevins later joked “you were like I was at church, where were you?!” 

The Elders ended up stopping by my apartment that very afternoon while I was out.  My roommate Nickey made an appointment on my behalf for later that afternoon.  When I arrived back home and she told me they were coming back, I panicked: I didn’t have any lemonade!!!!

Several months prior to Aaron’s leaving on his mission I had been privy to a conversation between him and another coworker of ours, Chris.  Chris was telling Aaron about sending the missionaries away when they knocked on his door, and Aaron was instructing him on proper missionary-greeting etiquette:  invite them in and offer lemonade.  “Or you could offer iced tea,” I posited.  “No,” Aaron insisted, “they wouldn’t drink it. Lemonade is better.” 

I didn’t know the reason I couldn’t offer tea to the missionaries, but I recalled this conversation and knew that I had to have lemonade.  So Nickey and I ran to the store and while we were debating the merits of various brands of lemonade, she proposed that chocolate chip cookies would go well with lemonade.  So I bought some break-and-bake frozen cookie dough, lemonade and Nickey’s promise to both sit it on the discussion with me and not tell the Elders I’d just broken the Sabbath (I was pretty sure lemonade was that important).

Elder Britt and Elder Blevins, 19 year-olds, to my great relief, showed up promptly at 4 o’clock, just as we were taking the cookies out of the oven.  I had understood that the meeting I attended that morning was a testimony meeting—that had been explained from the pulpit.  I had not understood the implications of Fast & Testimony meeting.  So when they bowed their heads for a quick prayer after relenting on the cookies and lemonade I foisted upon them (I knew a Mormon once; he said I had to offer you lemonade….) I didn’t think about them breaking their fast early so as not to offend an investigator, but just assumed these were some super-religious teenagers.

Over the course of the next 3 weeks Elders Britt and Blevins (Matt and Chris) taught me the 6 Standard Discussions.  I had no idea at the time that there was a rule about not going into the homes of single women without another male over 16 present.  They told me later that they had struck a compromise since Matt, the laid-back one, wanted to teach me and knew I wanted to learn but might not be receptive to a strange man coming to my apartment, and Chris, more of a ‘letter of the law’ missionary, wanted to abide mission rules.  So they taught me with my roommate, they taught me with Natalie and Kaydee, sisters in the ward who became my friends, under the pretense that Natalie was preparing for a mission and wanted to see how discussions were done, and when nobody else showed up with them, they taught me outside by the apartment complex’s pool.

When Matt and Chris were both transferred a week after my baptism, Chris asked if he could keep in touch with new converts within his mission, to which his mission President replied “Absolutely. As long as they’re not 18 year-old girls.” 

I shared the news of my upcoming baptism with my family. My Grandpa, an ex-Marine and Air Forceman who had previously told me that no matter was else I did in life, I should never join the Army or marry a Mormon, took the news well. It was actually my Aunt and Uncle, the non-denominational Christians who had been my greatest source of strength, support and unconditional love, whom I loved and admired more than anybody else in the world, who caused me to question my decision. They invited me over for dinner and to discuss “what I was doing with my life.” They gave me piles of anti-Mormon literature and an NIV Bible. I cried. And cried, and cried.

It was one of the worst and hardest times of my life up to that point. To be faced with opposition- and loving opposition at that, for there was never any doubt in mind about their love for me, or their ultimate concern for the eternal welfare of my soul (they truly believed I was joining a cult and would be damned to hell)- from the two people whom I loved and admired and respected most in the world, was probably the hardest thing that I could have faced at that time. Up to then I would have done anything not to disappoint them…. Except that now I knew of a greater Source of love and accountability.

I returned their anti-Mormon literature but held onto the Bible. It would not be the last time that they would, out of love for me, try to convince me of the error of my ways, try to reason with me with the scriptures, pointing out what they saw as inconsistencies. After being kicked out of my home for the 2^nd time at age 19 (fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me), I ended up living with them for a year-2004- before transferring from Community College to BYU-I. It was a censored year… they made sure I didn’t influence their children with my religious beliefs, and my LDS Visiting and Home Teachers couldn’t visit me there, but it was one of the best years too—filled with unconditional love and acceptance.

Anyway going back, I was baptized on February 1^st, 2003. Terrie flew out to be at my baptism and spent a couple of nights on my couch. We continued to email and talk on the phone occasionally. About a year or so after my baptism, I called her on Mothers Day. I told her she was kind of like my Adopted Gospel Mom and I wanted to wish her a Happy Mothers Day… over the next year or so, Adopted Gospel Mom became just Mom. It’s the role she fills in my life. Her husband has deemed himself my Fairy Godfather, and I know there couldn’t have been a better match made if I’d orchestrated it myself. My Mom is also a convert with an amazing conversion story of her own! She has been married twice; she has grown kids and kids at home; she has kids that are active in the Church and kids that are not. One kid that is addicted to drugs and alcohol, and her husband has Bipolar Disorder, she was not abused as a child like me, but was molested. Match for match, she has more or less ‘been there, done that,’ and experienced many of the traumas and trials that I have. In every way that my family of origin fails to understand the gospel perspective that I embrace, and could not provide the love or support that I so desperately longed for as a child, my Mom and her family now give me freely as an adult. I have come home.

Epilogue

People always ask, What happened to Aaron? Well, when I was baptized he was about 6 months into his mission. My Bishop convinced me that he deserved to know the part he played in bringing me into the Gospel. So I forgave him and wrote him a letter. He wrote back (he told me he cried). Then we wrote back and forth for the duration of his mission. When he came home we dated a few times but realized that we were good friends but not suited to be each other's eternal companions. We promised to be friends forever and have kept that promise. Although we are in touch only loosely at this time, I know that the bond is always present (D&C 18:15).

Aaron got married in 2005 to a beautiful girl of Korean/Mexican decent, Kim, and they now have two beautiful sons together. Throughout the years the two of us, as well as Chris and Matt have all kept in touch by phone and email. When I finally caught up to the rest of the world and joined Facebook, we started keeping each other updated that way. Chris and his wife Kim have a daughter and just recently welcomed a son into their family.  Matt and Sarah have a daughter and twin sons with autism (tender mercy: after losing contact for a few years, Matt logged onto Facebook at the exact time that I looked him up and sent him a friend request. He had been thinking of me because he knew I had studied Speech-Language Pathology and he needed hope right then for his non-verbal sons.  Because of my education, including recent continuing education, I was able to give him information that was unavailable where they're living in Texas right now).  It’s a happy ending to the story of their missionary efforts with me, and a beginning to the story of my someday eternal family but most of all its an ongoing story of the great and wonderful work that the Lord is performing in our lives.