This Young Woman
By Brandon Boey
Editor’s note: This story was submitted by Jeanmarie Cook, who is the first counselor in the stake Primary presidency of the Tucson Arizona West Stake. She lives in the Wildwood Park Ward.
She was a shy young girl. She had attended a private Catholic school for more than eight years. Upon eighth grade graduation, her parents told her that they could not afford the tuition necessary at the only Catholic high school in town, so she would have to attend the local public school where she lived.
She didn’t know a single person at that school. There were so many students attending the high school that they had to hold classes in double sessions — meaning that half the students started school early in the morning and the other half started later just to get everybody to fit. She was one of more than 600 students in her freshman class. Her mother introduced her to the daughter of a friend she worked with a few weeks before school started, at that was the only other girl she knew.
She had never been taught by a man. She had never worn anything to school but a uniform. The last time she had boys in her classroom was in the sixth grade. She’d never had a locker. In fact, she had never even eaten in a cafeteria. Yet there she was, eating her lunch alone in the crowded lunch room. The halls were filled with strangers as she made her way to each class — which itself was new practice since she never had to change classrooms before. Her freshman year consisted of math, English, social studies, PE, and science. And then there was her one refuge each and every day — choir.
She felt it the very first moment she walked into his choir class. She felt peace. She felt joy. She had found a sanctuary in the midst of all the confusion around her. Her teacher, Mr. Thompson, was like a breath of fresh air. He was charming, and she loved to sing. She had been singing her whole life and music had always been a part of her home environment. She grew up with it. She was eager to be taught. She practically ran to his class every day — it felt like a warm blanket around a shivering child. She had never been in a choir with so many boys and girls. It was like magic to hear the harmony as voices blended. It was only a beginning class but, to her, it was the very reason she even came to school at all sometimes.
The fears, the newness and isolation of her freshman year slowly, but surely, began to dissipate. She became more confident, more social in her interactions with other students and gradually immersed herself in the culture she so desperately wanted to be included in. She developed friendships and felt more and more comfortable as that first year progressed. Choir continued to be her favorite class and she loved to be able to perform in concerts for her family. She longed to be a better musician so that she could be part of the larger school choir — the one that impressed her the most.
And it was in choir that she first noticed them. Those kids — those kids that were just … different. Different is a good way. They were friendly, they were good musicians, they wore modest clothes, they didn’t speak bad language, they didn’t go smoke in the bathrooms, they were just different from the other kids — and she longed to be part of their circle — but she didn’t know how. She finally asked someone how all those kids got to be so close and to have so much fun together. They told her, “Oh, those are the Mormon kids.” She had no idea what a Mormon was. She had never heard the word before.
During the sophomore year, she decided to write her historical research paper about Mormons. So, she took it upon herself to find out as much as she could about them. She read about the history of the Church in the encyclopedias at the school library. She knew the story of Joseph Smith and the western migration. She sang in the choir with a number of Mormon kids and began to hang out with them because they did the kinds of things she thought were fun — without alcohol, tobacco, bad language or deceit of any kind. She watched those Mormon friends all the time, observing how they dressed, what they said, whether they gossiped or not, how they treated each other, and she found out that they attended some kind of religion class every morning very early before school even started. She missed having religion classes. To her surprise, she even discovered that her beloved choir teacher was a Mormon too.
By the time she was sixteen, her transformation into the typical teenage girl was complete. She was excelling in school, she was a member of the advanced choir class she had so admired when a freshman, and was even dating boys. She really liked those Mormon boys the most — they were all just the nicest boys on campus. Most of them were in the choir, so being friends with them was easy. The Mormon kids had accepted her into their circle of friendship, even though she was not Mormon. She found out that they not only had religion classes in the morning before school, but they also had organized activities in the evening during the week, dances at their church on weekends, and went to worship services every Sunday. She didn’t even know any other Catholic kids that went to Mass like she did every Sunday.
She learned a lot about the Mormon Church just from watching and associating with her Mormon friends — and her music teacher. He was different from all the other teachers. There was just something about him that made you feel like the most special student in any class. He helped her understand that it was okay for music to be her refuge in the storm of life. She wasn’t his most talented music student. Not the best sight reader. She didn’t really have the range of a true soprano or alto … just somewhere in between. But she sang her heart out every day to please him. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for him. He was dedicated. He was a true example of all she had learned about the Mormons. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t judge students by their looks. He was a true professional. He instilled confidence in his students. He devoted his time and talents to the program. Consequently, the many awards his program won were evidence of his dedication and influence in the lives of his students.
Her junior year came and she found herself actively involved in the choir and acquiring friends, including the Mormons. She got to know a number of them and started socializing with them. She was finally fully immersed in the culture of the high school, was active in choir, and had friends. She even had a special boyfriend — a Mormon boy. He was special because of how he treated her. He was nice. He was trustworthy. He respected adults and her. He had a wonderful family. He was fun and liked her a lot. He was a great tenor, too.
She asked him lots of questions about his religion. He finally invited her to Church one time. It was a confusing event (a Fast and Testimony meeting) and she didn’t much care for it. He invited her to Church dances … those were a lot of fun! He invited her to family events — those were fun too and his folks were really nice. She began to understand what made those Mormons different: They had standards. They had values. They actually believed in what she had been taught as a child — Do unto others as you would have others do unto you. Although she really liked her Mormon friends, she continued to go to her own Mass faithfully every week.
By the time high school graduation rolled around, she completed the transition from a shy, quiet freshman to a successful student involved in student government. She was an officer in choir and had been accepted to the state university. Her high school experience, although very frightening at first, had turned into the best four years of her life. How she hated to leave! Yet a transition to adulthood was waiting.
Her boyfriend told her about the temple. How told her he would marry someone there some day. She knew what that meant. So, when he told her about his upcoming two-year mission service away from home, she decided the best thing for her to do was find a good Catholic boy for herself to marry. Even still, they were friends when he left America for two years, so she decided to write to him in spite of this. His departure pretty much ended her daily experiences with the Mormons. He left the summer she graduated from high school, so she simply went forward as any normal 18-year old would.
One crisp winter afternoon, she was working at her job near her university campus when one of the Mormon guys she knew from high school asked her to the Christmas formal at the Latter-day Saint Institute. He was a boy from the choir she knew well, so she decided to accept his invitation. Her mother made her a new formal dress for the occasion, she got her hair done and then went to the dance. Little did she know that this singular decision would prove to be so life-changing. She knew lots of her Mormon friends from high school who were at the dance, and she and her date had a great time. But she felt something that night. She felt a comfort she had never felt before, as if she belonged in that building — as if she was meant to be part of the crowd of people there. She wanted to know something that they all seemed to know — whatever it was, she felt like there was just something she needed to find out. But she wasn’t sure what it was she was supposed to learn. She talked with her date about it. He suggested that she talk to the local Mormon missionaries. She knew what the missionaries were. She had seen them before at the home of her high school boyfriend as well as others from school.
Her friend arranged for the missionaries to meet her at the Institute. They talked to her about basic concepts of the Mormon Church. She liked what they taught. She wanted to know more. She wanted to read the Book of Mormon. She was especially enthralled by the teachings about the Plan of Salvation, otherwise known as “the Plan of Happiness.” However, her parents wanted her to have no part of the Mormon religion. In fact, one night they found her copy of the Book of Mormon in her bedroom and threw it out the front door. She found it when she was coming home in the driveway. They firmly told her that night that she could not live at home and learn about the Mormon Church at the same time. She didn’t know what to do. She told the missionaries that she couldn’t continue the lessons because she was not “honoring” the wishes of her parents, and therefore breaking the fifth commandment. She was confused. She was afraid. She had many fears and doubts. She didn’t want to have to choose between her parents and this religion that she still didn’t know very much about.
Yet, the feeling she had that night at the dance would not leave her soul. As she read the Book of Mormon, 2nd Nephi, Chapter 2, verse 11 struck the very core of her heart:
For it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things.
But did it have to hurt this much? The missionaries (Elder Lawrence Stockham and Elder Michael Parish) counseled her that she must obey her parents “in righteousness” and that learning about the Church was righteous — whether others believed that or not. She begged her parents to let her stay at home and continue to find out more about this Mormon Church, which was formally named The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. They would not. They told her if she became a Mormon she could never be part of their family again.
She decided to talk to the Catholic parish priest. Late one night, she knocked on the rectory door and asked if she could talk to Father Wagner, a priest she admired, but did not know personally. She told him of her desire to know about the LDS religion and that she was not there to discuss that matter, but was concerned about her parents and their reaction to this desire. He said, “Who are your parents?” She told him their names and he told her he was not familiar with them or her family, probably because she was really the only member of her family that actually ever went to Mass. When asked what he would say to her parents if they came to him for counsel, his very wise answer was, “I would ask them how they expected their daughter to be something they are not.” She knew the Spirit had guided her to that discussion, for it allowed her to follow her heart.
She decided to pursue that faint, small prompting that would not let her soul rest. She left her home and her family one night (never to return) and stayed with a friend until she could find a place of her own. Her parents threatened and screamed at her. They threw her belongings onto the dirt. They allowed her to take her clothing and her record player, but nothing else. No car, no money, no insurance, nothing except what she could pack in her suitcase. They refused to take her calls or speak to her on the phone. They warned that they would call the police if they found her on their property. She felt abandoned. She felt unloved. She was scared. She was on her own at nineteen years old. She had a job and could take care of herself, but it was lonely and difficult.
But she continued the lessons with the missionaries.
In the meantime, her old Mormon boyfriend had come home from his mission. She was confused about her feelings for him and her feelings about the Church and tried desperately to separate them. She did not want to join the Church because of him or her feelings for him. She finally finished the missionary gospel lessons. On October 21, 1972, she was baptized by her boyfriend and was confirmed by her friend that had asked her to the dance the winter before. She asked her parents to come to her baptism, but their disgust for the Church only grew stronger and they distanced their relationship to the point of greater sorrow and pain for her. They didn’t want her around. The holidays that year were especially hard without being able to spend them with her family. But she kept attending the Church’s Institute program and enjoyed the friendship, fellowship, support and love from her boyfriend’s family and the members of her ward where she attended church.
By May of the next year, she was engaged to her high school sweetheart! They planned to get married in the Arizona Temple that fall. She made an effort to talk to her parents about the wedding, but they would have nothing to do with it. They refused to contribute any funds to pay for anything. They told her they refused to have any part of the event whatsoever. She had to be especially careful about the wording of the invitation itself, so as not to inaccurately represent that her parents were happy about this event at all. As the date drew nearer and nearer, her parents continued to be more and more distant, uncaring and cold toward her.
Despite this, in a miraculous way, her extended family managed to be influenced positively by the wedding announcement, and before long those other family members were coming from all over the country to support her. Her parents did not have the courage to tell the family members how hurtful they had been toward her, and proceeded to plan for the event by default and out of obligation. They finally called her a few weeks before the wedding and told her they were going to “show up” at the temple that day and would attend the reception. Their support was superficial, guarded and limited in nature, but she was glad their hearts had somewhat softened. It was an answer to the fervent prayer of her heart. The day of her wedding was bittersweet, leaving some of the people she loved most in this world outside the doors of the temple. Yet, she knew in her heart that her plan of happiness must include all the blessings of the temple. She could not deny her faith or belief in that.
The fragile testimony of this young girl was firmly rooted in believing the blessings that would come as a result of Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness. It was that fragile testimony that helped her overcome tremendous odds and reject all the attempts by the adversary to thwart her growth, strength, beliefs and conviction of the truthfulness she had learned, yet had not experienced to its fullest. The “opposition in all things” had, in fact, burned her soul with a sure knowledge of the truthfulness of the Gospel.
I was the young girl in this story.
This happened more than thirty years ago. Although I did not know it at the time, my conversion, painful and traumatic as it was, was necessary for my testimony and my growth in the Gospel. The struggle was necessary in order to recognize that bountiful blessings in this life can be given from the Lord through something as simple as a decision to go to a dance one winter night. I felt the Spirit that night and surely I feel it to this day. Just as I was grateful for it that night, I continue to be grateful for it today.
Why is this a missionary story? As David O McKay stated in 1959, “Every member a missionary.” Those young men and women in that high school were missionaries — they were teaching the gospel by their actions, their words, their deeds, their behaviors, their examples and their very lives.
How were they missionaries?
They were missionaries because I watched them (including my music teacher) every minute. Not once did they falter. Not once did they forsake their values and succumb to peer pressure. Not once did they deny their faith. Not once were they unkind to a stranger among them. They were examples of all they had been taught. They influenced my life without even knowing. They were the Book of Mormon I had never read. They were true to the faith at all times, in all things and in all places.
I joined the Church when I was 19 years old. I was baptized and confirmed by two young men from that choir class. I was married to one of them in the temple. My sons are Eagle Scouts. My daughter has her Young Womanhood medallion. My oldest son served a mission and married in the temple. My daughter married in the temple. My youngest son is serving a mission in Italy.
You never know when your example or very life will be the only Book of Mormon anyone ever reads. We are all missionaries … at all times! We have the privilege of being watched. You may not know it, but it is always possible. I have never forgotten those Mormon kids from high school. They changed my life forever, just by being true to the faith.
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