My Conversion Story Part !

     Today, May 4th, 2014, (International Star Wars Day for my fellow nerds) marks a great day in history for me and many Latter Day Saints living, or like myself, born in the South Florida area. Today this temple was dedicated and became the 143rd LDS temple. When I was born, the closest temple was the Mesa, AZ temple; a three day drive. In 1974, the next closest temple was the Washington DC temple, a 24 hr drive, then came the Atlanta temple, 12 hrs, and finally the Orlando temple at an astounding 4 hrs from Miami.But what does this mean to those who are not members? Well, in order to answer this I'm going to tell you a little story about myself. A story that begins at a Christmas party at my mom's house in 1997. Wait, maybe it starts earlier than that. Let's start in the Summer of 1994. 

     I was a medical resident at the University of Miami on a vacation in San Diego for a medical conference. I immediately fell in love with San Diego and did my best to drive around and see every inch of it before I had to go back to Miami. On one of my drives through the city, a huge white building caught my eye and I just had to go check it out. It was high on a hill, overlooking the cityscape and I felt it was drawing me to it. Much to my horror, this building ended up being one of those "crazy Mormon" temples of which I was not allowed access to. Nonetheless, I was able to stand in the garden outside before leaving and as much as I hated to admit it, this place touched me but I would rather die than admit that to anyone at the time. Now lets get back to 1997. By this year, I was now a practicing physician in a very posh Miami Beach practice that catered to the rich and famous. I had a penthouse office with a view of the bay and the ocean. I had a condo on the beach which I drove to every day in my red, convertible BMW. I was surrounded by my friends and loved ones and life was grand. At 27, I had checked off most of my "to do's" and was toping off the year with a trip to some island where I would be massaged and fed into the New Year. But plans got foiled by weather and I was almost catatonic when I realized that my only option left was to spend Christmas (tan-tan-TAH) at my mother's. 

   I arrived in a foul mood. I will save you the details and just say it wasn't Norman Rockwell at the holidays most years. I dreaded holidays most of my life. So it was no surprise that as I entered my mom's house I was greeted by some punk in a tie and white shirt with a tag on his pocket that read "Elder Harris." I lasered in on a small police shield he had pinned onto his tie. What a loser, right? He stuck out his hand and said, "Hi there, I'm Elder Harris. A friend of your brother, Henry." I looked him up and down and responded warmly by saying, "You think your a bad ass in that tie?" and proceeded to walk away. ( I will tell you now that my brother in law, a chief of police, had given him that pin when he got to the party and Elder Harris was kind enough to put it on.)

   I would like to say that I am in no way this person or maybe I am but I usually say this sort of thing in my head but Mormons and I had a history and I was just tapped for disappointment that night because later my brother John told me that he had been approached by said missionaries to receive the discussions which is a handful of meetings missionaries have with people who are investigating the church. I think I might have blacked out in anger at this point. (More back story here)

     Approximately twenty years before this incident, three of my nine siblings had been approached by missionaries and had been baptized into the Mormon church. My brother Henry had even been "brainwashed" into serving a mission in Paraguay where he lived in a house with a hole for a toilet and had contracted some stomach parasite. My Catholic mother blew her lid and I was introduced to a flurry of colorful terminology. But what killed me, truly ripped out my heart and killed me, was when I was not allowed to see or speak to these siblings which included my sister, Lourdes. She and I were tight and in a home where I sometimes was asked to be invisible she was somebody who not only noticed me but praised me. It was a long road but eventually I was able to establish a relationship with my siblings again. In the years leading up to this party my sister Lourdes and brother Henry had tried to subtly (they thought)send the missionaries after me. This was truly an epic failure. I was a young, flirty Cuban from Miami and they were mostly farm boys from Idaho. They never stood a chance. I could change any conversation into playful, unreligious banter. But today, they were messing with my brother and this was unacceptable. This was real. 

     When my brother John asked me to be his wingman for the first discussion I was more than happy to help. I was going to play it cool with this Elder Harris and let him dig himself into a deep hole and thus, show my brother John just what idiots these Mormons were with there temples and missionaries and whatever else Mormons had. That was when I realized that I didn't know much about Mormons so, that night, I proceeded to take out one of the many Book of Mormon(BOM)that were given me by the missionaries and began to read. I mean, how hard could this be? I crammed for 35 chapters of Embryology in one night, I could surely finish a chapter or two of this nonsense especially with my 12 years of Catholic high school religion classes. ( I would like to point out that by the time I had spoken to my last missionary I had moved three times yet in none of those moves had I felt prompted to throw away any of the BOM given me. Whatever that meant.)

   The New Year quickly approached and I had made fabulous plans with my fabulous friends. We went out dressed to the nines and went to several exclusive parties full of celebrities and beautiful people. Life couldn't have been better but as I looked around that night I had a gnawing feeling that ate at me over and over: "Is this all there is? Now that I accomplished all my goals, what is the meaning in my life?" I shook it off and passed it off as too much wine so right there and then I made a New Year's resolution. No more liquor. I never really saw the point of it and it had no place in my newest goal of triathlon training anyway. I was sure it had nothing to do with the BOM I had been reading and the feelings I felt when I was reading it. It was just a choice. 

    By the time I reached my brother Henry's house for the first discussion I felt like a prize fighter in his prime. I had several questions for Elder Harris from the BOM, especially about this Nephi guy and how he killed a man, Laban when he was drunk and incapacitated. Yeah, these Mormons were a piece of work all right. But as we sat down the Elders asked John to say a prayer before starting and I could feel the atmosphere in the room change. Now I am aware that it was the Holy Spirit. I was struck mute but it didn't matter because the first thing Elder Harris wanted to talk about was Nephi and why he had to kill Laban in order to save the golden plates which would later become the BOM. He said he was prompted to discuss that. I still get chills when I think of that. He then asked my brother questions about what he believed. Did he believe God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit were three distinct individuals? ("Duh, yes" I thought to myself.)"Do you know that only the Mormon church believes that?" he said. 

"Do you believe you will be with your loved ones forever and that marriage is for all time and eternity?" (Of course, right.) And so went the night. Elder Harris: 1 Sylvia Villate:0

    But I was not deterred for I had lost the fight but not the war. I continued to pick random chapters in the BOM to trip up the missionaries and sure enough, each time we met, Elder Harris would bring up the topic before I could. We finally reached the end of the discussions and they asked John if he wished to be baptized. He agreed but felt nervous and asked to speak to me alone for a minute. We went out back and he asked for my opinion. I told him that I could not make such a big decision for him but I told him that God wouldn't be screaming at him and making him feel anxious. That I figured that might be the adversary working on him and that I felt God might be more quiet, like a still small voice. When we returned to the group that good for nothing,all knowing, smarty pants, Elder Harris asked if he could have me read something. He turned to 1Nephi and I read, "Ye have seen an angel, and he spake unto you; yea, ye have heard his voice from time to time; and he hath spoken unto you in a still small voice"  

This is a picture of the "think tank" that is Elder Harris, that managed to foil my every plot. 

     My brother was baptized and as I sat through it tears streamed down my face because I had failed by letting this moment happen and greater yet, I felt that this church must be true. I made a pact with God. I was going to finish sitting through the baptism but as soon as it was over I would walk out the door and never speak of this again if he would let me walk out quietly. I would be a model citizen but no Mormonism for me. Not after all the heartache it had caused in my home. And worse, what kind of social backlash would this give me with my friends and colleagues? Services ended and I had one foot out the door with the sun in my face. I even had a smile forming in the corner of my mouth when I felt a hand on my shoulder. There he was. That… That.?  That (said as a bad word) missionary. "I felt prompted not to let you leave without asking you, Sister Villate, will you allow us to give you the missionary discussions?" 

    I will save the rest of the story for another day but let me tell you non-Mormons just a bit about the temple now before I go on. It is heaven on earth. As a non-member one time I felt peace there. As a member, I know I can commune with God there. Some of you may read this and think I am just another zealot who got taken but I ask you to look at this picture and I will remind you that most missionaries are between the ages of 18-21. Elder Harris was 25 because he too was a convert and got a late start. They go on two year missions that they themselves pay for. If you need no other proof that the gospel is true it is that boys and girls who you would not trust your car with at a valet carry with them the armor of righteousness that pierces all the excuses and lets the the Spirit touch you and reveal to you the truthfulness of the gospel. I will spoil the next installment for you by telling you that I get baptized. The rest you will have to wait for.