Posted by:
Tyrrhenia
(
)
Date: March 08, 2019 04:44AM
Encouraged to post more, here is something that I wrote last year. I wanted to post it on the anniversary of my baptism, which I classify as one of the worst decisions I ever made in my life, but then I clicked 'Cancel', luckily I kept a draft.
I had been seeing the missionaries for several months. Many times they had challenged me to get baptized. I had always refused. They called me a “hard cookie”, but they never gave up on me, maybe because I fed them so often?! They even broke major rules to come and visit me: I was a young single woman, living by myself.
I wasn’t very interested in religion. Raised Catholic, I hadn’t had good experiences at church, and at 14 I stopped attending Mass on Sundays, and actually wasn’t even much interested in the question if there is a god or not.
But the missionaries were nice, cool, and handsome (at least some of them). I could practice my English with them, I enjoyed cooking meals for them, and we laughed a lot.
And so it happened that after a few months I accepted a copy of the book of Mormon and started to read it. Very boring. Then I noticed they had other scriptures, an Elder explained a bit about the Doctrine and Covenants and the Pearl of Great Price, but said I couldn’t read them, yet. I insisted and eventually he lent me his “triple.”
It was a lot of weird stuff, which didn’t make much sense. Nevertheless I felt increasingly drawn to the missionaries. They seemed to be so nice, clean, and wholesome. I wanted to belong to a group of people like that, after unhappy and unpleasant experiences I had had in the past and at a time in my life when I felt very much alone. It didn’t matter that in my town there wasn’t even a branch, yet. It didn’t matter that the few people they had baptized until then were very strange people… Typical of me, at least back then, I followed my feelings rather than reason.
So it happened that after ten months since meeting the missionaries the first time, we agreed on a date for my baptism in August.
I think I hadn’t really had the kind of conversion that some people experience. But I had a strong feeling that this was the right thing to do. If I were able to take this step and be baptized, HF would have blessed me with increasing faith. But I didn’t tell anybody about my decision. I didn’t talk to my parents about it. I didn’t talk to my few but dear friends about it. It was as if on one hand I felt I had to do it, but on the other it also felt like a damn weird thing to do, being baptized in another church.
August x, 199x was a hot Saturday. We had to travel by train to another town, where there was a chapel with a baptismal font. It was still a time in Italy when towns virtually closed down for the summer. On Saturday afternoons shops were closed, people were at the seaside on vacation or just stayed at home, with shutters closed to keep cool. The streets were empty, and the asphalt was melting, as I walked to the train station with the missionaries.
But in XX the whole branch was waiting for me. It was my first time among so many members, and it was for my baptism. I didn’t like to be at the center of their attention, I remember I could only look down. It felt all so strange. First I had to be interviewed by the Zone Leader. He closed the interview saying that there would be angels that day at my baptism. It made me laugh, but he really meant it!
I wished I had run. I was so confused. But I didn’t have the courage. So I went into the water. Didn’t feel anything. I was confirmed and received the Holy Ghost. Can’t remember a word of it.
I was happy when it was over. Afterwards we went for a walk through town, two missionaries and I, the other two missionaries had caught an earlier train. The city, one of the most beautiful in the world, if I can say it, was full of tourists, and I remember the missionaries removing their name tags. I have pictures of that day. I don’t look particularly happy.
Why did I do it?! Lots of reasons, lots of excuses. Days later I was already feeling doubts and I thought it was because the missionary who had baptized me had broken some serious rules days before my baptism, travelling outside the mission boundaries and even getting one ear pierced! I had been baptized by an unworthy missionary, an ominous sign, maybe?!
But the reason for my doubts wasn’t the disobedient missionary. The love bombing I had been receiving by the missionaries for so many months was making me almost blind to the incongruences and nonsense of the doctrines, I almost saw something, but was somehow blinded.
So that was my baptism on a hot Saturday in August, an anniversary I do not celebrate, but a date I cannot forget, because I still pay for the consequences.