Body of Evidence

Sometimes in a church meeting there is an electrifying lesson or sermon. Sunday delivered one of these.

A woman in our stake Relief Society presidency (the women's auxiliary of the Mormon church) gave the lesson. She talked about creating a body of evidence regarding our belief in God.

Now, while I would not say my childhood experiences were stellar, I had stable, loving parents and a secure environment. This woman, however, had an alcoholic father and a mom who worked and was away from the home most of the time.

She had been sent to visit her grandmother every summer, and that was who taught her to believe in God. When she was nine, she decided to pray to God to help her father stop drinking. She went alone to a playground in order to get to a high place--the huge slide that was there--to deliver her prayer.

"When I walked home, I got the feeling that everything would be okay. When I got home, of course, everything was the same--but I was different. I had received comfort from that prayer." We went on to discuss what she had learned from this initial experience in faith: that there was comfort in prayer, and this encouraged her to do it again. She had taken a baby step--but after all, she was only nine years old. She went on to say that it takes a lifetime to build this body of evidence, and something that I have often thought: we learn every day, line upon line and precept on precept, here a little and there a little.

So I began thinking about my relationship with God and what constituted the body of evidence for my faith.

I really can't remember when I didn't believe in God. Thankfully, my parents had taught me to pray and began sending me to Sunday school when I was three or four, though they did not attend church themselves. My father taught me the Lord's Prayer, and I had a Little Golden Book of prayers. I felt the spirit when I was young and I prayed, although I couldn't identify it as such. I just knew that I felt that a Presence heard me.

As I have grown older I have come to learn that the Lord is there, and He loves me, and He loves everyone else, too. He has granted my prayers, and He has given me a miracle or two. I have come to believe in His Son and His atoning sacrifice.

It seems odd that at age 51 there is still so much to learn, but I hope that I can continue to learn, and make the most of whatever time I have left. This, I feel, is at the heart of a life well-lived.