Back to the Bible and the Book of Mormon this is a new study,totally from the Bible, supporting the divinity of the Book of Mormon.
Eileen Davies
Janet Therese Molloy
A Catholic Nun Discovers The Gospel
Eileen Davies
In a private audience with the Pope, Eileen Davies asked to be released from the vows
she had taken as a nun more than thirty years previously. A year later her request was
granted, and she became a lay Catholic.
She took this step because of growing concern and disillusionment about doctrines and
practices of her church, much of which was fostered by studies she had made in the private
library of the Vatican. But still she remained close to the church she had served all her
life—until one day, back in her native Wales, she learned why she had been impelled
to leave the convent. She discovered the true gospel of Jesus Christ.
In her late sixties at the time of her conversion, Eileen Davies has since served a
mission in Italy as well as giving devoted service in other Church callings. She is now
head of the English department at the Oxford School of Language in Venice, Italy; and in
her spare time she travels many miles to bear testimony to people who are studying the
gospel with the help of LDS missionaries. As her immensely interesting account indicates,
her depth of conviction and gratitude for the gospel is an example to Latter-day Saints
everywhere.
After thirty-three years as a nun, it seemed that Eileen Davies (Sister Mary Francesca)
had reached the pinnacle of success. As the English representative to the Vatican, she
enjoyed esteem and responsibility. Her capabilities as a teacher and governor of over two
hundred convents in Italy were well known. She enjoyed audiences with the Pope. What could
possibly happen to make her break with the Roman Catholic Church and eventually embrace
the restored gospel of Jesus Christ? This fascinating and true story begins in Cardiff,
Wales.
Eileen Davies was born in 1901, the youngest of ten children. In accordance with the
prevailing custom in devout Roman Catholic homes, one child was selected to follow the
ministry. This choice fell to her older brother, Cuthbert. Before he could begin the
ministry, however, Cuthbert was killed in 1917, during World War I, at Ypres, Belgium.
Eileen was sixteen years old at this time, and her brother's death was the first real
sorrow her heart had ever sustained. She secretly felt determined to replace her brother
as the family representative to the church. However, it came as a surprise to the whole
family when it was announced openly that Eileen had been selected.
Surprise turned to grief in the heart of Eileen's mother. Although Eileen was sixteen
years old, she was still her mother's youngest child and, therefore, her baby. Her mother
remonstrated against this selection, even saying to the Mother Superior, "Take the
other children, but leave me my baby." But the Mother Superior countered by saying,
"It is the baby that the Lord wants."
The apprehension of Eileen's mother persisted. Within the next few months Eileen came down
with a severe illness, which persisted during the ensuing two years. Her mother gradually
began to despair of her life. She reasoned that the illness must have been the judgment of
a displeased God. At length, she promised to allow Eileen to enter the convent if and when
she regained her health. After her lengthy convalescence, the date was set on March 25,
1921, for Eileen's entrance.
Eileen traveled north approximately 140 miles to Loughborough, Leicestershire, England.
She tells her experience in her own words:
"I took a taxi to the convent, as the train was two hours late and there was no
carriage to meet me. The taxi stopped outside a huge door in the middle of a very high
wall. I pulled the chain that rang the bell and waited the proverbial 'eternity' for the
door to open. An old Sister with a sad face like the Madonna of Sorrows [p.160] appeared.
My heart was thumping as she beckoned me to enter. The door closed, and the huge key was
turned one, two, and three times. I felt already buried alive! Again the Sister beckoned
me, and I followed her through long glass cloisters.
"The windows were covered in black net curtains, and the statues were draped in
purple. It was the solemn part of Lent, and the convent was in deep mourning; that day was
Maunday Thursday, the day our Divine Savior washed the feet of the apostles before the
feast of the Passover. The Sisters were all in the chapel chanting the office applicable
to the Holy Week. But in spite of the rigorous silence that reigned, the Mother Superior,
hearing of my arrival, came out and received me with open arms. She was a cousin of my
mother, and was very stout and jovial, a very wonderful woman, and a good Superior. 'Thank
heaven!' I thought. 'At least there is someone here with a heart and a smile.'"
Because her family was so well known to the nuns, the usual three-day wait for inspection
was waived, and she was immediately given the cap and frock of a postulant. During the six
months that followed, Sister Eileen was required to learn about the vows of poverty,
chastity, and obedience. She experienced some difficulty with poverty when her relatives
sent her an extra pair of shoes. These could not be given away within the convent. After
much thought, the problem was eventually solved when she gave them back to the wardrobe
keeper. Since everything belonged in common to the order, permission had to be asked for
the use of any item. Regarding chastity, the rule stated that there could be no admission
of a boyfriend; one could not touch a Sister, except in a religious embrace, which was to
place hands on arms and to kiss the shoulder. Two Sisters were to travel together always.
All letters were to be opened and censored.
Being an inquisitive person, Sister Eileen found that her greatest problem was that of
obedience. It distressed her at times not to be able to read the newspaper or to talk
about things of the world. Because it seemed necessary to give her a special lesson in
obedience, she was directed to drive a screw into a picture until told to stop. Then she
was instructed to remove the screw and repair the hole. Such lessons taught her to
adapt herself, and she gained acceptance of blind obedience.
When the six months were over, Sister Eileen was allowed to begin teaching in the school
for two hours a day, during the time of her novitiate. This period of time extended into
two years. She was then received by ballot into the order, clothed in the habit of a nun,
and given the name of Sister Mary Francesca. In her first official position, Sister Davies
was sent to the county of Sussex in England to be the head mistress of St. Joseph's
convent school. She soon fell in love with the children and her work. By diligent effort
and sound example, she instilled the love of school in her students. They received from
her a wealth of practical experience. Due to the popularity of her teaching, the school
doubled in size within four years.
Because of her outstanding success, she was transferred further north to a school located
at a place known as Barton-on-Humber. Some of her students at St. Joseph's loved their
teacher so much that they received permission from their parents to accompany her to the
new location. Here she spent six happy years, during which time she helped get the school
at Barton on its feet both financially and in terms of enrollment.
At this point she received orders for another transfer. Naturally, she was perturbed about
this, but being obedient she did not question the call. She packed her belongings and once
more shed tears at being separated from her beloved students.
As the train bore her south to the very bottom part of England, she pondered her next
assignment. A ferry ride later, she approached Carisbrooke House on the Isle of Wight, an
island in the English Channel. This was to be her new home. Carisbrooke House had been the
Dower House of Carisbrooke Castle. Large grounds surrounded the house. Immediately Sister
Davies' active mind began to conjure up possibilities for developing the complete student.
By now she had formulated the concept that for a full and rounded education, each student
should have development of the physical, social, and intellectual person, all within a
religious framework. Also, being a practical teacher, she realized that all work and
no play makes a dull student. Soon the grounds around the schoolhouse began to resound to
the sights and sounds of net ball, hockey, swimming, hunting, riding, and gymkhanas. Her
rules called for five days of study, and weekends of organized athletics and religion.
There were no long faces here. Her students adored her and followed her on every excursion
whether mental or physical, it made little difference; each was a new and thrillingly
different experience.
But now the international clouds of gloom were gathering. It was 1939; Hitler's blitzkrieg
(lightning war) had defeated Poland. France was besieged. Anticipating Hitler's bombs, the
English moved their children away from the larger cities. Many went north to Loughborough,
Leicestershire, and Sister Davies was now reassigned there. Shortly, children came from
all parts of the compass to this school, even from as far away as Vienna and Poland. There
were 360 evacuees and refugees ranging from two-and-a-half to eighteen years of age.
If ever a teacher had to be inspired, it was now. Sister Davies had to assume the roles of
teacher, guide, guardian, confidante, nurse, mother, and father. She was all of these and
more for six long war years at Loughborough. Many a night, with school lights out and with
the sound of bombs exploding in the distance and their flashes lighting the sky, the
children solemnly marched behind Sister Davies into the cellar, with gas masks and pillows
in their arms, to spend a night of terror. It is of interest that despite the bombings not
one pane of glass in the school was ever broken through bombing.
Since Sister Davies had given of herself to each student as the need and occasion demanded
during the long war years, it was only natural that some of the students refused to return
to their homes at the end of hostilities. Indeed, this was their home, in some cases the
only one they had ever known or remembered. Consequently, some heartrending scenes
transpired as parents came to reclaim their children, some of whom were loath to leave.
Some of the children did not know whether their parents were still alive. In two cases,
final word did not come until four years later. As it turned out, all of the children had
at least one remaining parent to claim them.
The war ended in 1945. On the basis of her long and outstanding service, Sister Davies was
summoned to Italy. She was to be the English representative to the Rosmenian Order in the
Vatican. Her job for the next six years was to travel with the Mother-General and assist
in supervising over two hundred convents. These were located throughout Italy and in parts
of Switzerland. During this time she had frequent audience with the Pope. Yes, Sister
Davies had come a long way, and on true merit. As we look at her at this time, we are led
to inquire what could make her break with this church to which she had devoted so many
years of her life.
She states that the break really started in this way: During her journeys, she saw much
poverty and suffering among the people. At the same time, she was in the midst of great
wealth in the church. She felt that this was incongruous and unfair. During her many years
of working with the students, she had spared no effort in providing physical and spiritual
welfare for her charges. It caused her great concern to be working in the midst of luxury
and see suffering and want about her. She sincerely felt that greater efforts could be
made by the church to have all things in common. Shortly, a new ruling by the Italian
Father-General fed more fuel to the flames. It was that the Nuns of the Rosmenian Order
should become more cloistered and contemplative; they were henceforth to cease going out,
and they were now to withdraw from the world.
This of course meant that Sister Davies would have to terminate her works of charity on
the outside, which to her was unthinkable. Added to this, she began to experience certain
apprehensions and fears regarding doctrine, which resulted from studies she made within
the private library of the Vatican. As a result of these studies, certain fallacies of
function and organization in her church became evident to her. She felt that these did not
conform scripturally to the true Church. At first these thoughts were vaguely disquieting,
but with further study and prayer they grew to alarming proportions. At length, she knew
that she could not continue to think these thoughts and still remain in her official
capacity. She felt that the only fair thing to do would be to step [p.164] down. Reaching
this decision caused her great soul-searching and considerable anguish.
Sister Davies thus requested a private audience with Pope Pius XII in which she asked for
dispensation (permission to be released from her vows). She would still remain a member of
the church, but would try to find a place and circumstances where she could become
involved in works for charity. The Pope was obviously moved, and after hearing Sister
Davies, he requested her to take a year to consider this decision and not to act hastily
nor terminate vows at that time. To this she agreed.
She began to have yearnings to return to England and again teach. Shortly, however, in a
sudden policy reversal, the Order closed some of its schools in England. This was a great
blow to her. As promised, however, she did wait out the year, and then, more resolved than
ever, wired for final papal confirmation of separation from her vows. This was granted,
but a note was attached requesting her to sleep on it for a month. About that she says:
"I had stayed awake on it for many years. There was no need for me to prolong the
agony. My decision was now irrevocable."
She decided to go to London, where she could surrender her habit (nun's clothing) at the
convent. Upon her arrival, the Mother Provincial greeted her with tears streaming down her
cheeks. "If you must take this step," she said, "God must have some work
for you to do in the world that you could not perform in the convent."
"I felt so strange and lonely as I walked to the station, but I knew that I had a
mission in life and I courageously set forth to find it," she said.
A new life now began. Eileen's main interest in life had been to work with youth and the
underprivileged. It was only natural that she should again turn to such work. She obtained
and furnished a large flat (apartment) which she operated as a charity lodging for poor
students and itinerants. Before long, however, as she began to tally the count of articles
stolen from her apartment, she learned to her sorrow that not all mankind can be blindly
trusted. Even her checkbook was taken, and bogus checks in her name began to appear about
town. Sister Davies was eventually forced to the conclusion that thirty-three years in the
convent had left her ill-prepared for this type of service.
Returning to Italy, she attended the University of Perrugia, where she took a degree in
the Italian language. She then received a fine position in Venice where, between the years
of 1963 and 1966, she taught at the Oxford School of Languages. During this time, she
continued to remain close to the Catholic Church as a lay member, because to the best of
her knowledge that church represented the closest contact she had with God. But there were
many practices in the Catholic Church with which she did not agree, and the old nagging
questions still left her disturbed. She sincerely prayed for guidance, desiring to know
the will of God.
It was Christmas time, 1966, and Sister Davies began to think of home. Her sister was
living in Cardiff, and she decided to make a Christmas visit. This was to be only
temporary, as she planned to return to Venice in January to resume her teaching. On
arriving in Cardiff, her first steps took her in the direction of the particular Catholic
Church where she had felt drawn to the service of God in her youth. Once inside, she
prayed intently, but her prayers were unanswered. The sisters whom she greeted seemed cold
towards her, and spiritually she felt arid and empty. Depressed, she left the church and
crossed the city to the section of Cardiff known as Rhiwbina, with the intent of visiting
her sister. The familiar landmarks loomed up one by one, but as she arrived at the street
on which her sister lived, she noted a new church at the corner.
"There was nothing very extraordinary about that, as many churches were built in
Cardiff, and I had never crossed the road to look at any of them. But this one was
different; it drew me like a magnet, and I felt constrained to cross over and read aloud
the name—'The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.'"
She suddenly was filled with the desire to enter to find out more. Unable to enter because
the building was locked, she went to her sister's home. The impression and desire to
return remained strong overnight, however, and the next day she returned and found the
chapel open. She entered and asked someone if she could be shown around.
She was intrigued with the classrooms and passages, and, of all things, the gymnasium
(cultural hall); next, the kitchen, gleaming and bright, in which one of the LDS sisters
was working. The custodian continued the tour into the chapel. Standing there and looking
about, she suddenly remembered the words, "If you must leave the convent, perhaps God
has some work for you to do which you could not perform here." She was very impressed
by this inner feeling. After reflecting upon it, she turned and asked if there was someone
who could explain to her what the church could offer spiritually. She was taken to the
branch president's office, and there she met President Lawrence I. Taylor. He received
Sister Davies and explained to her the basic doctrines of the Church. In a two-hour visit,
the president dwelled upon the great apostasy which had robbed the Catholic Church of the
priesthood and the right of succession which they claimed.
Suddenly, a great conflict began to rage in Eileen Davies soul, for despite differences
with her church and its traditions, the sum of her life efforts strained to tell her that
she had been right. Yet, somehow, the words of the gospel rang true as they fell upon her
ears. The story of the restoration of the gospel in this day and age sounded remarkably
proper and right. However, the ties that bound her to Catholicism were hard to break. She
fought hard to justify the position of the Catholic Church, but it was no use. "I
knew in my heart that what I was being taught was the truth," she says,
"especially when I read, meditated upon, and prayed about the Book of Mormon."
Now, she began to realize that God was offering her a great gift, the answer to all her
doubts and yearnings. The only remaining obstacle was the fear of again hurting her family
who already had suffered from her leaving the convent. But she realized that it was a far
worse thing to fail God, and that she would have no peace until she was baptized into the
restored Church.
By now, the time had passed for her to return to Italy to teach in the University. She
sealed her future by sending a telegram to Italy stating that she would not be returning
to teach. This decision was largely made because, at that time, there was no branch of the
Church in Italy. She therefore elected to remain in Cardiff, where she could learn and
grow in the gospel.
"The Elders were wonderful, although I am sure I gave them a very hard time with so
many questions. But they bore their testimonies with their eyes shining with divine light.
I shall always be grateful to them for their loving patience. I shall never forget the
sadness in Elder Brent Dickerson's face when he said, 'You'll be baptized on the 11th of
February, won't you?'
"I replied, 'Oh dear, no! It is too soon. I want to know everything about the Church
before taking such a final step.'
"He answered, 'I cannot tell you everything about the Church. You will go on learning
about it all your life, but when you are baptized you will have the Holy Ghost to help you
to understand.'
"So I fixed the date for a week later, February 19, 1967. Oh, how happy I was that
night of my baptism! I have never experienced such joy and peace. I have always suffered
from aquaphobia and have never been able to go under water, but I didn't even think of it
that night. I really felt Christ calling me to come to him—not 'on the waters,' but
out of the waters of baptism. I felt so clean, and I knew that the Holy Ghost really had
taken up residence in my soul. There was a heavenly atmosphere in the chapel that night
that not only I but many other people felt and which they have told me they will never
forget."
Now came the time of learning for Sister Davies and of her throwing all of her effort into
the work. She loved it. Truly, this was the answer to her problems. The great plan of
salvation unfolded day by day. After six months of work, prayers, study, and
participation, Sister Davies was called to be the Relief Society president of the Cardiff
Branch.
It was about this time that the first "all-British" Relief Society conference
was held. Sister Belle Spafford and her officers came to Great Britain from Salt Lake City
in 1967, and were joined by Elders Mark E. Petersen and James A. Cullimore. The conference
was held in two areas, and Sister Davies was able to meet with the sisters in the London
meetings. She confesses that she experienced a union of soul and Christian affection that
she had never known before. She especially noted and appreciated the messages regarding
deep loyalty for family and desire for exaltation as a family unit. Her greatest joy
was to mingle with the saints and to love and be loved by them. She constantly commented
on how this remarkable oneness reminded her of the scriptural references concerning the
early saints. "See how these Christians love one another," stated their
persecutors. She enjoys quoting the parallel with the modern restored church: "By
this shall all men know ye are my disciples, if ye have love one unto another." Her
later trip to Salt Lake City only confirmed and heightened her already deep and poignant
feelings of love for the members and the restored gospel.
Sister Davies gives daily thanks to the Lord for guiding her footsteps into truth. She
says:
"Every day I am more persuaded of the truth. I thank the Almighty from the bottom of
my heart for the great grace he has bestowed upon me by bringing me to the knowledge of
the restored gospel. There is no greater gift on earth than the knowledge given to us in
the Church of Jesus Christ. I pray that I will always be worthy of this special grace
bestowed upon me. I know that this Church is the true Church of Jesus Christ. I have loved
my Savior all my life—he has ever been 'my God and my all.' It is impossible that he
should deceive me. I could never feel so happy and contented with anything that was not
the truth. I say these words humbly in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen."
This account has been compiled from details supplied by Eileen Davies and from material
written by Ray H. Barton, Jr., former president of the Southwest British Mission.
Life Transformed for New Zealand Nun
Janet Therese Molloy
I was born of wonderful parents in October 1945, in Auckland, New Zealand, and was
baptized a Catholic when only a few weeks old. My primary schooling was at the local
parish school, where I enjoyed the excellent teaching and strict discipline of the sisters
of St. Joseph.
St. Mary's in Auckland was the scene of my secondary school days, under the strict
supervision of the sisters of Our Lady of Mercy. It is a beautiful old school with great
traditions where my mother had received her training also. In 1960 I graduated to Form IV,
and this was the beginning of my most enjoyable [ school year. My teacher was young and
inexperienced, so with the help of my friends I endeavored to give this good nun plenty of
excitement. For example, we lined the ceiling of our classroom with squashy grapes which
plopped down at intermittent intervals. We were the funniest, smartest girls—or so we
thought. Often our conversation showed a lack of respect for Sister. One day I went a
little too far and put a tiny dead mouse on her chair. The next day I found myself in the
principal's office being threatened with expulsion from the school. I came away a rather
frightened, remorseful girl.
The next year was a more serious one for me. I had a new teacher whom I loved and I did
everything I could to cooperate with her. As the end of the school year was approaching,
however, I felt concerned because I did not know what I was going to do with my life.
Sitting at an office typewriter did not appeal to me and the nursing profession too had
lost its attraction for me.
One day, a very close friend of mine (a nun) asked me if I had ever considered giving my
life to God in a special way, as she had done. My reply was a definite negative. Strangely
enough, though, I went home that night and knelt by my bed and really prayed from my heart
for the first time. Our family had always made a practice of family prayer at night, but
this consisted of reciting several decades of the rosary. As I knelt there in the dark,
fingering my rosary beads, I prayed to God for guidance and courage. Suddenly I felt a
deep sense of peace and a closeness to God.
As the days passed by I grew more serious and reflective. Finally, I decided to make an
appointment to see the mother superior of the order of nuns who had taught me. I felt that
this was what the Lord wanted of me.
I was approaching my sixteenth birthday and I knew that this was the minimum age
requirement to enter the convent. Reverend Mother was a petite woman—quite striking
to look at. Her beautiful Irish complexion camouflaged her middle age. At the end of a
thorough interview, this sweet woman looked at me kindly and told me that I could enter
the Convent of Our Lady of Mercy as soon as I could arrange it. The tears which had held
back until this time suddenly streamed shamelessly down my face, and as Reverend Mother
kissed me goodbye, telling me to come on the following February 2, I felt a great surge of
joy and peace inside me. I felt that this was what the Lord wanted me to do. My parents
were extremely surprised at my news, but they felt very proud of me and in no way tried to
prevent me or dissuade me.
On Friday, February 2, 1962, at 3:00 P.M my family drove me over to St. Mary's Navitiate,
the training house for the new arrivals. Seven other girls older than myself were arriving
that same day. After being welcomed by Reverend Mother and our future novice mistress, we
were ushered into a side room where we donned the severe black habit and sheer black veil.
This was to be our mode of dress for ten months while we studied the teachings of the
Catholic Church and learned about convent life and the holy rule of the Sisters of Mercy.
We were called "postulants" during this period. Our duties were as follows: We
rose at 5:45 A.M. to thirty-three tolls of a bell, and twenty minutes later we were
required to be in the chapel to recite the psalms of the office of the blessed Virgin
Mary. From 6:30 until 7:00 A.M. we sat quietly in our priedieux (kneeling desks) and
meditated on points of doctrine. This was followed by holy Mass. After Mass we took turns
at preparing the porridge, toast, and tea for thirty nuns at breakfast. When the bell
sounded, each nun would arise, genuflect before the altar, and with the others walk slowly
in single file, hands clasped and eyes downcast, into the refectory for our first meal of
the day. The rest of our day was spent in studying, lectures, and prayer, until 9:00 P.M.
when the grand silence began.
My first year in the Order of Our Lady of Mercy was a really hard one. Under the strict
discipline of my novice mistress I became less boisterous and more serious. My most vivid
memory of convent life is of constant humiliation. Having to listen while my faults were
explained was difficult for me, but I am thankful for those years which taught me to know
myself as I am and not just as I would like to be.
On October 20, eleven of us (all postulants) were received as "brides of Christ"
into the order as novices for a further two-year training period before taking vows.
Dressed in bridal dresses and veils, we walked up the aisle of St. Patrick's Cathedral as
the choir sang "Veni Sponsor Christi" ("Come, Spouse of Christ").
For the following two years we were engaged in domestic work in the laundry and kitchen.
Twice a day our work was interrupted for lectures on doctrine. During this period of
intense spiritual training we were not permitted to leave the convent premises except on
urgent business, nor could we read or study anything of a secular nature. These were
indeed serious and reflective years for me.
When the two years had passed we were again permitted to solicit approval of the community
of nuns to take vows and be full professed members of the order. During the profession
ceremony our white veil was replaced by a black one and we each received a brass crucifix
to wear in the belt. The most significant part of the ceremony was our individual reading
of our vows. Each of us in turn read aloud her pledge to live a life of
"poverty" (by which we renounced our right of ownership), "chastity"
(by which we relinquished the right to marry) and "obedience" (by which we were
no longer subject to our own will, but to that of a superior). My profession motto was
imprinted on my vows—"Elegi Abjecta" ("I choose to be an
abject"). I desired to continually remind myself that without the Lord's help I was
nothing.
A few weeks later we were assigned to Monte Cecilia Convent, which was surrounded by
Catholic churches, convents, and monasteries and (ironically) looked down onto the
Auckland Latter-day Saint Stake Center. For two years we traveled by day to Loreto Hall
Teachers College; then in the evening, back at the convent, we received additional
spiritual training. In December 1966 I graduated with my teaching certificate plus a
diploma of moral and dogmatic theology.
In January 1967 I received my first teaching assignment—at a parish school in an
Auckland suburb. My forty little children were a source of great joy and satisfaction to
me. Our old classroom glowed with their handcrafts; our free periods were spent in sitting
in the field singing to my guitar.
It was at this time, after several years of experiencing slight doubts that I began to
have serious doubts as to whether the life of a nun was my true vocation. (Despite this, I
in no way challenged the authenticity of the Catholic Church.) I felt that I could not
exist without having children of my own. And how could I go through life—lonely in
spite of companions—only able to see my family one hour each month, although they
lived close by? I found too that I was becoming far too harsh on myself as far as the
reach for perfection was concerned. I demanded an unrealistic amount of dedication from
myself, and when inevitably I fell short at times it was difficult for me to forgive
myself. There were other doubts also, but I tried to ignore them because I suspected they
were motivated by weakness. I desperately wanted to be a strong, disciplined, and
courageous person who would not give in to selfish and worldly desires. I seemed to hear a
voice saying: "Sister, this life is not meant to be easy. You have sacrificed things
of the world. Don't give in to disheartenment and weakness. Be strong and put up with
opposition." But as the days and weeks went by, my doubts became stronger; and after
much prayer I knew that I must have the courage to leave that way of life. After some
personal opposition, I returned to secular life in June 1967.
The adjustments which followed were often almost more than I could bear. I had become a
real introvert and very sensitive. I missed the religious routine of the convent, and
often at night I would cry for hours because I felt I had made a wrong decision in leaving
it. In retrospect, I recognize these feelings as instigated by the adversary.
Eventually I found a job as a receptionist typist and very slowly began to gain
confidence. Dating was a frightening experience. I was very naive by worldly standards and
just longed to meet someone who was spiritually minded. Then one evening at a dance I met
a young man who seemed very different from the others. We communicated well and it
thrilled me to find someone who did not smoke, drink, or swear, and who had high
standards. It was several weeks before I discovered in horror that this man was a member
of the "Mormon" Church.
[p.176] We both realized the unhappy consequences of a marriage between two people of such
opposing faiths. Each time we were together we would discuss religion, and it was obvious
that neither of us was about to change his beliefs. It seemed inevitable that we would
have to end our friendship, as we were becoming serious about each other. I went to
services of his church, and although I was impressed by the spirit of the people, the
doctrines seemed to me ridiculous. So after a rich and exciting year together we finally
had to part.
It was a very sad time for me. Occasionally I would go to the LDS Church just to see this
young man again. I had made friends with a member of the stake presidency and his lovely
wife, and I spent many enjoyable hours in their home. At this time there were two fine
missionaries staying at the president's home and they engaged me in deep discussions about
religion—but I was very defensive of my Catholic beliefs. These elders impressed me
with their enthusiasm and gentle spirit, but I always assured them most definitely that I
could never embrace their faith.
One day the missionaries invited me to attend their quarterly stake conference and, after
much persuasion, I consented. Unknown to them, my only motive was that I wanted to see my
former sweetheart again. As I listened to the speakers that day and felt that undeniably
strong spirit of the LDS gathering, I felt some of the Catholic draining out of me,
leaving me extremely confused. As I was leaving the chapel, one of my missionary friends
came up to me and said: "Jan, I will be leaving New Zealand in just ten days' time,
as my two years are up. I would love to have the privilege of baptizing you before I
return." I was extremely shocked at such a request; but I was touched by the
sincerity and gentle spirit which emanated from him, so I just thanked him for his concern
and told him I could never give up my strong beliefs.
At home that night, however, I prayed desperately to the Lord asking him to take away the
very strong doubts that were welling up in my mind about the Catholic faith. I was afraid
that my love for my young friend was influencing my desire to share his beliefs, and this
worried me. Seeking help from the scriptures, I picked up my New Testament and read
isolated passages from [p.177] different parts. To my amazement, everything I read seemed
to reinforce the teachings of the LDS Church.
I prayed so very hard that night and all the next day! My doubts about the Catholic faith
were very strong by now. In fact, I believed the LDS Church was true. But I knew that I
would not only have to believe—I must really know in my heart that it was true before
I would ever have the strength to give up all that I had dedicated my life to and expose
myself to the shocked reactions of family and friends, who certainly would think I was
trying to change my beliefs to suit my romantic notions.
On the following day, while I was even more convinced, I felt I still could not make the
tremendous decision involved in joining the Church. But I was about to receive help. While
working at my desk, I received a phone call from a friend who told me that my former
sweetheart had just become engaged to another girl. This was a startling surprise to me,
but it was not as surprising as my reaction. Suddenly things seemed to fall into place.
Instead of feeling hurt and disappointment, I experienced an overwhelming feeling of joy
and peace. I wanted to run out into the main office and shout for joy. It was as though
part of the veil had been removed for a tiny second and I was able to see into the future.
It became obvious to me that I had not met the right man for me yet, as the Lord had great
things ahead for me to do. Now I knew what it meant to have a testimony of the truth, for
I knew with all my heart—without any doubt at all—that The Church of Jesus
Christ of Latter-day Saints is the one true Church. It had been unmistakably revealed to
me by the Holy Ghost. My new conviction and courage was and always will be a miracle to
me—I cannot explain it.
The following weeks were full of change. Just three days after that miraculous day in my
life I was immersed in the waters of baptism. Immediately afterwards I was confirmed a
member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and received the gift of the
Holy Ghost. My family were deeply shocked and distressed, and it almost broke my heart to
see their deep hurt and their fear for my soul. They are so wonderful and so strong in
their own belief in Catholicism that it was [p.178] inconceivable to them that any member
of our large family could renounce the faith—especially one who had been a nun. Only
a miracle could have brought me through the heart-rending weeks and months which ensued,
but my testimony was so very strong that I could not deny it or compromise in any way.
It especially distressed my family that I would join the Church before I had even received
any formal teaching about it. Although a spiritual testimony is powerful to the recipient,
it is difficult for him to describe it. I admitted to my family that I had not learned
everything about the Church, but I told them I could not deny its truth. Certainly if I
had not known it was true I would not have put myself or them through the agony of that
period.
Six months after my baptism I left New Zealand to attend Brigham Young University, and the
following two years preceding my graduation in May 1972 were the most wonderful and
action-packed years of my life. That beautiful university is indeed the Lord's and I felt
the spirit there. On my first morning on campus I was overcome with the wonderful spirit
which pervaded. Refined and well-groomed students rushed to and fro making cheerful
comments to each other. Such a beautiful spirit! The chimes played "There is an Hour
of Peace and Rest." The gospel meant so much to me and I thirsted for knowledge about
it. I thrilled to study it in all its aspects under trained spiritual priesthood holders.
My major field of study was in the social and family sciences, and I was very motivated to
learn as much as I could. The more I studied, the greater my testimony of the gospel
became. Everything I learned seemed to fit into the one eternal whole and I experienced a
great sense of peace.
Sometimes Latter-day Saints ask me how I feel about the years I spent as a nun. I feel
that I had been guided to train as a nun, even in a temporary situation. In those six
years my spiritual nature was formed and a concern for deeper things was initiated. That
is where I learned to pray, meditate, read, and study the scriptures. But for this
training, I fear I would have been a very worldly person and I seriously doubt if I ever
would have been attracted by the truth. In fact, I can't imagine what I would have been
like if I had not had those years.
In January 1971 I was privileged to receive my endowments in the Salt Lake Temple. This
was a very choice experience for me. When I left that beautiful house of the Lord that
day, I knew as I had never known before that there is only one Church on this earth today
in which the truth can be found, and I knew I had found that Church. Perhaps because of my
unusual background, I experienced no doubts or difficulties—everything fitted into
its place. The doctrine of the preexistence (so new to me) was the most beautiful doctrine
I had ever heard of; and it thrilled me then and still does to know that I lived with my
Heavenly Father before coming to this earth. My life now had so much more significance and
meaning, and the joy I felt was inexpressible.
I am so thrilled by the encouragement one receives in the Church—such a positive
attitude prevails, with no practice of humiliation. It is a way of life akin to our real
natures—cheerful and loving. The gospel is consistent with fun, happiness, and real
joy.
Before returning to my homeland in June of 1972, I had the privilege of visiting Nauvoo,
Carthage and Liberty Jails, Adam-ondi-Ahman, and many other places of historical
significance to Latter-day Saints. I will never forget the feeling I experienced as I sat
in the room at Carthage Jail where Joseph Smith, our beloved Prophet, was martyred. Each
of the visitors in that room with me that day experienced that same feeling, and we left
in tears. How lucky we were to know the truth!
Since returning to New Zealand, I have been privileged to work for the Lord at the Church
Distribution Center for the South Pacific at Auckland, New Zealand, with fifty other
choice Latter-day Saints. As I witness the programs and progress of the Church and the
great spirit of this latter-day work, again my testimony is greatly strengthened. I know
that the Lord's work will never fail. It thrills me to see the progress of the Church in
my homeland.
As I review these past four years, I am overwhelmed by the many wonderful blessings I have
received. I know with all my heart that this Church is true because it has been revealed
to me by the Holy Ghost. I also know this with my mind, because I have studied the
gospel and have satisfied myself that it is without error. I know that God lives and I
love him with all my heart and feel very close to him. He is indeed a loving Father. I
know that Jesus Christ is our Savior. I know also that Joseph Smith was and is a prophet
of God. I know this with all my heart. I know that we have a living prophet leading the
Church today, and I love and sustain him as such. And I sustain all the authorities of the
Church. I can say with all my heart that I know these things are true and not merely that
I believe them. For this knowledge, I will always be grateful. I leave this testimony and
witness of the truth in the sacred name of Jesus Christ. Amen.
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