A Journey of Faith and Tradition
I grew up in a home shaped by Mexican culture and Catholic traditions, though my parents weren’t particularly devoted Catholics. They were more like “weekend Catholics,” attending Mass mainly on special occasions like Easter or Christmas. Their faith was more of a cultural backdrop than a guiding force in our everyday lives. However, when it came to my education, they decided to move me to a Catholic school in third grade—not because of religious devotion, but for safety and a sense of structure.
At the Catholic school, my relationship with the church grew deeper. I became an altar boy, a role that made me feel more involved in our faith community. I served during Mass, assisting the priest with communion, and I also volunteered at church events, including Bingo nights—a staple of parish life. These moments weren’t just about responsibility; they were filled with camaraderie and a sense of purpose.
Then, at the age of 13, my grandmother, a Protestant, passed away in Mexico. My mother, who had been by her side during her final days, experienced a profound spiritual awakening. My grandmother’s dying wish was for my mom to leave Catholicism behind and embrace Protestantism, and my mom took this to heart. She returned home transformed, describing how she felt the Spirit possess her during a worship service, even speaking in tongues with phrases like “alabasea, alabasea, alabasa.” To me, this was strange and repetitive, but I didn’t question it much—I was a teenager more preoccupied with sports and girls than theological debates.
My mom’s transformation changed our family dynamic drastically. Social gatherings disappeared, my dad grew increasingly impatient, and discipline at home became harsher. This tension pushed me closer to my mom, who brought me along to her church events. While I enjoyed the cultural potlucks, I couldn’t ignore the odd rituals like speaking in tongues and being “possessed by the Spirit.” My skepticism about these practices grew, but so did my deeper spiritual curiosity.
By the time I was 17, I started asking questions that went beyond the rituals and doctrines. I’ve always loved history, especially the history of Mexico—the Aztecs, the Mayas, and other great civilizations that thrived long before Christianity reached the Americas. One question nagged at me: If God and Christ loved all their children equally, why did they only visit the Old World, the East? Why were the people of the Americas left untouched by their teachings for centuries? To me, this felt profoundly unfair. The idea of a loving, omnipresent God seemed at odds with the historical reality of thousands of people in the Americas—His children, too—who were never given the same opportunities for divine connection.
At the same time, I continued to witness practices in the Protestant churches that didn’t sit right with me. The speaking in tongues, the dramatic "passing out in the Spirit," and the chaotic, emotional displays left me more skeptical than inspired. These doubts, combined with my historical questions, became the foundation of a personal journey—one where I wasn’t content to simply accept what I was told but felt compelled to seek answers on my own terms.
By the time I was in high school, my spiritual journey took an unexpected turn. I met a girl who had a particular glow about her. She always smiled and radiated kindness, not just toward me but to everyone around her. My attraction to her wasn’t purely physical—it was something deeper, something intangible. As someone who had always been the shortest and shyest person in my classes, from kindergarten to high school, approaching her felt like a monumental challenge. But for once, I mustered the courage to talk to her.
We started talking and, before long, I visited her home. That’s when I noticed something extraordinary: her entire family seemed to share the same heartwarming glow. Her mom, her dad, her siblings—all of them exuded a sense of peace and happiness that felt almost magnetic. I couldn’t pinpoint why I was so drawn to them. Was it because of the growing tension in my own home, where my mom and dad’s clashing beliefs had created a turbulent environment? Or was it simple curiosity—a need to understand what made this family seem so genuinely content?
Our conversations deepened, and I found myself sharing my thoughts and questions about religion. I told her about the Protestant practices that unsettled me, my historical questions about God’s fairness, and my struggle to reconcile the different beliefs I’d encountered. She listened patiently, never judgmental, and then one day, she asked me a question that would change everything:
“Would you be interested in meeting full-time missionaries? They can answer all your questions.”
Without hesitation, I said yes.
A Journey of Faith and Curiosity
By the time I was in high school, my spiritual journey took an unexpected turn. I met a girl who had a particular glow about her. She always smiled and radiated kindness, not just toward me but to everyone around her. My attraction to her wasn’t purely physical—it was something deeper, something intangible. As someone who had always been the shortest and shyest person in my classes, from kindergarten to high school, approaching her felt like a monumental challenge. But for once, I mustered the courage to talk to her.
We started talking and, before long, I visited her home. That’s when I noticed something extraordinary: her entire family seemed to share the same heartwarming glow. Her mom, her dad, her siblings—all of them exuded a sense of peace and happiness that felt almost magnetic. I couldn’t pinpoint why I was so drawn to them. Was it because of the growing tension in my own home, where my mom and dad’s clashing beliefs had created a turbulent environment? Or was it simple curiosity—a need to understand what made this family seem so genuinely content?
Our conversations deepened, and I found myself sharing my thoughts and questions about religion. I told her about the Protestant practices that unsettled me, my historical questions about God’s fairness, and my struggle to reconcile the different beliefs I’d encountered. She listened patiently, never judgmental, and then one day, she asked me a question that would change everything:
“Would you be interested in meeting full-time missionaries? They can answer all your questions.”
Without hesitation, I said yes.
The day finally came. As I waited nervously, two young men approached me, each wearing a white shirt with a black plaque neatly pinned to their chest. The plaques read: Elder Walker and Elder Rodriguez of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.
To my surprise, they looked like they were only a year or two older than me. Yet, like the girl and her family, they carried themselves with the same warmth, radiating kindness and wearing ear-to-ear smiles that felt disarming. As we began talking, I learned something that made me even more intrigued: these two had left the comfort of their homes, put college on hold, and said goodbye to their friends and girlfriends to travel to distant cities—just to preach the gospel to potential skeptics like me.
I couldn’t help but admire their conviction and sacrifice. What kind of faith could inspire such dedication in people so young? This wasn’t just about theology anymore—it was about understanding what made them willing to step away from everything familiar and comfortable.
Now, I was truly intrigued.
Discussions
https://www.reddit.com/r/latterdaysaints/comments/5bk36s/the_original_1986_missionary_discussions_1/
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