When I Almost Became A Mormon

When we were moving to US, I was worried about leaving God’s own country for a nation of kafirs, atheists, and immoralists. But on my arrival, I learned that people here were as pious as folks back home.

The main approach road to our home had an exasperating number of churches alongside it. As we would pass by them in our car, out of habit and respect, I would bow my head to every church, left and right. One day, this pious act sprained my neck muscles. Now my world revolved around my neck pain, and I became extremely depressed and irritable. Getting a physician’s appointment was even more difficult than finding God. They were all booked for the next three months. We resorted to prayers, and over-the-counter first aid products like Bengay and hot/cold packs.

One of those days, when I was still wearing a neck support there was a knock on my door. I found two white men, barely out of high school, wearing white shirts, black ties, black pants, and broad smiles. One of them was tall and thin, and the other was a bit plump. They were holding books in their hands and exuding pleasantness as if they were my long lost relatives.

The tall one introduced himself as John, and the plump one as Jeremy, and then very politely expressed their hearty regrets at the condition of my neck. John asked if I had a few minutes to spare. I said, “Sure,” and welcomed them into my living room. After settling down, I exhorted them why they were wasting their life on such silly propaganda mission instead of studying, or learning life skills, or doing some real job.

Jeremy assured me that they will join universities after their two year stint as missionaries.

And then to start a small talk, I asked if they knew what was going on in Iraq and Afghanistan? To my horror they were completely oblivious of everything or anything happening around the world because they were cut off from the world and even from their own families. They were not allowed to watch movies or attend parties or have any relationship with girls. I felt very sad for them.

I thought it was wise to let them know my beliefs before they try to proselytize me. I told them how deeply religious person I was, and that I believed in more than 360 million gods and goddesses including FSM and IPU besides bhoot, pret, atmas, jinn, pishach and all the past and present gurus, babas, swamis. And I was smart enough to mention that I believed in Jesus Christ, Mother Mary, Tooth Fairies, and Santa Claus as well.

“Oh, do you also follow Jesus Christ?” John exulted as soon as I paused to breathe.

“Yes, the great man who started happy holidays.”

The Father, the Son, and Joseph Smith
(Courtesy Wikimedia Commons)

They were off-stumped by my knowledge about their religion, and went silent for a few minutes, but then decided to provide me with more information. “Not only that, but he is our savior.” Then Jeremy talked in length about the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Joseph Smith and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, which was all new to me.

“Now Ms. Joshi, let us pray.”

All three of us held each other’s hands in a circle, closed our eyes, and John said, “Heavenly Father, we thank thee for everything you have given us. Please bless Ms. Joshi and her family with knowledge, comfort, guidance, peace, and health. We pray in the name of Jesus Christ,” and then together they said, “Amen.”

“Amen,” I also repeated. It felt so strange. These kids didn’t even know how to pray. Whereas, I knew scores of Sanskrit and vernacular prayers by heart. How pathetic! My heart filled with sympathy for their rigorous life and their utter lack of knowledge. Such heightened emotions stimulated my lacrymal glands, which started secreting saline watery fluid.

“You will be all right, Ms. Joshi, Lord will provide you comfort.” Jeremy said, and then asked, “Would you like us to say prayers in the presence of your husband and daughter as well?”

“Yes, of course,” I said, wiping my tears.

So it was decided that they would visit us again on coming Saturday. I was so affected by their hardship, which they said was nothing compared to what Jesus had suffered, that I was ready to join their church and become a Mormon. On parting, Jeremy offered me a copy of the Book of Mormon, which I readily accepted.

As soon as they left, my neck pain alleviated, all thanks to Jesus Christ, the Holy Ghost, and the greatest physician sitting in the sky. The book was interesting too.

Later that evening, I informed my husband and daughter about my pact with the wretched missionary boys and that they would visit us on Saturday. I also tried to explain why we should join the LDS Church, but they turned out to be extremely stubborn, inflexible, dogmatic, and not open to discussion at all. On Saturday, my husband sent the boys back from the door itself, but they were there again on Monday, this time to claim their book, which I returned grudgingly.

Now many years after that incident, sometimes I think had we converted to Mormonism, who knows my husband would have become as rich and successful as the Republican presidential candidate, Mitt Romney, and I would have been smugly sitting on a pile of my published books like Stephanie Meyer with dollars raining over me. “Heavenly Father, if you still insist on raining dollars over me, please make sure that they are high denomination bills, not coins. The latter could cause bodily injury. Amen!”