Testimonies

Diana Belles Testimony

My first encounter with Mormonism occurred when I was 12. My grandmother was an invalid prior to her death, but she liked to talk about the Lord, so when the Mormon missionaries came to the door one day my mother let them visit with her. We were Methodists, but like many Christians, we thought the LDS church was just another Christian denomination. They left a Book of Mormon for her and I remember being impressed that this church had its own Bible.

For some reason, this Book of Mormon was saved in our family "trash and treasures" and I ran across it some years later shortly before my marriage. It had a page in the front that told where to find the prophecies about Joseph Smith and the founding of America. I was fascinated by this American religion.

My husband and I moved from Ohio to California in 1966 and I discovered that motels in Utah had Mormon literature in the rooms. I snapped it up and read it eagerly. When we got settled in our new home, I mailed the reply card that brought the missionaries to my door. I started meeting with them and really enjoyed our talks. I was especially interested in their emphasis on Heavenly Father, as I had always felt He was the one we should be praying to. I didn't understand all the fuss about Jesus. He was, after all, only God's son. He wasn't God Himself, I thought. My meetings with the missionaries came to an end, however, when my husband said he wasn't interested in joining a different church.

When we purchased our first home in 1970, I was delighted that our backyard adjoined the local Mormon Church. We were neighbors! I was impressed with the busyness. There was always something going on there and it was easy to see why the beehive was chosen as the church's symbol.

Soon after this my uncle died and when my aunt decided she wanted to start attending church, I suggested that she investigate the Mormon Church. She became a Mormon and was so happy and full of stories about all the activities and the wonderful people. I was glad for her and a little bit envious.

In June 1973, my world was turned inside out when at 58 my father died of a heart attack just a month after being pronounced in perfect health. We were devastated. To compound our grief both of our pastors failed to minister to us. My pastor never acknowledged the message I left for him, and my mother's pastor couldn't take the time from his schedule to perform my father's funeral. We were like little boats of grief adrift in a sea of despair when, who stopped in to minister to us, but my aunt's Mormon brothers and sisters. They were wonderful and loving and full of comfort. My aunt's bishop conducted my father's funeral. I don't know how we would have survived those next awful days without them.

That did it for me. I had the missionaries come immediately and my mother and husband and I started the lessons. We were all baptized and were good and happy Mormons for several years.

It's interesting that during those years my aunt and I would often sneak out for services at a Christian church on Good Friday or Christmas Eve. We'd always talk on the way home about the music or whatever. We didn't realize that what we were missing at the Mormon Church was the Holy Spirit's presence.

My husband and I started traveling with his work in 1979. Even though we mailed our tithing back home, we didn't attend church. We were in Orlando, Florida, in 1981 and lived next to this tiny little Baptist church. I told my husband that I was going to go over there some Sunday and see what those Baptists did (We thought they were "holy rollers" or something even stranger!). We had been there several months when I was walking one evening and was struck by an overwhelming sense of sadness. I realized that I wasn't being a good Mormon. I wasn't doing everything I was supposed to do. I just never could be good enough and was, therefore, totally lost. I felt completely hopeless.

The Sunday came when I decided to visit the Baptists. It was glorious. The music was grand - we sang "Jesus, lover of my soul" which I had never heard before. The message was wonderful - you really miss a good sermon in the Mormon services, as most lay people just aren't good speakers. The clincher came as Ray, the pastor, announced that they were going to begin their study of other religions in the evening service. They were going to start with Mormonism! Looking back, I realized that the Lord had really set me up, but at the time I was full of righteous indignation. I was going back there that evening and make sure those people knew the truth! I wasn't going to just sit by and hear my church badmouthed! So I went, but I didn't say a word because what I heard just blew me away. I hurried home and told my husband. We got out our books and, sure enough, everything I had heard was there. We had just never read it. It's one of those mysteries of Mormonism that you're encouraged to buy the [LDS] books, but aren't encouraged to read them.

I decided I needed to hear more, so I kept going back - Sunday morning, Sunday evening - and Ray talked with me for hours after the evening services. By the time we left Florida, I was beginning to get filled up with Jesus.

Our next stop was Huntsville, Alabama. I found a Baptist church that was as huge as the one in Orlando had been small, and I kept going. The Word [of God] was like heavenly rain and I was so dry, I just kept sucking it in. One Sunday I decided I was going to attend the Mormon Church. It was very strange as I walked in and sat down. No one spoke to me. No one even looked at me. I couldn't wait to escape from there. When the service was over I cried all the way home. These were MY people and they had ignored me. I told my husband that I was never going back to the Mormon Church again and I haven't set foot in one since. I see now that I WAS invisible to those people that day because the Holy Spirit already had His stamp on me. That evening I was back in my Baptist church and back on track.

From there we went to El Paso, Texas, and my first thought was to find a Baptist church. I picked one at random from the phone book. Of course, it wasn't really a chance encounter - it was the Lord's choice for me and I loved both the church and Mike, the pastor.

Almost daily I drove by a used bookstore and I thought I would go in there someday and see what they had. We had been there several months when I decided the day had come. They had a great selection. They even had a Mormon section and I chose a lovely book titled Through Temple Doors. Then I moved to the next section and was drawn to what I now fondly refer to as "The Maze", The Maze of Mormonism by Walter Martin. I wasn't sure if I should take it. At that time in my life, I was somewhere in limbo between Mormonism and Christianity and this was, after all, one of those anti-Mormon books that I wasn't suppose to read. But, I threw caution to the wind and took it. I never did read the temple book because I read "The Maze" first. This was in May 1982, and I remember looking up from my reading and thinking, "I don't believe this stuff. I'm Christian." After that everything started to make sense. My husband read it. I sent it home and my mother and aunt read it. Everyone who had followed me into Mormonism got back out.

I began attending Sunday school and a weekday Bible study and I was discipled by Bill, who was a former Christian Scientist. We studied scripture and I memorized verses that he chose for me. I also worked through my mourning. It wasn't that I wanted to go back to Mormonism, but I felt so betrayed because people I loved and trusted had deceived me. It had been so beautiful and I had wanted so much for it to be true, but Mormonism is neither true nor beautiful. It is the handiwork of Satan transforming himself into "an angel of light" using beautiful images of families and brotherly love to mask the ugly reality of good people in bondage to a godless religion.

I praise God for my journey and for His "leading me in paths of righteousness for His name's sake". He not only saved my soul, but He also gave me the work I'm to do for Him here on earth - to tell my story that someone might be spared a detour "through the valley of the shadow of death."

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