| 
By Brandon Boey
Editor's note: This
is part 2 of Polly Block's conversion story, and was written by
Mattie Eula Webb "Polly" Block. Read part 1 here
In 1962 I stood over the ironing board,
heavy with expecting a new baby, and waiting for my two elementary
school children to come home. There were no wrinkle-free clothes
in those days, and my children had to go to school starched and
ironed, mended and cleaned, combed and ribbon-ed.
As a convert to the Church I had left
my parents, a sister and two brothers, and a big family of relatives
of another church and had come to Utah to be with those who "spoke
my language."
I pressed the ruffled skirt of my firstborn,
who was now in the sixth grade, and wondered if I should tell her
and her younger brother about the telephone call I had just received
from Texas. How would they respond? How strong were they, as children?
Would they be willing to consider the offer, meet the conditions,
and make the change?
My aunt and uncle, who were childless,
had accumulated some substantial wealth over the years. From the
beginning, they had tucked my sister and me under their wings as
if we were their own. In adulthood, I had joined The Church of Jesus
Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and this same aunt had often made attempts
to persuade me to come back home to the family I had left and to
the church I had never joined, but in which I had been reared.
Finally Auntie called to make the ultimate
offer, one she was certain I could not refuse. She was very serious
and even bold in her attitude that I accept her gift.
"You have spent your time in bondage
in Egypt, Mattie Eula! It is now time to come home and to the church
where you belong. And here is how you will do it...."
Auntie continued to lay before me the
plan she had already set in motion. "Sell your house in Utah
by July so you can be here by the time your new baby arrives in
September. Your children need their own relatives to grow up with!"
Admittedly, I had previously considered the sacrifice they were
making due to my own decisions.
She furthermore went on to tell me,
"You know that I’m in real estate now. I found an excellent
buy and have purchased a four-year-old brick home for you. It
is waiting for you, on 140 sections of land ― and it is
all yours, with 100 head of white-faced Herford to get you started."
I wondered if my young children could
ever fathom how much land 140 sections in Texas would be. One section
covers one square mile, or 640 acres. (The city of
Provo, Utah in the year 2000, covered
43 sections of land. Look out over a space the size of four Provo
cities, sitting side-by-side, and you can imagine the area that
would cover.)
Nor would they be able to picture the
value of hundred head of choice cattle.
Auntie went on, "I will see to
it that all your children have college educations, and I can't decide
whether or not to send their Christmas gifts to you now — they are
already gift-wrapped and placed around the fireplace in your new
home!"
Yet her sales pitch was still not finished!
Auntie reminded me that she had set three Navajo families up in
ranching, was sending two Navajo girls through Dartmouth College,
that she had built a mansion in Arizona, was older than I, had read
many more books, and her judgment was more mature. Surely, she said,
I could see that this was the turning point in my life — her way
was right!
Finally she said, "All this will
be yours if you will just leave the Mormons and come back home to
the church where you belong."
As I hung the slightly faded dress
on a hanger, my mind wandered to the bank withdrawal we’d recently
had to make from our savings that were intended for the house payment,
in order to make the life insurance premium on time that month.
I was glad I had been kind in my response
to Auntie.
"I love you for your concern,"
I had said. "For caring, for thinking about how you can help
our young family, and for wanting us near you. But I must tell you
that I am not in bondage. I do not know what it will take
to convince the whole family how fervent my testimony is of the
restored gospel. There is no amount of money or property, gifts,
or any worldly possession that even begin to tempt me in exchange
for my testimony or my membership in The Church of Jesus Christ
of Latter-day Saints. Our happiness, our joy and love for the work
in the Church are worth more than anything anyone can offer. No
thanks, but thank you for your caring."
Auntie was mightily offended and it
was years before she called or spoke to me again. However, her telephone
call from Texas had also given me an opportunity to test my two
offspring. How did they really feel about the gospel, about their
membership in the Church? Had they learned? Had my teachings impressed
them as much as I had hoped?
Though they were children, where, in
the midst of reality, did they actually stand?
My thoughts were interrupted by my
little son who entered the room. I smiled at the neatly mended knees
on the jeans of my little freckled trumpet player. The worn spots
on the metal kitchen cabinets, and the thin fabric on the arms of
our couch, covered with my home-made afghan, did not look half as
bad now.
I decided to nonchalantly ask a few
questions without revealing any attitude on my part.
When our ten year-old son lifted the
lid of the cookie jar, I approached him. "Son, I need your
opinion on a serious matter. Can you help me?"
He sat down at the table, folded his
fists under his cookie-chewing chin to hear me out. "If someone
offered us...," I repeated Auntie’s generous plan, "—
to leave the church, what would you say we should do?"
I answered, "Just today Auntie
called and asked that we come to Texas to live, and leave the Church."
With some indignation he stood straight
up and firmly replied, "Well, if you go, you are going by yourself
— we're not going with you!" Then he dismissed it abruptly
with absolute finality, and went about his after-school chores.
(He did not seem too worried at the idea that I might go alone.)
Next came my twelve year-old, who bounced
up the steps into the house, threw her books on the kitchen table
by the stack of ironed pillow cases and opened the fridge, settling
for a mashed banana and peanut butter sandwich.
In an impartial and impersonal tone
of voice I repeated the story and asked, "What would you do?"
She suddenly sobered, shocked at the
prospect. Tears welled up in her eyes and she responded without
hesitation, "Mother, there isn't anything in this world that
would make me leave Heavenly Father's Church!" She too dismissed
the subject, turned, and went about her business while I continued
ironing. The proposition was simply too ridiculous for these children
to even consider. Oh joy!
The children, their dad and I later
talked about what this experience had done for us. The phone call
was worth much to help us rediscover the depth of our convictions.
I think we felt a little like Nathan Hale who had written, “I regret
that I have but one life to give for my country.” In our case, it
was to the Lord and His kingdom on the earth.
Our family decided that we would love
Auntie anyhow, that we would keep writing to her after a short period
as if nothing had happened. We remembered her birthdays and sent
remembrances on holidays. I sent her copies of my books as each
was published because they reflected our way of life.
As time passed, it was my father, my
grandmother and this aunt who devoted much time and effort to helping
research our genealogy, a practice long espoused and encouraged
by our Church. In fact, in time it was this aunt who wrote proudly
to the rest of our extended family that "Mattie Eula and I
are the family historians!" Indeed I was able to write seven
family histories because of her help.
In 1997, this dear auntie passed away
at age 87— widowed and with no children. Of all the relatives, only
her "Mormon" niece came to tend to her needs and hear
her dying remarks, which were:
"Mattie Eula, you are a good woman.
You live your religion, and God Bless you."
Click
here to sign up for Meridian's FREE email updates.
©
2005 Meridian Magazine.
All Rights Reserved.
|
