M E R I D I A N M A G A Z I N E
In a Dark Projection
Room
by Tracy Hickman
It was in the end of 1974 when I received an unforgettable message from God.. You probably think that rather presumptuous. Who, after all, am I to receive a personal word from Deity? I certainly agree with you. In fact, it is all the more astonishing when you consider just who I was back in the fall of 1974.
I was eighteen that year. Looking back, it seemed as though I wore the Church like a Sunday suit ... all on the outside without ever letting it touch my soul. I had been 'born in the covenant' but it was a covenant that I had not really accepted. I had signed the contract without reading it or understanding it. At eight I was baptized, at twelve I was ordained as was all good and proper. Deacon, Teacher, Priest ... all according to schedule. I had been going to Seminary for four years (including junior high school) and, incredibly, had managed NOT to graduate. Four straight years of Book of Mormon ... and never once past first Nephi in any meaningful way.
I tried to be good. I bounced prayers off the ceiling regularly and even occasionally managed to feel inspired enough to give a testimony in church on fast Sundays. I tried to read the scriptures without falling asleep.
Getting through high school in Provo, Utah it was impossible to avoid church, of course. It was ingrained in our society. Several of my friends were non-Mormons and it was tough on them. Still, I was card-carrying and 'a member of the club' so I didn't have to worry. To me, it was just another part of my life ... a thing one did ... not more or less important than any other aspect of life.
There was a lot of life to live, too. I had graduated from Provo High School the previous spring and the summer had been a great one. I was making payments on my really great 1972 Volkswagen Superbeetle by working as a movie projectionist at the Academy Theater downtown. What a sweet job! It paid better than just about anything else around and you got to see all the movies you wanted for free. I spent part of the summer getting some great use out of my glider pilot's license and had even learned to fly power planes, too. I was dating the girl of my dreams. Life was good.
Or, at least, pretty good. My girl wanted to marry a return missionary. All my friends seemed to be mission bound as well. It was a conspiracy. Every now and then one of my Mormon high school buddies would ask me, right out of the blue, 'So, are you going on a mission?'
Each time, I'd give them the same response; "I've thought about it but I just don't think a mission is right for me."
It was a conspiracy ... and I suspect my father was the ringleader. As my nineteenth birthday approached that November, our family would gather at the dining room table for dinner. Conversation would continue easily enough but then my father would turn to me and casually ask his inspired questions.
"Son, have you thought about what you should be doing with your life?"
I thought and, somehow sensing danger, replied, "Yeah, I've thought about it, Dad. I'm still thinking about it."
"Well, son ... have you thought about going on a mission?"
Here we go again, I thought. "Yes, I've thought about it, Dad ... and I just don't think a mission is right for me."
He would then nod and quietly let the subject drop ... for a couple of days. Then, once more at the dinner table he would quietly ask me again.
"Son, have you thought about what you should be doing with your life?"
What? I thought. Again? "Yes, I'm still thinking about it, Dad."
"Well, have you thought about a mission?"
And so it went for several weeks: my father, the communication professor, gently planting seeds in the rocky places of my soul without my knowing it. Silently they took root and I found myself actually thinking about my future and what a mission might mean for me.
These were the things that I was pondering in the darkness of the projection booth of the Academy Theater. The only light came from a small reading lamp and whatever spillage leaked out from the ancient projectors. My father's seeds and those of my friends had taken root, however, somewhere deep in my soul. Strong roots can break rocks over enough time. So, in that darkness, I pondered eternity and whether I had any place in it.
I decided I should at least give prayer another try, right there in the dim confines of the projection booth. With a forgetable movie droning on in the background, I knelt down for one more attempt.
Somewhere in the eternities or somewhere in my soul ... I could not say which ... God flipped a switch. I heard His voice. He, the Master of the grandeur of all creation spoke to the soul of a lost and frightened eighteen-year-old boy. His quiet voice resounded shook my spirit and rolled like thunder throughout my being.
I knew ... I just KNEW ... that I had to go on my mission. It is the single truest moment I have ever experienced in my life.
I had in that moment a pure and undeniable testimony that I had a mission from God. I had no testimony of the first vision ... that would only come to me in the Mission Home in Salt Lake months later. I had no testimony of the Book of Mormon ... that would have to wait until I was well into my Language Training in Hawaii. I had only the most basic understanding of the gospel. The only testimony I had was that I had to go ... and it undeniably came from God.
I left my girlfriend. I left my family. I left my Volkswagen and my great job and my flying and my life all behind because I knew the voice of God and could not deny it.
Just over two years later I returned home. I had served in the Indonesia-Jakarta Mission. That girlfriend I had left behind was somehow standing at the top of the jet way when I got off the plane. We married nearly three months later in the Los Angles Temple.
That was four children and almost twenty-five years ago now. I look back over the years and see the gospel as a foundation for my life. I do not know if my mission service helped convert anyone else to the gospel. I can only really count one convert from my mission, me. I've been a member all my life, but whenever anyone asks in church if there are any converts in the room, I always raise my hand.
I became a convert in that projection room when I was eighteen years old -and found myself ready to hear God's quiet voice.
About the Author
Tracy Hickman was born in Salt Lake City, Utah in November, 1955. He graduated
Provo High School in 1974 where his major interests were in drama, music and
Air Force JROTC. In 1975, Tracy began two years of missionary service for the
Church. Initially serving for six months in Hawaii before his visa was approved
and he moved on to the nation of Indonesia. There, he served as a missionary
in Surabaya, Djakarta and the mountain city of Bandung. Tracy married his high
school sweetheart, Laura Curtis, within four months of his returning to the
United States. They are the parents of four children: Angel, Curtis, Tasha and
Jarod Tracy has worked as a supermarket stockboy, a movie projectionist, a theater
manager, a glass worker, a television assistant director, and a drill press
operator in a genealogy center. It was in 1981 -- between jobs and wanting to
buy shoes for his children -- that he approached TSR about buying two of his
modules . . . and ended up with a job instead. That job led to his association
with Margaret Weis and their first publication together: the Dragonlance Chronicles.
Tracy still speaks conversational Indonesian and occasionally bases his magical
phrases on that language. Since that time in 1985, they have jointly authored
over forty book titles. Tracy's first two solo novels, "Requiem of Stars" and
"The Immortals" were published in the spring of 1996. Tracy remains highly active
in the church and pursues a number of hobbies including guitar, singing, piano,
models, Laserdisc movies, computer games, television production and animation.
He loves to read biographies, histories and popular science books. Tracy currently
resides in St. George, Utah where his children enjoy the sunshine and neighborhood
friends. Tracy's son Curtis is currently serving a mission. Another convert
to the church is added.
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© 2001 Meridian Magazine. All Rights Reserved.