Up until now, whenever I went to work, I had taken 134 west to Interstate 5 south, but I had later found another route that was less congested with traffic. I started taking 134 east to the Glendale Freeway south, which led right to Beverly Blvd. and made it much easier and faster to get to work. It was during this change of direction that I had noticed a little church on the corner of the next block from where I lived.

I started driving by that church every day, but never caught the name of it as I passed by. Finally one Sunday, I went to go take a look. I parked across the street so as not to look obvious and attract attention to myself. I could see the sign clearly now … it said, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.” I repeated the name and thought to myself, “Hmmm, that’s the church same church that the Osmonds go to.” I remembered them mentioning it in the teen magazines I used to get, and how I had always envied their family.

I recalled the time when one of my best childhood friends (another Osmond fan) had invited me to go with her to hear Donny Osmond speak at one of the churches there in her hometown of El Cajon (near San Diego). A friend of her’s who happened to be LDS had invited her. I remember going, and afterwards we had filled out some little cards.

About a week later some missionaries had contacted my friend and her mother said she could take the discussion lessons. She called and asked me to come too. I drove to her house at the appointed time and we sat and waited for the missionaries to come. When the doorbell rang her mother answered and invited them to come in. There before our eyes were two of the most handsome, clean-cut, young men we had ever seen! Needless to say, being teenagers (I was seventeen at the time and my friend was a year younger), after seeing these cute boys we didn’t really hear a word of their discussion as our minds were more focused on them!

I did remember the name, Joseph Smith, and after three or four of the lessons, I remember being asked if I would like to be baptized. I had responded by saying, “No way … I’m not joining ANY church!” And I wasn’t going to until I found the real one. Of course, as I said before, my friend and I had hardly listened to a word of the lessons they were teaching us because our minds were so occupied by the cuteness of these two missionaries, and we just sat there, staring and enjoyed watching them do their thing.

As I sat there in the car reflecting back, another memory came to mind. Way back when I was in the fifth grade, I had a friend at school named Carla. She lived about a mile away from me and sometimes would invite me over to her house to play. Back in those days, we didn’t have to worry so much about kidnappers and other dangers that are commonplace today, and we rode our bikes all over town within a two-mile radius or so. I’d ride my bike to Carla’s house where we would play games, or with our Barbies, or a number of other things. Occasionally, I stayed for dinner as well.

Now Carla was different from most of my other friends, and so was her family. At school, she would always greet her friends with a warm smile and a hug, and she was just happy all the time it seemed. You never saw her in a bad mood or heard a bad word come out of her mouth. While at her house, I had noticed that she and her brothers all said, “Please” and “Thank You,” or “Yes ma’am” and “No, sir” to their parents. None of my other friends ever talked that way to their parents, and we didn’t either as we were never made to. I thought it was strange at the time.

Then I remembered that Carla had asked me to go to church with them one day, and when I had asked my dad, he gave me the usual, “As long as it’s not Jewish, Catholic, or Mormon.” I asked Carla if it was any of those and she had said no, she didn’t think so. I had been going with her for a little while until one day, I noticed a pamphlet on the wall that read, “What of the Mormons?” I took it and showed my dad and he wouldn’t let me go anymore after that.

But now as I sat there in my car reflecting back on these memories, I recalled that Carla’s family was a lot like the Osmond family who seemed to me, the perfect example of the kind of family I wanted … the kind of family I wished I had had.

For a few Sundays, I would sit across the street from this church on the corner, and I would watch the people as they came out. They were all dressed nicely … the men and even the young boys were dressed in shirts and ties, some wearing suits, and the women all wore dresses. They seemed like an impressive bunch of people and I wondered why my dad didn’t want me to go to this church. I knew he was wrong about the Catholics not believing in Jesus. What if he was wrong about Mormons too? I had figured out a long time ago that just because your parents are adults doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re always right about everything. Grown ups make mistakes too, and some make a LOT of mistakes!

Finally, one Sunday, I decided to call the church and find out what time their services were. When I looked in the phone book, surprisingly, there were a lot of listings for this church! I finally found the one I was looking for by the address. But now the problem was which one do I call? There were a few listings for the address, but in the yellow pages there was an ad that said, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints” and another one just below it that said “Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.” I wondered what the difference was.

I thought “Reorganized” must mean it was newer and better so I decided to call that one. Someone answered the phone and I got the meeting schedule, and we had a nice little chat. When I asked what the difference was between the regular and the reorganized church, the man I was talking to said, “Oh you don’t want the reorganized church … they’re an apostate branch that broke off of our original church.” I replied that I had called the reorganized church because I thought it would be newer and better, but apparently it wasn’t.

At any rate, it seemed there had been a misprint in the phone book and the number listed for both churches was the same number that was listed for the original church. He asked if I wanted a ride next Sunday so I wouldn’t have to come alone. I could ride with him and his family, and he would introduce me around to others. I accepted his offer, and after hanging up the phone, I went to check what dress I would wear from my very scant collection that I wore to work. Then I anxiously waited for Sunday to roll around.