I had a special place in my room to keep the books. Every once in a while I opened the Book of Mormon and my reference chart in the encyclopedia to do some more translating. About two weeks later I finished the first paragraph. I wasn’t discouraged by my slow progress, in fact I was greatly encouraged. I was actually translating the Book of Mormon back to Egyptian.
Even at my age of eight, I had visions of greatness because of my project. Maybe when I was all done, the Church would buy my work and print it, or perhaps I would become another Joseph Smith. I knew that when Joseph Smith got the golden plates from the Angel Moroni, there was a sealed portion which he was commanded not to translate. During the time I was doing my translating, I heard an older man speak in Sacrament meeting. He said that there might be young children in the room that would be instrumental in translating the sealed portion of the Book of Mormon. I wanted to jump out of my seat. I felt like yelling, “Hey, that’s me!”
Work continued slowly but surely. I got to where I could do a whole paragraph in one sitting. Most of the characters were in my memory and I didn’t have to keep referring to the chart so often. I had several sheets with little sprawly figures on them. Of course, now, I don’t even think an Egyptian scholar could have deciphered them, but I was still proud of my work.
After a year had gone by from the time I had begun my project, I was older and wiser. Perhaps I had learned that the Book of Mormon was written in hieroglyphics and not phonetics like I was using. It might have been the realization that I was barking up the wrong tree, or maybe the fact that I was only on the second page, but I decided to stop my project. It doesn’t matter to me now that I didn’t finish. (I’d probably only be on the third chapter by now anyway.)
However, I look back at my work with pride. For a while there, I was a translator!
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