How did I lose my testimony and how did I find it? A Cellist’s Journey
I was about five years old. Alone, anxious, and disconnected from the world around me, I started to think mean thoughts to myself, things I would never think or say about another person. I wasn’t hurting anybody, so it was ok, right?
Wrong. I was hurting someone. That someone was me.
When people ask me why I left the church I was raised in, and turned my back on a way of life that loving parents taught me, I tug at so many threads. So many threads that are all part of one giant knot. All seem to come back to this one moment…when as a young child, I decided that it was ok to think mean thoughts about myself.
Our thoughts matter. Thoughts turn into patterns, which turns into habits, which lead to temperament, then personality, then actions. This is what creates so much of our reality. I have a stunningly beautiful life now. While it is not easy, nor simple, my life is my own and I embrace it. And while I have a lot to learn and still change about myself, I honor that I, like you, am a divine being.
My name is Nicole Pinnell, and you have probably heard me play the cello. I play the solo cello part in the Book of Mormon videos for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and also in numerous other projects, both sacred and secular. I am also a mom, daughter, wife, grandmother, and teacher.
I grew up in the cold land of Wisconsin, where there was not much to do besides practice the cello. My dad, a phenomenal musician, often gets the credit for my musicianship. While there is a lot of truth to that, it is my mom that made sure I practiced, and practiced well. My parents are kind, thoughtful and loving, and raised me as a member of the church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. However, not long after leaving home, I left the religion of my childhood, and lived most of my adult life outside of a life in Christ. This is ironic because now, over and over, in numerous sacred projects, my cello playing is used to call others to a life in Christ.
So what does a life in Christ mean? I think that answer is extremely personal. For me, a life in Christ has meant many different things, along many different points. And as I just noted, a lot of my life, I spent with a connection to spirit, but without a connection to Jesus Christ. So, I certainly don’t expect my answer to be the same for you. But today I am here to tell you about what my own journey has been like.
My life in Christ began in my 40s. This was about twenty years after I had left the religion of my childhood. At this time in my adult life, I had everything that should make a person happy. I was, and continue to be, blessed with three children. They are all kind, wise, principled, ethical, brave, and smart: more than one could ever ask and hope for in a family. My career as musician has always been vibrant and flourishing. This is something I do not take for granted. Working musicians never have it easy, and making a living, while full of rewards, is typically exhausting, and all-consuming.
There was something missing in my life, though. It was an emptiness inside my heart, and I didn’t know why. I tried filling this void in different ways. I loved my children hard, and they loved me back. I loved my cello students, and they loved me back. I loved my musical colleagues, and they loved me back. I practiced different religions. I engaged in many different hobbies. I played a lot of great music. I fell in and out of love. I was blessed with many amazing and fun friends. But despite the richness of these abundant gifts, nothing seemed to fill the void that ached inside of my heart.
One day, I was hired to play a song about Jesus. This was in 2014, and at the time, I was actively practicing Buddhism, and believed in reincarnation. I decided to ask Jesus, as a man who had once lived, and whose soul would surely still be out there, if he would help me play this song.
Aware that this might come off as odd, I decided to attempt to talk with him alone. I was in a recording studio at a home in Provo, so I went to the only room I could have some privacy— the bathroom. I knelt down on an ivory shag rug. I respectfully asked Jesus to help me play this song about him.
Right away, a warm feeling started to blossom in my chest. Quickly, it got stronger, and tears came to my eyes. Jesus was a man, I could feel, who had so much love! I left the bathroom, and poured this love into my cello. This song is Come Unto Christ.
After that, I often noticed this presence in my life. It would linger in my heart at different times of the day and night. But this song did not spur any interest in “the Church.” I already knew that the church was “not for me.”
The next year, I got to participate in one of the most amazing experiences of my life, I was selected to study with Yo-Yo Ma and the Silk Road Ensemble at DePauw University in Indiana. It was a life-changing experience, in a wide variety of ways. I learned music from some of the finest musicians in the world, including Hindustani, Arabic, and African traditions, and my mind and ear were opened in profoundly new ways. Exposure to these exotic sounds changed my cello playing forever, and spurred in me an intense desire to improvise and compose. But this experience changed me in other ways as well.
Something that is incredibly important to each of these cultural traditions is a divine connections to your ancestors. So, I began to conscientiously cultivate relationships with my non-living family members. Many of you might wonder what that means. To me, that meant that I reached out with my heart to my ancestors when I played the cello. Swiftly, I started to get impressions of love, light and help from a place outside of myself. While it was subtle, it was significant.
At this same time, I played on a very poignant album by Michael McClean, titled “Encountering Jesus.” There was one tune that really stood out to me, and it was “Looking for Something Else.” It began to stir up longing for the full confidence that I had in religion as a young child. But while there was a growing draw, there was also a lot of hurt. One of the reasons that I had left the church was its stance on celibacy for those who identify as LGBTQ+. That policy hadn’t changed, and at the time this filled me with feelings of hurt, conflict, and even, despair.
After some time rooted in this struggle, I went to a dear friend, Meredith Campbell (concertmaster, Orchestra at Temple Square), and confided in her that I was in a dark place, and why. Meredith’s answer surprised me. “Nicole, you are worrying about all the wrong things. The issue is not “is it the church or is it not the church. All that matters in this life is your relationship with Jesus Christ. Since you are asking me my opinion, I am giving it. This it is it. Seek Christ. That’s all that matters. The rest is irrelevant.” Meredith ended her emphatic moment with one of her favorite sayings: “The End.”
Meredith is one of the most staunch members of the church anyone could ever meet. She has also been one of my longest and truest friends who has always accepted me with the same constant love and enthusiasm, no matter where I have been in life. Meredith is also a brilliant violinist, and we have played together for decades. You can hear us playing here in a candid home performance a few months ago. (link to us playing I Love to See the Temple on FB)
After thinking about Meredith’s words, I realized that she was right. I completely dropped the preoccupation over the church issue. Instead, I began to cultivate and nurture a relationship with Jesus. My life began to be filled with peace again.
You might ask, what did cultivating a relationship with Christ mean to me at that time? Mostly, I just thought about Jesus, and reached out to him with my heart. I would ask him, are you Jesus of Nazareth, a man? Or are you Jesus the Christ, a God?
I started to learn about Jesus. Who did Jesus love? With whom did He associate with? What did He stand for?
Jesus loved the outcasts, the sick, the weary, and the blind. Jesus stood for goodness and peace all of His days. Jesus lowered Himself to the most humble state and died a harsh and cruel death at the hands of others.
This led me back full circle to something I had learned in the Global Musician Workshop with the cellist Yo-Yo Ma. One thing Mr. Ma is emphatic about, is the responsibility that we musicians have to the world. We musicians should not seek to become famous or rich. Rather, it is our responsibility, as musicians, to learn to use our musical gifts to heal the world.
Furthermore, there was only one thing that could change the world, according to Mr. Ma. That is empathy. If I could learn to cultivate empathy in myself and others, then that is the one thing that could really change the world.
I have always been a person who prays. Even when I didn’t believe in God, I prayed to the universe. So at this point in time, I started to pray regularly, in Jesus’ name. I began to open my heart and mind not just to Jesus “of Nazareth,” but to Jesus “the Christ.” And I began to pray for empathy. I wanted to change the world.
The next year, 2016, was a pretty tough one for me. My health tanked. I got cancer, and after recovering, I got shingles, which was incredibly painful. Then I went through severe mold allergies, which meant that I was tired all of the time.
I also got beat up. In this event, among other things, I was swung by my ankles and dropped on my head. The injury this caused to my neck is the culprit of serious issues into the present day. My dog Macky got cancer. After nursing him for several months, Macky lost the battle, and died. Not too long after that, my bank accounts were emptied by someone that I loved, without my permission, and the money was spent on meaningless things. Suddenly, after years of working so hard and saving to be self sufficient, I was penniless.
It was a lot to recover from, and I was proud. I told almost no one of most of these struggles. I did finally confide in one of my closest friends, the superb violinist Jenny Oaks Baker. Jenny listened thoughtfully, and then shook me by the shoulders and literally shouted: “Nicole! Pray for health and strength and happiness! Do not pray for empathy ever again!” This was followed by a fierce hug, and we both laughed until we cried, together. You can see Jenny and I together, here. 
So it was time to make dramatic changes. I went through a very painful process of eliminating anything toxic in my life. I didn’t change things slowly, but rather took a no prisoners approach, and did it all at once. Toxic people were kicked to the curb. Toxic habits were starved out with a zero tolerance policy on myself. I even rented a dumpster and filled it up with half the contents of my house.
I decided to fill all of this new space in my life with three things: a puppy, music, and plants. By February I was out in my garden early every morning. I dug deep into the ground with a toe steeled shovel, into hard and unforgiving dirt. I got a sweet golden-doodle named Sita, and she spent every waking and sleeping moment by my side.
To make a change in music, I decided to play hymns every day. Those hymns were the songs of my childhood, from an old beat up copy of the Green Hymnal of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, which had not been thrown away with everything else. I remember especially loving the song God Bless My Prophet Dear, which I found strange, almost amusing, because I most certainly did not believe in modern prophets.
In February of that year, an album I had made the last fall finally came out. I usually can’t listen to myself play, but this was an exception. I especially fell in love with one particular song, Come As You Are.
My life began to change. I began to change. Sometime in the spring, I started to flirt with the idea of reading the Book of Mormon. I had carried a copy in my purse for years, which had been given to me as a parting gift from a cello student.
The first time I cracked it open, a cruel voice entered my mind. “How can you be so stupid?” I hated that voice, and I had worked for years to quiet it from my mind. Furthermore, I had spent a lot of my adulthood reading about the Book of Mormon. Not reading the book itself, mind you – but reading people say things about it. And I believed what I read. On top of that, remember, the “church wasn’t for me.” While it was often on my mind to read the book first-hand, there was always a reason to not make the effort. So I didn’t.
Sometime in May, I had a friend, Susan Babcock, say something out of the blue. “Nicole, something has been on my mind. Please don’t be offended, and of course you can say no. But I have really been wanting to tell you a little bit about my church.”
Susan and I had been friends for seven years, and she had never once brought up religion in this way to me before. I taught Susan’s son Paul the cello, and since Paul was the last cellist in my Thursday schedule, Susan and I had often talked late on my porch. I had never gotten this vibe from her before.
I was a bit taken aback. But, I also realized that I had kept an unopened Book of Mormon by my bedside for several months. Was the universe telling me that it was time to finally make a crack at reading the iconic book?
I decided to buy myself sometime, and then ask for something kind of sneaky, which honestly, is not like me. “Sure Susan, you can tell me about your church,” I said. “But let me tell you what, I’ll do it as a favor to Paul. He has practiced the cello for me for seven years. Since Paul is going on a mission in a few months, how about I let him practice on me. I’ll be Paul’s guinea pig.” Susan was surprised, but agreed.
All of a sudden, I got cold feet. “Let’s wait till June, when I’m not so busy.”
I thought this was a rather clever solution. I could learn about the gospel “incognito,” do a good deed, and procrastinate, all at once.
Well, June came around, not long after, and the appointed day arrived. It was pretty awkward. Susan and Paul came over all dressed up, and when they started talking about “gospel” topics, I was stunned to realize that it was like a foreign language, and I didn’t resonate with any of it. And then, Paul challenged me, in the nicest, most humble and shy way, to read the Book of Mormon. I’ll be honest, I was horrified. What had I done!!!?! Susan taught me the basics of how to say a prayer, and then before she left, said a prayer that I would be able to read the Book of Mormon.
That night, I dutifully opened the book. I read it, and it quickly drew me in. It went smoothly until I got to the part where Nephi feels he must slay Laban. I was appalled. I threw down the book in complete frustration. I didn’t read it for a few more days.
Paul and Susan came to give me more lessons. I could see how hard they were trying. I was nice, but it felt so foreign. I regretted my rash decision to receive lessons. Susan could feel it, and asked me to let “real” missionaries teach me. “No way!” I’d say. The last thing I wanted was for a couple of teenagers to come over and judge me in my own home.
Every night I’d remember how hard Paul had worked for me in cello lessons. Paul is sharp, and an excellent cellist. But he was not one of those kids to whom the cello came easily. Every step on the instrument was made with sincere and consistent effort. At times, Paul really wore under the pressure, but he always kept at it.
So I read the Book of Mormon every night, and every night I would stop at the same point in total frustration. A few lessons later, things finally felt different. There was a gentle, pure, and natural feel to the lesson. That night, instead of starting the Book of Mormon from the beginning, I remembered something that my dad had taught me as a child.
I knelt down first, and prayed. I prayed in the formal way, and was sincere that if there was a message in the Book of Mormon for me, I asked if I could please find it. I poured my heart out. Even though I had such a good life, I was so lonely, and so tired. I opened my eyes, and when I did, I closed my eyes again, and let my hand pick a random spot in the pages. This is what I found when I opened my eyes.
“I say unto you, if ye have come to a knowledge of the goodness of God, and his matchless power, and his wisdom, and his patience, and his long-suffering towards the children of men; and also, the atonement which has been prepared from the foundation of the world, that thereby salvation might come to him that should put his trust in the Lord, and should be diligent in keeping his commandments, and continue in the faith even unto the end of his life, I mean the life of the mortal body—I say, that this is the man who receiveth salvation, through the atonement which was prepared from the foundation of the world for all mankind, which ever were since the fall of Adam, or who are, or who ever shall be, even unto the end of the world. And this is the means whereby salvation cometh. And there is none other salvation save this which hath been spoken of; neither are there any conditions whereby man can be saved except the conditions which I have told you. Believe in God; believe that he is, and that he created all things, both in heaven and in earth; believe that he has all wisdom, and all power, both in heaven and in earth; believe that man doth not comprehend all the things which the Lord can comprehend” (Mosiah 4: 6-8)
Something happened just then, and it was just like the movie “The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.” I was gripped with a deep pain in my chest, and it was so startling that I lost my breath. My heart started to blossom inside my chest. It was growing faster than it ever had before. It started to burn, and I lost the strength in my legs and started gasping.
Most of the time, we get our testimonies in bits and pieces. Growth is so subtle, that it is almost impossible to detect, moment by moment. But sometimes, our testimonies grow in one moment. And this was my moment.
I started to laugh. I started to dance. I, in fact, started running around the house (thankfully, I was alone), yelling, “I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it!” My puppy Sita ran joyously alongside me.
It was not until later that evening that reality started to set in. If the Book of Mormon was true, what should I do next? I realized that I even though it felt like I was at the top of Mount Everest, that was an illusion. I was at the bottom, looking up at a massive peak. But, I took note of the new terrain, and decided that the only way forward was up, one footstep at a time.
