Standing on holy ground

About a year into my mission I had one baptism in twelve months, and I was sure I had failed.

My mission president had been watching. He saw a missionary who was unhappy, going through the motions, trying but missing the point. Encouragement had not been enough, so he did something else. He asked one of our zone leaders, Elder Mike Smith, no relation, to spend a few days with me.

Not to lecture me. Not to motivate me. He sent him to create what he called spiritual defining experiences. Moments where I could feel something real.

We did not baptize anyone during those three days.

What Elder Smith did differently

He did not focus on numbers. He did not stress about outcomes.

He focused on one thing. Helping people feel the Spirit, helping them feel the Savior’s love. That was it. No pressure, no comparisons, no obsession with results.

And after a moment where somebody felt something, he never asked, “Do you believe this?” He never asked, “Will you commit?”

He asked one question.

“How do you feel?”

When people answered with words like peace, warmth, comfort, or joy, he would gently testify: that’s the Spirit. That’s the Savior’s love for you.

You could watch it happen. Recognition. The moment somebody understood that God was speaking directly to them.

Holy ground

Elder Smith had been working with a family, a mother and her two children who had recently been baptized.

The father was in hospice, dying from terminal cancer.

That evening we went to visit him. He was weak. Barely able to speak, barely able to move. The room felt heavy and quiet in a way that told you something sacred was about to happen.

The family asked us to give him a priesthood blessing. We agreed.

As we placed our hands on his head and began, tears filled the room. The Spirit was not subtle. It was not quiet.

It was overwhelming.

As we finished and prepared to leave, I was the last one by his bedside. As I turned to go, he reached out and grabbed my hand with what little strength he had left, and pulled me close.

“Kyokai ni ikitaidesu.”

“I want to go to church.”

Knowing his time was short, I leaned in and said quietly:

“Mo sugu kyokai ni ikeru yo ni narimasu yo.”

“You will be able to go to church soon.”

I was not talking about this life.

He squeezed my hand.

He smiled.

And he let go.

I did not want to leave that room. Walking out of it felt like stepping off holy ground.

Why it changed me

That moment changed me, and not because of anything we did.

It changed me because he felt the Savior’s love as he stood at heaven’s door.

And so did his family.

Nobody was baptized that night. Nothing was finished, nothing closed, nothing that could be written in a weekly report. A man who could barely speak reached for a hand and asked for the only thing he still wanted, and what he got was the Savior’s love, in a hospice bed, with his wife and children in the room.

“But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you.” (John 14:26)

He shall teach you. Not you shall convince them.

I had spent a year trying to be persuasive. I walked out of that room understanding that my job was to help somebody feel Him, and then help them recognize what they had felt.

We do not convert anyone. The Spirit does.

That is not a demotion. It is the most freeing thing I know about this work.

Let’s Keep Learning to Walk with Him!

Ken

Ponder this

Somebody near you is closer to that door than you know. Somebody else is nowhere near it and needs exactly the same thing.

Ask yourself Elder Smith’s question about one of them this week. Not “what do they need to understand.” Ask what he asked.

How do you feel?

Then be quiet long enough to hear the answer, and gently tell them where that feeling came from.