My baptism

I turned eight years old on Friday, July 19, 1957. Two weeks later, on Saturday evening, August 3, consistent with the revelation the Lord gave His latter-day church concerning the baptism of children, I was taken to our stake center in Nyssa, Oregon, where my brother Jerry, then a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, baptized me.

I think I understood pretty well for an eight-year-old what baptism meant for me. I knew it was the gateway into the Church. I knew it involved a washing away of sins. I knew it meant I was promising to keep the commandments. I knew it was the way I took upon me the name of Jesus Christ. And I knew it was the right thing to be doing.

As we prepared in the dressing room, dressing ourselves all in white, a tingling sensation raced up my back and down, stretching from my head to my very toes. In later years I learned to recognize such feelings as one way the Spirit of the Lord worked on me in bearing witness to the truth.

The next day was fast Sunday. In fast and testimony meeting my father confirmed me a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and gave me the gift of the Holy Ghost. I do not remember any specific words from the blessing he gave me. But I pretty well understood that if I was worthy, if I kept the commandments, if I tried to follow Jesus, the Holy Ghost would be with me. And that has been an invaluable gift throughout all the years since then.