
Find. Teach. Baptize. Those were the three things we missionaries were supposed to focus on. The entire process brought me a lot of joy throughout my two years as a full time missionary, but not all of the steps were equally enjoyable. I never got super excited about the “finding” part because it meant a lot of rejections and doors slammed in my face. Once we found someone to teach, I loved loved LOVED teaching about the good news of the gospel of Jesus Christ. And for those who really embraced the gospel principles, baptism was the ultimate event.
“I don’t think I want to do this,” Kenworth said quietly next to the water so that only I could hear.
“You’ll be fine. We don’t have to rush this.”
Finding people to teach brought me the furthest out of my comfort zone. Teaching was a lot of fun. Baptizing was amazing. With Kenworth, though, it was completely backward. Teaching had still been a lot of fun, but I didn’t have to do any work in finding him, and the actual baptism was the hard part.
About six weeks before I had been transferred to the area, the previous set of missionaries began to teach a teenager their message. He loved what was being taught and invited his friends to sit in on the gospel discussions. I was transferred to the area just after the first young man was baptized, and one-by-one I enjoyed teaching and baptizing his friends. A different boy was baptized every week, the last of those being Kenworth.
So I didn’t have to do any of the work in finding him. He was already being taught when I arrived in the area. Teaching him was still as fun as usual, maybe even more so, but the actual act of baptizing him was difficult.
“No, no, no. I can’t do this.” Kenworth looked up to see the dozens of his friends watching anxiously as we whispered our conversation.
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then trust me when I say you have nothing to worry about. I’ve got you. I won’t let you go.”
Kenworth wasn’t scared of the commitment that accompanied baptism. He hated being in water. Because of an illness he’d suffered as a child, the right side of his body was almost completely paralyzed. He walked with a stiff right leg, his foot turned halfway in, and his right wrist always tucked tightly to his hip. Because of his condition, if he were to ever fall into water, he would be in serious trouble. So, even though I was there with him the entire time, his terrible fear of water began to overshadow his desire to be baptized.
“I don’t think so,” he said.
“Kenworth, remember the discussion we had yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“We can do this.”
Kenworth stepped gingerly into the water, gripping my hand as tightly as he could with his good hand.
He made it into the water. I thought that was going to be the hard part, but, after saying the short baptismal prayer, I began to lower him into the water to submerge him.
Before he was even close to going under, his body seized up with terror and he began to panic, flailing his arms and legs as if he were about to drown.
Having spent a summer a few years earlier working at the county swimming pool, my lifeguard instincts kicked in and I wrapped my arms around him from behind.
“We’re okay, Kenworth. You’re okay. Nothing is going to happen to you.”
“I don’t think I can do this.”
We paused and waited. I held the nineteen year old tightly in my arms until he was calm enough to stand on his own.
We chatted calmly as everyone looked on in anticipation, then decided to give it another try. As I began to lower him into the water I kept my mind focused on holding firmly onto his arms and upper body. I did this not only because I wanted him to feel secure, but also because I knew he just wanted to get it over with. If I were to take charge, holding strongly onto him, I could physically control the situation and get him into the water. In fact, that was the discussion we’d had the night before. I had his permission to physically take control and do whatever it took to get him submerged.
Alas! I successfully got his upper body under the water, but his lower half, especially that stiff leg, popped up as soon as I started to lower him. The result was me holding onto him as he went almost completely upside down. It was all I could do to hold onto him and get him back onto his feet.
“I can’t do it. I can’t do it.” He was starting to breathe heavily.
“Yes, you can. Kenworth, we knew it was going to be difficult, but it will be worth it.”
“I know. You’re right.”
“All you have to do is relax and I’ll get us through this.”
Kenworth nodded as we stood silently, waiting for his mind to settle, doing our best to ignore the presence of so many onlookers. We did our best to focus on the solemnity of the true meaning of baptism.
On our third try, I focused on his legs as well as his upper body. I positioned myself slightly in front of him this time so that his legs would kick up into mine instead of flipping up out of the water. I’d forgotten one very important thing, though, and as I began to lower him into the water—BAM!
In all the ruckus of the previous two attempts, I hadn’t noticed that we had migrated too close to the wall of the baptismal font. We didn’t even make it close to submersion that time, and with a near concussion, Kenworth panicked even worse than before, grabbing onto me like his life depended on it.
“No. No. No. I can’t do this.” He started to make his way to the steps of the baptismal font. “I can’t do this. I can’t. I can’t.”
“Kenworth.”
He looked at me, already knowing what I was about to say.
“Kenworth, I’m not going to make you do this. This is your choice. But I promise you it will work this time if you let me.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Kenworth paused, studying my eyes. “One more try. That’s it. Just one more. If it doesn’t work, that’s it.”
Now the pressure was on. I’d made a promise and I wasn’t about to break it.
Holding onto his right wrist with my left, and after saying the short prayer, although I would normally place my right hand onto his back to lower him in, I knew I needed to wrap my right arm around his torso in order for this to work. Plus, in order to keep his legs from flipping upside down again, I stood on top of his right foot (his stiff crippled leg) with my left foot. When baptizing someone, my arms and legs were usually the only things to get wet, but because of my awkward positioning, I went into the water all the way up to my nose as I submerged him.
Success.
It was done.
As soon as Kenworth came up out of the water, his fears were washed away and he wrapped his arms around me, this time out of gratitude rather than fear. “Gracias. Gracias. I didn’t think I could do it.”
“I knew you could.”
It’s hard to remember the details of most of the baptisms throughout my mission, but Kenworth’s has always stuck with me—not only because it was so difficult on him, and not only because it was so difficult for me to actually get him under the water, but because of how much he appreciated the process. The harder the road, the more appreciated the reward. True story.
“I don’t think I want to do this,” Kenworth said quietly next to the water so that only I could hear.
“You’ll be fine. We don’t have to rush this.”
Finding people to teach brought me the furthest out of my comfort zone. Teaching was a lot of fun. Baptizing was amazing. With Kenworth, though, it was completely backward. Teaching had still been a lot of fun, but I didn’t have to do any work in finding him, and the actual baptism was the hard part.
About six weeks before I had been transferred to the area, the previous set of missionaries began to teach a teenager their message. He loved what was being taught and invited his friends to sit in on the gospel discussions. I was transferred to the area just after the first young man was baptized, and one-by-one I enjoyed teaching and baptizing his friends. A different boy was baptized every week, the last of those being Kenworth.
So I didn’t have to do any of the work in finding him. He was already being taught when I arrived in the area. Teaching him was still as fun as usual, maybe even more so, but the actual act of baptizing him was difficult.
“No, no, no. I can’t do this.” Kenworth looked up to see the dozens of his friends watching anxiously as we whispered our conversation.
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then trust me when I say you have nothing to worry about. I’ve got you. I won’t let you go.”
Kenworth wasn’t scared of the commitment that accompanied baptism. He hated being in water. Because of an illness he’d suffered as a child, the right side of his body was almost completely paralyzed. He walked with a stiff right leg, his foot turned halfway in, and his right wrist always tucked tightly to his hip. Because of his condition, if he were to ever fall into water, he would be in serious trouble. So, even though I was there with him the entire time, his terrible fear of water began to overshadow his desire to be baptized.
“I don’t think so,” he said.
“Kenworth, remember the discussion we had yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“We can do this.”
Kenworth stepped gingerly into the water, gripping my hand as tightly as he could with his good hand.
He made it into the water. I thought that was going to be the hard part, but, after saying the short baptismal prayer, I began to lower him into the water to submerge him.
Before he was even close to going under, his body seized up with terror and he began to panic, flailing his arms and legs as if he were about to drown.
Having spent a summer a few years earlier working at the county swimming pool, my lifeguard instincts kicked in and I wrapped my arms around him from behind.
“We’re okay, Kenworth. You’re okay. Nothing is going to happen to you.”
“I don’t think I can do this.”
We paused and waited. I held the nineteen year old tightly in my arms until he was calm enough to stand on his own.
We chatted calmly as everyone looked on in anticipation, then decided to give it another try. As I began to lower him into the water I kept my mind focused on holding firmly onto his arms and upper body. I did this not only because I wanted him to feel secure, but also because I knew he just wanted to get it over with. If I were to take charge, holding strongly onto him, I could physically control the situation and get him into the water. In fact, that was the discussion we’d had the night before. I had his permission to physically take control and do whatever it took to get him submerged.
Alas! I successfully got his upper body under the water, but his lower half, especially that stiff leg, popped up as soon as I started to lower him. The result was me holding onto him as he went almost completely upside down. It was all I could do to hold onto him and get him back onto his feet.
“I can’t do it. I can’t do it.” He was starting to breathe heavily.
“Yes, you can. Kenworth, we knew it was going to be difficult, but it will be worth it.”
“I know. You’re right.”
“All you have to do is relax and I’ll get us through this.”
Kenworth nodded as we stood silently, waiting for his mind to settle, doing our best to ignore the presence of so many onlookers. We did our best to focus on the solemnity of the true meaning of baptism.
On our third try, I focused on his legs as well as his upper body. I positioned myself slightly in front of him this time so that his legs would kick up into mine instead of flipping up out of the water. I’d forgotten one very important thing, though, and as I began to lower him into the water—BAM!
In all the ruckus of the previous two attempts, I hadn’t noticed that we had migrated too close to the wall of the baptismal font. We didn’t even make it close to submersion that time, and with a near concussion, Kenworth panicked even worse than before, grabbing onto me like his life depended on it.
“No. No. No. I can’t do this.” He started to make his way to the steps of the baptismal font. “I can’t do this. I can’t. I can’t.”
“Kenworth.”
He looked at me, already knowing what I was about to say.
“Kenworth, I’m not going to make you do this. This is your choice. But I promise you it will work this time if you let me.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Kenworth paused, studying my eyes. “One more try. That’s it. Just one more. If it doesn’t work, that’s it.”
Now the pressure was on. I’d made a promise and I wasn’t about to break it.
Holding onto his right wrist with my left, and after saying the short prayer, although I would normally place my right hand onto his back to lower him in, I knew I needed to wrap my right arm around his torso in order for this to work. Plus, in order to keep his legs from flipping upside down again, I stood on top of his right foot (his stiff crippled leg) with my left foot. When baptizing someone, my arms and legs were usually the only things to get wet, but because of my awkward positioning, I went into the water all the way up to my nose as I submerged him.
Success.
It was done.
As soon as Kenworth came up out of the water, his fears were washed away and he wrapped his arms around me, this time out of gratitude rather than fear. “Gracias. Gracias. I didn’t think I could do it.”
“I knew you could.”
It’s hard to remember the details of most of the baptisms throughout my mission, but Kenworth’s has always stuck with me—not only because it was so difficult on him, and not only because it was so difficult for me to actually get him under the water, but because of how much he appreciated the process. The harder the road, the more appreciated the reward. True story.