This was a very full year, the beginning of which, like so many others, I was living in Mexico. It is actually hard to pull detailed recollections from that far back, but a very significant thing that happened was my baptism.
I was seven and full of energy and imagination. As the youngest child of a missionary family I had heard constantly about God and His desire for me. My parents had been clearly seeking to raise their children in "the fear and admonition of the Lord" and I was no exception. Though unsure of many things, I fully believed God existed and He loved me, so it was not hard to make the decision to be baptized. I actually remember it quite clearly.
It was a beautiful sunny day at the "Apartamentos Chapalita"in Guadalajara, Mexico. This particular year we were living in apartment 5, one of the several apartments we would live in throughout my childhood. A fellow missionary friend of ours was over visiting, and I remember him asking me if I was sure of my decision and what it meant. This question did not bring doubt because I was sure, even as I climbed down the steps into the apartment complex's pool. I didn't feel any different as I came up out of the water, but I do look back at that moment as a significant point in my spiritual foundation. There is a photo in an album somewhere of the event and though it along with the memory may fade the reality of the decision made by grace that day will not.
