My First Door

By Robert F. Jex

My legs felt shaky and there was an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach as we approached the door. I was sure that I was going to faint as my companion told me that this was “my” door.

No, I wasn’t a new missionary. I was a fifteen-year-old home teacher climbing the stairs to the apartment of Sister Rice, a widow living in our ward. Don Gabbott, my high priest companion, was to teach me a great lesson that night about caring for those too sick or too old to be engaged in Church activity.

Brother Gabbott had given me a topic to present to the five families assigned us. I was prepared with some notes on a paper, but I was frightened and inexperienced. I was not sure how a young priesthood holder behaved in the presence of a high priest.

We knocked on the door, but there was no immediate response. I was about to suggest that no one was home when the door slowly opened. From behind it appeared the frail figure of an aged sister, uncertain of what she’d find at her door. She smiled as she recognized Brother Gabbott. We were invited in and asked to take a seat.

After a short greeting, Brother Gabbott looked at me as if to say, “Okay, Robert, it’s time to give our message.” The feeling in my stomach got worse as I began to speak. I cannot recall what I said, but as I looked up from my notes, I saw the tear-stained cheeks of that sweet, sensitive sister. She expressed her gratitude for the presence of priesthood bearers in her home.

I was speechless. What had I done? What could I do? Fortunately, Brother Gabbott helped me by bearing his testimony and asking if there were any needs in the home. There were.

Sister Rice said that she had not been feeling well and asked that she be remembered as we offered our prayer before leaving. She then turned to me and asked if I would offer that prayer. By that time, I was so overcome by the spirit of the occasion that the request numbed me. I was surprised that I was asked to pray when someone older and more experienced and trusted was present. Automatically, I consented and offered a benediction upon that home teaching visit, asking that a special blessing of health and strength be given to that faithful sister whom I barely knew but quickly came to love and respect.

Twenty-five years have passed since my introduction to home teaching in Sister Rice’s home, and she has long since died. But I cannot pass that house without thinking about the experience provided by Brother Gabbott and a faithful sister who knew the appropriateness of calling upon an obedient high priest and an insecure, frightened teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood.

Photography by Welden Andersen