I am sitting in the very back row of a dark chapel with my arm around my daughter’s shoulders,  sandwiched between strangers towards the end of the pew.*   The chapel itself is similar to church buildings I have worshiped in all my life and I am there for a baptismal service like many I have attended before.   What is unusual about this particular service in this specific chapel on this precise day is that, outside of my daughter, I don’t know a single person in the room.   It is full to the brim with men, women, and children who look and act like they could be my own friends and neighbors in my own congregation, but I have never met any of them before.  

In fact, I only even know the name of one other person present, and I only recognize the little girl from her photo on the invitation to attend her baptism that she sent home from school with my daughter.   We travel to school from out-of area, so we don’t live by most of the other students.  I’ve never crossed paths with this girl at birthday parties or PTA functions; we haven’t arranged any play dates before;  and I have yet to volunteer in my daughter’s classroom, so I have never had a face to put to this friend’s name prior to seeing that invitation.

I am a bit uncomfortable about this whole excursion because I am not a big fan of social situations where I don’t know anyone else.  I’m an undeniable introvert who finds meeting new people draining.  Introductions and small talk are high on my list of things to avoid.   The only reason I am sitting here–in a room full of strangers, in a dress, on a Saturday morning, a day that I was supposed to be squirreled away at a study carrel in the public library writing–is that my daughter insisted that she really, really wanted to come.  And, given that my daughter  is planning to be baptized as a member of our church herself in a few short months,  a decision that I strongly wish to support and encourage her in making, I (somewhat grudgingly, and after a great deal of begging) agreed to bring her. 

We’ve already listened to the opening song, prayer, and remarks for the service, and now they have begun dismissing the children being baptized in groups of one or two, along with their families and friends, to proceed to another room where the baptismal ordinance itself will take place.  We are going to be the last group to go, so while other attendees file quietly out of the chapel,  someone dims the lights and turns on a series of short, gospel-centered videos for those of us who are waiting. 

The first couple videos are wordless, accompanied only by incidental music and occasional text displayed on the screen.   I listen, watch, and observe my daughter next to me.  She is wearing last year’s Easter dress, knees folded underneath her on the bench so she can see a little better, hands clasped together on her lap, eyes fixed on the screen with a reverence I seldom see during our weekly worship services.  

The next video begins, and I am paying attention to her, not the screen, so I am caught off guard to suddenly hear a voice I recognize.   

I look up, and there is no face I know on the screen, no name displayed attributing the quotation, but there is a sound bite from a man I do know–a former apostle of the Lord, a special witness of Jesus Christ–who passed away a few years ago, but whose voice I heard speak to me in General Conferences** of our church at least every six months for more than three decades of my life.  

His quote ends, and another familiar voice begins speaking, this time a former apostle who has been deceased for over a decade.  I know his voice especially thanks to one of the very last talks he gave, from which I keep a quote displayed in my family room year-round.   

I filter through my memory to match the next speaking voice to the name of another deceased apostle, and now there are voices of current apostles coming faster–one, two, three more men whose recent messages I try to listen to regularly on repeat while driving or getting ready for the day. 

I recognize each voice, their intonation, their accent;  I can roughly infer when the talks were given based on the signs of age in their voices, and I can see their faces in my mind. 

This whole sequence probably takes no more than three minutes.  And yet, somehow, in a room full of strangers, I am instantly surrounded by old friends. 

These familiar voices– from men whom I have sustained as modern-day prophets, seers, and revelators, whose teachings I have feasted on and whose words have so often filled my heart with hope and peace– have unexpectedly pushed aside the awkwardness I feel at being here and instead have made me feel right at home. 

And it is in that atmosphere of feeling suddenly known and welcome that I have a moment of profound personal revelation.

My mind is directed to the words of a special priesthood blessing I received many years ago.  The blessing casts my mind forward to a future time when I will one day have the joyous opportunity to hear the voice of my Savior, Jesus Christ, and its words counsel me regarding how I will be able to know and love and recognize Him in that day.   

I have read and reread these words from my blessing many times, and I have hoped it might be accurate and tried to imagine what it might be like to see its fulfillment.   But now, in the space of a moment, I catch a glimpse–and I know.

I know that although I have never seen His face, and I have never heard His audible voice speaking to me, when that wondrous day finally arrives, I will recognize my Savior’s voice.  Somehow, it will be as familiar to me as the voices of His chosen apostles whom I have just heard. 

I will know Christ then because I am trying to know Him now.  

I will know Him because of the minutes I spend studying His words in scripture, minutes that make up hours over days through years. 

I will know Him by the impressions that have come into my mind to minister to someone else on His behalf. 

I will know Him by the feelings of the Spirit–love, peace, and joy–that will flood my heart when I hear His voice. 

I will know Him because I will realize that He has always been there with me–cheering, consoling, strengthening, lifting, and carrying me–even, and perhaps especially, in the spaces when I think I’m most alone.

When that day arrives, I hope it won’t take me too long to recognize His voice.  I want to know it instantly without having to scratch my head or sift through my memories to remember Him in context. 

I feel inspired to work harder and direct my efforts now to that end.  I want to be so attuned that I can hear the echo of His voice from a long way off and feel the pull.  I want to know Him so well that I take off running toward Him from the first words that drop from His mouth.  I want to do the things now that will make that moment of recognition joyous and true in the future. 

Jesus said, “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me” (John 10:27). 

The refrain in my heart bursts with renewed dedication in reply, as the psalmist, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want” (Psalm 23:1).

A few minutes later, as my daughter and I follow the stream of unknown people to the next room, my awkwardness about being here has subsided.  We find a seat in the back, feel the stillness of the Spirit during the brief sacred ordinance.  I help my daughter write her friend  a note, we wait our turn among many to congratulate her.   Her friend gives my daughter a big hug and her dad is very gracious and pleasant.  My daughter is dismayed that I decline his polite invitation to join them for lunch, and soon we are heading back out into the crisp winter sunshine to go home.   

Whereas I had walked into that chapel feeling like an intruder, now I walk out feeling that I have passed time with friends. 

* Don’t worry–this experience took place earlier this year, so no social distancing directives were violated.

** This weekend is one of my very favorite weekends of the year–General Conference.   Everyone is welcome and invited to join in listening, from the comfort and safety of your own home, to this worldwide broadcast to hear messages of hope and inspiration centered on Jesus Christ.   #HearHim