Its what you bring as a house warming gift to neighbors.

People you don’t really know.

But whose good will you hope to gain.

Hardly anyone makes their own anymore.

But for whatever reason, we had two: two little jars of delicious homemade jam.

A member in the ward had given them to us a few weeks back and Sister Priday had insisted two weeks ago that we keep them in the car. She thought they’d be a nice excuse to stop by someone’s house.

I personally didn’t feel that we needed any excuses.

I am fairly used to just dropping by unannounced.

A product, I’m sure, of a few too many years at Campus Plaza.

But at her urging, we put the jam in the car.

And there it stayed.

For almost exactly two weeks.

Until Friday night.

We’d been so busy making appointments for Sunday and Monday that we almost completely skipped over planning for Friday. And to me, that seemed like a very big deal. Making plans at least two days ahead of schedule. I was really stuck on that. Because I really like member present lessons. A lot. Because they’re more effective. But they’re hard to get . . . day of.

Which is fair.

Let’s be honest.

Who can really make an appointment when they’ve only got two hours notice.

Not me. If it’s me. I’m probably not even making any effort to attend that appointment.

Because people should know.

I’ve got a life.

And that’s how we ended up with almost nothing to do on a Friday night.

So we decided to drop in on a few people.


With jam.

And guess what.

As we knocked that first door, and the occupant went to close the door, Sister Priday pushed her hand out. Right between the frame and the door. With a jar of jam clenched in her fist. And you know what: that door opened.

All because of a little jar of jam.


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