My husband and I have been serving in the nursery for over a year now. I think I really learn more than the children do. I could probably write a book about it, and maybe someday I will - but today I wanted to share something that occurred and what it taught me.
On January 6th, three of our older nursery children became Sunbeams, leaving only 4 little ones in the nursery with us. That very first week, and every week since then, I have noticed just how much these younger children have become so much more talkative and expressive since the migration of the older children into Sunbeams. Now, I do not for a moment believe that somehow the children’s communication skills magically improved over the New Year’s holiday. Clearly, the little ones had been out communicated by the older children. They had simply deferred to the older children - allowing them to lead and answer the questions, and take the focus in class. That isn’t surprising, but it was such a marked change from one week to the next, that it was striking. And so these little ones are stepping up to bat and having an opportunity for leadership. Already we see it - they automatically know that they are the ones to comfort the littlest newcomer when she is bewildered by the nursery goings on. It is really quite amazing to me. Children who were nearly silent are Chatty Cathy’s now. I had even wondered about some of them, thinking they may be slower in developing their speaking skills. This was simply not the case. We had some very outspoken demanding children move up - and when they did, the little ones now have a chance to shine!
I can’t help but wonder about my early experience in life. Somewhere along the line, I went from being the youngest in my family where I knew everyone was smarter, and bigger and faster and more experienced than me, to a classroom full of peers, and over the next couple years, I realized that I was a leader of sorts. By the age of eight I know I thought of myself that way. I distinctly remember thinking that if the teacher was explaining something and someone else wasn’t “getting it,” I took it upon myself to raise my hand and ask, in their behalf really, for a clearer explanation, or I would say something like “you mean . . . ” and clarify what was not so clear to others. Now I am 49, and I still do that. Anyway - in high school I came to the realization that my willingness to answer questions and to ask questions didn’t always serve my classmates all that well. They got used to me answering questions and just stopped bothering to raise their hands. I hate that pregnant pause in class, at school or at church, in any setting - when no one wants to be the one to answer, for whatever reasons. But I have learned to be more patient - so others will share too.
Now for the thing that just occurred to me. I thought how the president of the church is the pre-eminent focus of all members and all the rest of the world. The buck stops with the president. That is how it is in most organizations. And being in that position is completely and utterly different from any prior experience as an assistant, advisor, counselor, vice-president, committee chairman, or member. There is something so weighty about being the final word. And when you put on that hat, or mantel, it changes you. In the church, when you are set apart in that calling, as with any calling, you are given the keys to administer in that calling - all you need to do your job - it is a remarkable blessing.
Upon the death or graduation or retirement, or simply the end of the term of one president, a new person takes on that role - and whatever they have done in the past, they have a new experience ahead of them in their new role - but the exit of their predecessor makes a space for them to grow and expand into. And just like the little children in the nursery - that space is very important. That opportunity is very important. And until it happens, neither they nor anyone else watching may recognize what they are capable of.
Now, a new president and prophet will be stepping into the role as God’s key representative to the world on the earth. I have zero doubt about what the Lord has been doing for his entire life - preparing him for this new role. But until he takes up that torch, he will not really know what he is capable of, nor will we - and it will be amazing, as it always is, to discover with him how the Master has molded and shaped him for such a time as this.
I hated being left behind when the older kids flew the coop. My oldest sister, Judy, was like a second mother to me. She was nine years older than me and I adored her. I remember each year during the Miss America pageant, I wondered what had gone wrong! I had it in my head that a committee of judges went around the country finding out who the most beautiful, smart, talented girls were, and they were the ones in the contest . . . so I just couldn’t understand how they had overlooked my sister Judy! In my mind there was no question at all that she was that girl. Honestly - all the years I was growing up, that is what I thought. So when Judy went off to college, I went into mourning. That was the first in a long series of such experiences of being left behind, and I don’t like it any more now than I did that first time.
When my mom died, it was a very cold January day here in Utah. My youngest son was living in Richland, Washington, and he had to ride a bus to attend the funeral. I picked him up at the bus station - temporary bus station because it was just before the Winter Olympics and the bus station was moved way out west of the city - in the wee hours of the morning. It was so cold. I had been carrying the weight of caring for my mother as she was dying, and planning the funeral and seeing to many other matters - and in that cold darkness waiting for my son’s bus to arrive, I felt so alone. I said to Mom - “Why did you leave me!?! I am not ready for this!” But I knew . . . she was ready to go. She had lived a good long life and had deteriorated a great deal in the prior few years - both physically, mentally and emotionally. A hurricane had blown away her town almost 10 years before, and 9-11 was completely bewildering to her a few months before. She had given up worrying, or even wondering what the world was coming to - she just wanted to be free of it. She had had her turn - she had buried her two parents and her in-laws and her husband. She had been the one to carry on after they left. She had been so alone, many’s the time in her life. And as I acknowledged that, I stopped begrudging her the release she was now enjoying.
I guess President Hinckley’s maxim that everything would be all right came from 97 years of watching that happen over and over and over again. How many crisis did he witness come and go? How many beloved leaders and family members had left him behind to carry on without them? And somehow or other, things did work out. He’d watched it enough to see how doors closing in our faces allowed us to notice the open windows we had ignored, and to come to expect that they would always be there. And in faith, he also knew that the fulfillment of prophecy is assured, and an ultimately glorious future lies ahead. The only question being - what must I do today to make it happen? How am I supposed to contribute to achieving that glorious end? What lies within my power to accomplish? And he went about doing just that his entire life, always expanding beyond his comfort zones, beyond what was the accepted standard before, for treading water is not what this gospel is about - it is a stone, cut without hands out of a mountain, rolling forth to fill the earth - and there is no standing still involved. And then, reflecting on how each step along the way was purposeful and really did contribute to that movement down the mountainside - he courageously looked ahead to the next task at hand.
I loved President Monson’s report of how just days prior to his death, President Hinckley was actively engaged in the work. And then he was done, and was released and in short order, long enough for his family to bid him goodbye, he made his exit, as he desired and had requested.
And in the huge space he has left, we have a chance to grow up. Just like the little nursery children.
~Debra
