In light of the recent announcements made during general conference, today at church we talked about Ministering.
If you're not familiar with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, let me explain a little bit. In my religion we believe that each one of us are children of God, and that each of us should strive to follow Jesus and be his disciples. As part of following him, each man and woman in the church have had assignments for decades to visit and teach another member of our congregation in their homes, these assignments were called "home teaching" for the men and "visiting teaching" for the women. Recently, these assignments were retired and instead we've been asked to "minister" to one another. Instead of a direct assignment to make a monthly visit and teach a lesson, we've simply been asked to love one another as Jesus would.
As Erica taught at church (by the way girlfriend, you ROCKED it) about Jesus and ministering, a flood of memories came to me of home teachers and visiting teachers of years past, clear down to my childhood. And I was overwhelmed to realize that dozens of people have taught me about what ministering "looks like."
I was 5 years old. We lived in Lehi in my childhood house, a gray-brick rambler. Our home teacher, I can't remember his name but I remember his smile, brought games and pictures while he taught us about Jesus. I so looked forward to him coming over. I didn't feel like I was an annoying kid to him--I felt like he was my friend. I remember his wife had the same gentle smile, and the two of them seemed like a prince and a princess.
I was 15 years old. I left for school in the morning after giving my mom a quick hug, and came home to an empty house--no note. My brothers came home from school, still no news. I finally anxiously called my dad and found out that Mom was at the hospital, that she had appendicitis, and she was having an emergency appendectomy. My heart ached with worry, but the operation went well and Mom would be okay. Being sliced open to remove a rogue organ, though, requires no minor recovery process. Mom had to take it easy for a few weeks. My twin brothers turned 9 years old the very same week, and Sister Brown (mom's visiting teacher) brought over two LEGIT superhero birthday cakes, some presents, and pizza. The boys were delighted!
I was 16 years old. Grandma Reesa & Papa Phil's home teacher at the time was an orthodontist. He wanted very much to serve them, and finally one day told them he wanted to provide braces treatment free of charge for a member of their family. Grandma & Papa chose my mom, who had always wanted braces. She's always had a sparkling smile, but that service meant so much to her, to Grandma & Papa, and to me. As another benefit from that experience, mom's courage to get braces as an adult helped me to have the courage to get them as a freshman in college. They were awkward but they were worth it!
I was 19 years old (I think). In my early years of college, my dad developed an incredible animated app (my dad is kind of a big deal). Unfortunately, a rival app-creator began attempts to bully my dad into relinquishing the app's copyrighted name and threatened an unwarranted law suit. At the time, my parents' home teacher was a lawyer. He worked with my dad to understand the situation, helped to author some legal letters to send to the threatening competitor, and in the end saved my dad a lot of trouble and helped his app to progress without incident.
I was 21 years old. I lived in Venado Tuerto, Argentina. As I was there, I got to know an elderly sister named Ilse Puck who had emigrated to South America from Germany as a young bride. She was a widow now, in her late 80's, and spent most of her free time visiting and aiding other people. I was so impressed with how she diligently visited a woman named Emma who had not attended church in decades. Emma's family was impoverished, malnourished, and lonely. Hermana Ilse visited them weekly, bringing apples and oranges, a listening ear, and a message of Jesus. Together (and with aid from my generous parents) we were able to help Jose, Emma's spouse, get glasses so that he could see better and read the Book of Mormon. It was a special thing for my companion and I to visit Emma with Hermana Ilse by our side.
When I was 22 years old, in January 2014, I moved to a run-down apartment complex west campus. I was nearly engaged to Kevin, and I was afraid that nobody would want to be my friend. I had my roommate, Kelsey, who was a dear friend. Nevertheless, I was still nervous about the new ward I was in. But I shouldn't have been. My visiting teacher's name was Capri. She was (is!) a gorgeous human inside and out. She testified to me of Jesus. She took me to Sodalicious. She came to every FHE activity I planned and stayed the whole time. One time she tried to surprise me with little pieces of paper with a compliment about me on each one--she hadn't signed them to be from her, it was meant to be an anonymous surprise--and as she began to tape them to my door, I opened it to head to class. Startled and foiled, she bashfully handed them to me. I read them and pasted each one into my journal, the notes were beautifully written her kindness was so sincere. She brought me princess fruitsnacks the day I moved out. She was a true minister.
When I was 24 years old, I was finishing my student teaching and was EXHAUSTED. Emmalee, my attentive visiting teacher, took note of my tired eyes and busy schedule and made me dinner every three weeks or so. It was homecooked, delicious, and heartfelt.
I'm now 25 years old. The day I returned to work after my maternity leave was an emotional one for me. I love teaching, but I also love my little boy, and my heart felt like it was precariously balanced in my chest and at any moment would crash and crumble. As I left my home early that Tuesday morning, a little white envelope awaited me outside my front door. My two, beautiful, diligent visiting teachers had left me a letter saying they loved me and were praying for me that difficult day. My heart was still heavy, but I knew I wasn't forgotten or alone, and that helped me endure.
While in each of these instances my burdens (or those of people I care about) were not taken away, I was strengthened. I was uplifted. They knew my situation, saw a way to help, and I WAS MINISTERED UNTO.
My hope is that in this new era of service in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, I can live up to the examples these dear brothers and sisters have shown me and minister with love and compassion as Jesus does.
If you're not familiar with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, let me explain a little bit. In my religion we believe that each one of us are children of God, and that each of us should strive to follow Jesus and be his disciples. As part of following him, each man and woman in the church have had assignments for decades to visit and teach another member of our congregation in their homes, these assignments were called "home teaching" for the men and "visiting teaching" for the women. Recently, these assignments were retired and instead we've been asked to "minister" to one another. Instead of a direct assignment to make a monthly visit and teach a lesson, we've simply been asked to love one another as Jesus would.
As Erica taught at church (by the way girlfriend, you ROCKED it) about Jesus and ministering, a flood of memories came to me of home teachers and visiting teachers of years past, clear down to my childhood. And I was overwhelmed to realize that dozens of people have taught me about what ministering "looks like."
I was 5 years old. We lived in Lehi in my childhood house, a gray-brick rambler. Our home teacher, I can't remember his name but I remember his smile, brought games and pictures while he taught us about Jesus. I so looked forward to him coming over. I didn't feel like I was an annoying kid to him--I felt like he was my friend. I remember his wife had the same gentle smile, and the two of them seemed like a prince and a princess.
I was 15 years old. I left for school in the morning after giving my mom a quick hug, and came home to an empty house--no note. My brothers came home from school, still no news. I finally anxiously called my dad and found out that Mom was at the hospital, that she had appendicitis, and she was having an emergency appendectomy. My heart ached with worry, but the operation went well and Mom would be okay. Being sliced open to remove a rogue organ, though, requires no minor recovery process. Mom had to take it easy for a few weeks. My twin brothers turned 9 years old the very same week, and Sister Brown (mom's visiting teacher) brought over two LEGIT superhero birthday cakes, some presents, and pizza. The boys were delighted!
I was 16 years old. Grandma Reesa & Papa Phil's home teacher at the time was an orthodontist. He wanted very much to serve them, and finally one day told them he wanted to provide braces treatment free of charge for a member of their family. Grandma & Papa chose my mom, who had always wanted braces. She's always had a sparkling smile, but that service meant so much to her, to Grandma & Papa, and to me. As another benefit from that experience, mom's courage to get braces as an adult helped me to have the courage to get them as a freshman in college. They were awkward but they were worth it!
I was 19 years old (I think). In my early years of college, my dad developed an incredible animated app (my dad is kind of a big deal). Unfortunately, a rival app-creator began attempts to bully my dad into relinquishing the app's copyrighted name and threatened an unwarranted law suit. At the time, my parents' home teacher was a lawyer. He worked with my dad to understand the situation, helped to author some legal letters to send to the threatening competitor, and in the end saved my dad a lot of trouble and helped his app to progress without incident.
I was 21 years old. I lived in Venado Tuerto, Argentina. As I was there, I got to know an elderly sister named Ilse Puck who had emigrated to South America from Germany as a young bride. She was a widow now, in her late 80's, and spent most of her free time visiting and aiding other people. I was so impressed with how she diligently visited a woman named Emma who had not attended church in decades. Emma's family was impoverished, malnourished, and lonely. Hermana Ilse visited them weekly, bringing apples and oranges, a listening ear, and a message of Jesus. Together (and with aid from my generous parents) we were able to help Jose, Emma's spouse, get glasses so that he could see better and read the Book of Mormon. It was a special thing for my companion and I to visit Emma with Hermana Ilse by our side.
When I was 22 years old, in January 2014, I moved to a run-down apartment complex west campus. I was nearly engaged to Kevin, and I was afraid that nobody would want to be my friend. I had my roommate, Kelsey, who was a dear friend. Nevertheless, I was still nervous about the new ward I was in. But I shouldn't have been. My visiting teacher's name was Capri. She was (is!) a gorgeous human inside and out. She testified to me of Jesus. She took me to Sodalicious. She came to every FHE activity I planned and stayed the whole time. One time she tried to surprise me with little pieces of paper with a compliment about me on each one--she hadn't signed them to be from her, it was meant to be an anonymous surprise--and as she began to tape them to my door, I opened it to head to class. Startled and foiled, she bashfully handed them to me. I read them and pasted each one into my journal, the notes were beautifully written her kindness was so sincere. She brought me princess fruitsnacks the day I moved out. She was a true minister.
When I was 24 years old, I was finishing my student teaching and was EXHAUSTED. Emmalee, my attentive visiting teacher, took note of my tired eyes and busy schedule and made me dinner every three weeks or so. It was homecooked, delicious, and heartfelt.
I'm now 25 years old. The day I returned to work after my maternity leave was an emotional one for me. I love teaching, but I also love my little boy, and my heart felt like it was precariously balanced in my chest and at any moment would crash and crumble. As I left my home early that Tuesday morning, a little white envelope awaited me outside my front door. My two, beautiful, diligent visiting teachers had left me a letter saying they loved me and were praying for me that difficult day. My heart was still heavy, but I knew I wasn't forgotten or alone, and that helped me endure.
While in each of these instances my burdens (or those of people I care about) were not taken away, I was strengthened. I was uplifted. They knew my situation, saw a way to help, and I WAS MINISTERED UNTO.
My hope is that in this new era of service in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, I can live up to the examples these dear brothers and sisters have shown me and minister with love and compassion as Jesus does.
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