A New Calling

A few weeks ago my bishop told me he wanted me to teach the Marriage and Family Relations course during Sunday school. Now I love teaching and I have 19 years experience at marriage, so this should be a no-brainer.  But there is the whole “can’t talk” thing. Details, details.

We would only meet once a month which makes it easier, but it would supplant Gospel Doctrine those weeks so the class would be teeming. I told him I’d do my best. Today was the first class. I over-prepared, had several parts to be read by class members, and the subject matter lent itself to good class participation.  But still I was scared. It seems most Sundays it is all I can do to keep my head up.  I never comment or volunteer to say prayers. I could do it but I don’t want to subject everyone else to my condition, especially since I sound way worse than I feel.

How could I teach?

Well, I’m happy to report that week 1 is done and it went well enough. I introduced myself, apologized for my weak voice, briefly explained the situation, and requested their patience, prayers, and participation. I was self-conscious, fearing that my medical condition would be a distraction from the subject matter.

I'll be honest; it was very difficult.  At several points I had to stop, take an uncomfortably forced swallow, and then try to squelch out a few more syllables.  Also, I was careful not to stray into any areas of the slightest emotions.  I could not afford to do that to the class, unless the topic for the day was "How to sound like large aquatic mammals."  (It was not.)

Following the class, one lady who just moved in came up and told me precisely what I wanted to hear. She said, “I just wanted to tell you that your voice was not a distraction. Once we got going and the Spirit took over it wasn’t even a thought.” How prescient was that? And for a first-timer to boot!  It gives me the encouragement to try again in February.

I won’t transcribe the lesson here, but I will share a story that I shared today.

In my BYU “married” ward, a friend who was generally happy and seemed to have a perfect marriage one day looked troubled. He said, “My wife expects me to pick up my own dirty socks!” I gave him a puzzled look. He explained that he was raised on a farm, and when Dad and the boys returned from the field, they removed their dirty clothing and socks and mother would pick them up off the floor and wash them. In his frame of reference, husband and wife had certain well-defined roles and he was troubled that his wife wasn’t fulfilling her wifely obligations. I consoled him saying, “Buddy, I have the exact same problem! And she won’t wear an apron, fetch my slippers, or let me go to meetings at the lodge! Seriously, I only suggested that perhaps he should expect some role divergence since his wife wasn’t raised in his home (and because he was not currently working on a farm.)