Have you ever thought back to the days before you had your own children, when you said to yourself, “My children will never scream at me in the middle of the grocery store,” or silently expressed some other equally judgmental and terribly naive platitude?
I distinctly remember sitting with my relatively new husband at a fast food restaurant with several children and their mom, he and I sharing furrowed brows and a miniscule shake of our heads. “Our kids will not be allowed to climb on the tables at McDonald’s,” we silently proclaimed to one other.
Heavenly Father has a way of slapping down that kind of overblown confidence, and I owe that mom at McDonald’s – and dozens of other moms I silently condemned over the years – a heartfelt apology for my disapproving facial expressions and unspoken censure. My girls certainly conducted their fair share of public temper tantrums, made numerous inappropriate comments to my friends and frequently expressed an absolutely horrid sense of fashion as they were growing up. Sometimes, I handled their outbursts with a calm, mature grace. Other times, I got right down on a childhood level and embarrassed myself more than they ever could. Yet my daughters, like the dozens other children I know well and have grown to love throughout my adulthood, have grown into adults themselves, none of whom exhibit even one of those abhorrent childhood behaviors.
But it was touch and go there for a while. I loved, and love, my daughters with every fiber of my being and yet, every once in awhile as they were growing up, I found myself at the limits of my ability to react rationally. I admit that I didn’t try quite as hard with other people’s children, and had even convinced myself I couldn’t possibly love them as much as my own.
Then comes my calling as president of the Primary Program in my church. The role of the Primary Program is to help guide these little souls, ages 18 months to 12 years, in the Gospel of Jesus Christ. That means my Primary workers and I need to love them, each little one, even with their boogery fingers, constant interruptions, childish senses of humor and short attention spans.
I cannot just tolerate them, or just be polite to them, or just teach the material in the lesson plan. After all, I want them to come to find as much joy in living the Gospel as I do; to love Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ as much as I do; and to look forward to coming to church each Sunday, as I do. Given this chance, I wanted Heavenly Father to use me to play whatever small role in helping these youngsters stay faithful.
So, when I received my calling, I knew I needed help. And so I prayed, asking Heavenly Father to help me see each child as he does and to love each of them.
Sometimes, our prayers are not answered as we would hope, but my answer was, and is, everything I had asked for and more. I do love these kids, every single one of them. And I grow to love them more each Sunday. I love hearing about their friends, and the books they like and their favorite toys. Listening to them give a prayer makes my heart swell as much as if it were my very own daughter speaking.
Last night, the Primary program was in charge of our ward’s annual Chili Feed and Trick or Treat Party, and the event was a great success. Everyone had a great time, even my little friend who momentarily freaked out at the thought of participating in the costume parade across the stage (and who I later saw munching happily on a cupcake while creating her trick or treat bag).
At one point in the evening, a boy who only recently moved into our ward – I’ll call him Kevin – looked up at me with sugar-glazed eyes. At first, his expression was blank, and then he broke into a huge grin and tried to wave his dad over to us. He said, twice, “Look Daddy, here’s my Primary teacher!”
In the noise of the crowd, Kevin’s dad couldn’t hear him. So I bent down to Kevin’s level and told him I liked his costume. He gave me a sticky hug, and started to run off to find his dad. But then he turned back around and said, “I’ll see you Sunday, Sister Hackbarth.”
Thank you, Heavenly Father, for answering my prayer. Now, if you can do something about moving back those 7:30 a.m. Sabbath morning meetings, I’d be completely giddy about Sundays.
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