For Aunt Ellen, with Love

Tuesday morning did not bring out the best in me.

Let me clarify: often, 5:00 a.m. in the morning does not bring out the best in me. Moreover, I teach a group of kids at that hour who have a way of letting me know when I am not awesome. And so, when the morning ended (or rather, began) at 7:00 a.m. and I made my way home through the snow filled streets, I felt more than a little upset.

Teaching Seminary felt hard. Harder than I felt I was willing to give. Harder than I anticipated. Harder than felt fair.

When I got home, Lillian was sleeping peacefully and Trent was downstairs working out. I barreled into the driveway, slammed my coat and church bag on to the counter top in the kitchen, and descended purposefully to the sound of the Power90X DVD emanating from my basement.

Trent got an earful of my current list of reasons why it was madness for me to be teaching seminary. He stopped the work0ut DVD and sat down and listened. He listened carefully, acknowledged and validated my situation and then asked, "what about your situation could actually be worse?"

Now, I know, there's a bajillion things that could be worse about my situation, but I was in the throes of frustration, making me less prone to believe that my current circumstances were not the worst in the free world. In short, I was hard pressed to come up with much that was substantial.

However, the venting seemed to help, at least a little. That good husband of mine has a way of mellowing me and keeping me from taking myself too seriously. He reminded me of the countless times teaching seminary has been a good experience, as well as the countless (truly) blessings we've received as a result of sacrificing my sleep and--at times like this--my sanity for the greater good.

Today I got a letter in the mail from my wonderful Aunt Ellen. I've always admired her. Among other things, she is an excellent listener. She is ultimately the most organized on-top-of-it lady that I know. And her recipe for Mississippi Mud Brownies is my husband's very favorite and by far the best dang brownie recipe I know of.

Aunt Ellen's letter seemed to be a direct answer from heaven. She wrote of attending a church meeting where a man in charge of training seminary teachers in South America spoke. Here's her words:

"He showed pictures of one group of students and their teacher. They were sitting in rented canoes that the teacher uses to pick up her students every morning at 5:00 a.m. and takes them to the church for Seminary. Another picture was of a group of students with their teacher sitting on chairs in a dirt alley behind her house because there isn't a place for them to gather. Each morning this teacher fixes breakfast for the youth then teaches them."

I thought of Trent's question, "Can you think of ways that teaching Seminary could be harder?" How about rented canoes. Chairs in a dirt alley. Picking up the students at 5:00 a.m. ? I drive 5 minutes in a heated car to a beautiful church house where I have all the teaching materials I could ever hope for. The mental images of those faithful teachers and students learning scripture at such great physical cost and sacrifice found their way into the depths of my heart.

In her kindness and grace, Aunt Ellen's letter thanked me for teaching seminary. Little old me. I thought of my rantings on Tuesday and felt humbled and repentant as I read her words. I realize the sustaining influence of others' faith enables me to continue teaching seminary despite my own weaknesses.

Yet perhaps most importantly, somewhere in her words, I felt the loving presence of One who, knowing me for who I am (and what I lack)recognizes this current teaching assignment does not come easy nor without sacrifice. A sacrifice, however small, that is acknowledged by Him.

By that recognition, I'm awed into silence. And gratitude.