The last few weeks have been very challenging in Primary. We get a lot of opposition and it has been one of the most challenging callings I have ever had and one of the most rewarding too.
This story from President Monson keeps me going:
"President Harold B.
Lee was fond of the inspired statement, “When you are on the Lord’s
errand, you are entitled to the Lord’s help.” Remember that, parents.
Remember it, Primary officers and teachers.
Everything wasn’t
bliss in our ward Primary, for boys will be boys. The laughter of the
boys and the chatter of the girls at times must have been most
disconcerting to our Primary leaders.
One day as we left
the chapel for our classrooms, I noted that our Primary president
remained behind. I paused and observed her. She sat all alone on the
front row of the benches, took out her handkerchief, and began to weep. I
walked up to her and said, “Sister Georgell, don’t cry.”
She said, “I’m sad.”
I responded, “What’s the matter?”
She said, “I can’t control the Trail Builders. Will you help me?”
Of course I answered, “Yes.”
She said, “Oh, that would be wonderful, Tommy, if you would.”
What I didn’t know
then is that I was the source of her tears. She had effectively
enlisted me to aid in achieving reverence in our Primary. And we did.
The years flew by.
When Melissa Georgell was in her nineties, she lived in a nursing
facility in the northwest part of Salt Lake City. One year just before
Christmas, I determined to visit my beloved Primary president. Over the
car radio I heard the music of familiar Christmas carols: “Hark! the
Herald Angels Sing,” “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” and many others. I
reflected on the visit made by wise men those long years ago and the
visit made by us boys when we portrayed the wise men in the pageant. The
wise men brought precious gifts to the Christ child. I brought to
Melissa only the gift of love and a desire to say “Thank you.”
I found her in the
lunch room. She was staring at her plate of food, teasing it with the
fork she held in her aged hand. Not a bite did she eat. As I spoke to
her, my words were met by a benign but blank stare. I gently took her
fork from her and began to feed her, talking all the time I did so about
her service to boys and girls as a Primary worker and the joy which was
mine to have later served as her bishop. You know, there wasn’t even a
glimmer of recognition, far less a spoken word. Two other residents of
the nursing home gazed at me with puzzled expressions. At last they
spoke, saying, “She doesn’t know anyone—even her own family. She hasn’t
said a word for a long, long time.”
Luncheon ended. My
one-sided conversation wound down. I stood to leave. I held her frail
hand in mine and gazed into her wrinkled but beautiful countenance and
said, “God bless you, Melissa, and merry Christmas.”
Without warning, she spoke the words, “I know you. You’re Tommy Monson, my Primary boy. How I love you.”
She pressed my
hand to her lips and bestowed on it the kiss of love. Tears coursed down
her cheeks and bathed our clasped hands. Those hands, that day, were
hallowed by heaven and graced by God. The herald angels did sing, for I
heard them in my heart.
The words of the
Master seemed to have a personal meaning never before fully felt:
“Woman, behold thy son!” And to his disciple, “Behold thy mother!”
13
The words of the
poet came to my heart and provided my Christmas gift. James Barrie
wrote, “God gave us memories, that we might have June roses in the
December of our lives.”
14
Memories of Primary days are such beautiful roses. Such a
priceless gift will come to each of us as we serve His precious
children." To all of you out there who serve in Primary: I am amazed at the sacrifices, the love and the patience you give so willingly!!!
