The “Rest” of the Story

Jan 2010 Issue

By Stephanie McMillan
The room was filled with laughing kids, shushing each other with pointed looks and fingers pressed to lips. Trying desperately to listen, we were often diverted in our best efforts by a more interesting eight-year-old neighbor and the treasures he hid in his scripture bag. Sister Huffaker bravely stood at the front of this melee each and every Sunday, singing out and sharing her love of music with our rowdy crowd.

One song in particular was giving us fits with its strange rhythms and frequent pauses. Her solution was brilliant: she taught us to say the word “rest” whenever a rest occurred. Thus, we learned a bit of music theory and we paused appropriately. The little glitch in her plan was that we loved how that word sounded nestled in the middle of the phrases.

Long after the teaching period had ended and she tried to wean us of this singing crutch, we would gleefully sing out, “rest” in the middle of the song, despite her best efforts to teach us otherwise. Even today, when I sing the fourth article of faith, my mind says “rest” at all the appropriate places.
And I smile.

I heard that song the other day and was lost in the beautiful memory of countless primary teachers who opened their hearts and homes to me as a child. Their faces are older now, lined with wrinkles.
Their hands reveal the age of wisdom, work and service. Some have passed beyond this life to the next. Next to my own loving parents, theirs were the voices that testified and nurtured me as I grew.
Their testimonies of the restored gospel planted seeds in me that would eventually bloom.

Beyond just the music, I remember Sister Huffaker’s home as we visited there when she wasn’t our chorister, but a primary teacher. Before the era of activity days, she already saw the value of inviting us to her home to learn gospel truths. I can picture the cozy little house with its yellow vinyl kitchen chairs. We carefully planted flower seeds in little cups as we learned about faith. Then, of course, we were treated to a sweet dessert.

Though I have long since forgotten the refreshment, I haven’t forgotten the sweetness of her love for me. We don’t exchange Christmas cards, I haven’t regularly spoken with her in years, but when I was recently in town for a grandparent’s funeral, I saw her. She wrapped me in her arms, called me by my childhood nickname, and held me while I shed quiet tears.

Sister Ballard was no less an influence on my young life. When it came time for my baptism, it didn’t cross my mind that my grandparents, parents, or numerous aunts should speak. Sister Ballard was hands down my choice. I remember that even in Sacrament meeting she would tell a story just for the children in the congregation. She would speak directly to us and testify in words that were clear and real to us.

Each and every Halloween, we would make a special trip to her neighborhood and march up to her door for the “special treat” she had just for us. She would ooh and aah over our costumes and then give us a special goody bag. It didn’t occur to me until years later that she most likely handed out those “special” bags to many other children as well. Her love was so warm and inviting, she could make each child feel like they were the most amazing person in the universe.

As a child these women didn’t seem like anything special. They were just my teachers at church. In my self-centered world, I probably thought they loved me because I was just such a great kid and deserved it. Doubtless, they were occasionally cross with us as we squirmed and talked through lessons. I’m sure they had bad days of their own as they cared for homes and families. But I didn’t see any of that. As I look back across the years, I realize that these women, and others like them, helped me build the foundation of my testimony. They provided stalwart examples for fulfilling my own callings later in life.

Elder David A. Bednar explained, “Feeling the security and constancy of love from a spouse, a parent, or a child is a rich blessing” (More Diligent and Concerned at Home, October 2009). To his list I would add the love of a Primary Teacher. He continues, “Such love nurtures and sustains faith in God.
Such love is a source of strength and casts out fear. Such love is the desire of every human soul.”

While I don’t remember a single specific lesson from any manual those teachers ever used, I do remember they loved me. They showed that love through their words and deeds. In so doing, they showed me that my Heavenly Father loved me as well.

And the “rest?” Well, it will never be history.