I ignored the telephone call three times.
My answer to the call being along the lines of “of-course-I-haven’t-done-my-visiting-teaching, sister so and so!” And if I actually pick up the phone at this point, your kindness will make me feel bad and I will offer some excuse about how my energy feels low and you will suggest your naturopath or even just a jaunt down to the vitamin store to buy some iron. And you will be sweet and encouraging and because you’re 85, you’ll end the conversation with a sweet “I love you,” which almost makes me feel worse.
I am not the best visiting teacher– in June especially not so. My sister was in town with her two kids for 10 days, my husband was out of town for two working weeks, I hosted a wedding reception in my backyard and the preparations for my in-laws return from their stint as mission presidents in Argentina took far more preparation and trips to Park City than I could have imagined necessary. (And that’s just the stuff I remember.) Any spare time has been devoted to lying limply in my bed and/or crying.
There was also the afternoon early in the month that I spent with a different visiting teaching coordinator (who used to be one of my unfortunate visiting-teachees, poor thing) as we sought out all the new girls fresh from graduation and coming into Relief Society with their first visiting teaching assignment. She told me this story, from her mission, about a little boy who lived in the ghetto with a grandparent because both of his parents were addicts and HIV positive. She told me of how he’d seen people murdered, how he’d been abused, how he’d been neglected. She told me about how, when he was baptized, the first Sunday at church was the Primary program in Sacrament meeting. And she told me about how, when he delivered his few lines, there was the hugest smile on his face and she thought this:
He will never be forgotten, he will never be lost. Someone will always be aware of him because his name is on the records of the church. He will always be looked out for.
And then she said that her testimony of visiting teaching grew from that– the knowledge that when she accepted the assignment, it was her responsibility to just look out for a few people at a time.
AND EVEN AFTER HEARING THAT STORY, I STILL DIDN’T GET MY VISITING TEACHING DONE!
But it was a powerful reminder to me and I truly do want to be better. Starting in July.
Tell me your stories of visiting teaching. I’m ready to change.
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