All my life I wanted to be a seminary teacher. (Well, except for that brief time in my childhood when I thought it would be pretty cool to drive the lawn tractor for the city.) My father was a seminary teacher. Many of my seminary teachers growing up became my heroes and role models. I loved teaching. I loved the scriptures. Everything was lining up perfectly – I was born to teach seminary.
The requirements to teach seminary were few in number yet hard to complete. Hundreds of people applied for only a few jobs each year. At BYU and other schools there were two methods classes. At the end of the second class all of the students that wanted the opportunity were given a few days to substitute in an actual class. Candidates were evaluated and some were extended a year-long part time teaching position. Candidates would continue to be evaluated every few weeks, and at the end of the year a few were offered full time positions.
After my short teaching experience in March I received a letter saying that I “might” be offered a part time position. Apparently I was right on the cusp – and whether I got a part time position depended on how many part time positions were available, and how many candidates above me changed their minds. At first glance through the letter I thought I had received a “no” letter. I was sad. It was only after a second more thorough reading that I actually learned my situation. But my heart was deflated and resigned to the fact that I probably wouldn’t get to teach.
Several weeks passed and I had nearly forgotten about seminary – or at least put it out of my mind. It was August, and I was about to graduate from BYU. Out of the blue one day, and totally unexpectedly, I received a phone call from one of my instructors inviting me to take a part time position. It was hard to contain my emotion long enough to hang up. I jumped around the house rejoicing. I have never been so elated in all of my life. Never have I had such a feeling of joy. After a few minutes jumping around, gratitude settled in and I knelt down and prayed and wept. And wept some more.
For that school year I was a part time teacher at Pleasant Grove High School Seminary. The experience was fun and challenging. It was what I wanted to do. I was evaluated many times throughout the year and I felt I had a pretty good shot at full time job. Towards the end of the year we were told to expect another phone call telling us yes or no. Mine came on the anticipated night.
“Hello”
“May I speak with Brian, please.”
“Speaking.”
“Brian, I’m sorry…”
Again I tried to contain my emotion long enough to hang up. That life path was closed. I cried. And then cried some more. I had never felt so sad and deflated.
During those solemn days I received two timely bits of advice that have set the course for the remainder of my life. After explaining the saga to a friend he said, “Seminary teachers have it easy. Your challenge in life will be to teach the gospel through programming a computer as well as you could in front of a class.” That has often been a point of pondering for me.
Another friend pointed me to a talk by Janet Lee entitled, “Knowing When to Persevere and when to Change Direction.” In the talk she describes how we should color with the crayons we have in our box, rather than wish for crayons we don’t have and not coloring at all.
Sometimes life happens and the deep feelings I had once upon a time are rekindled, and I identify a little too much with uncle Rico trying to make reconciliation between what is and what might have been. And after a few moments I come to the same conclusion – my occupation is only a small part of who I am and my desired destination in life. I have some awesome crayons, some good coloring skills (and bow staff skills), and it is time to color.
So if you are in a situation where life is different than you imagined, read the crayon talk, get a crayon from your box and start coloring.
The requirements to teach seminary were few in number yet hard to complete. Hundreds of people applied for only a few jobs each year. At BYU and other schools there were two methods classes. At the end of the second class all of the students that wanted the opportunity were given a few days to substitute in an actual class. Candidates were evaluated and some were extended a year-long part time teaching position. Candidates would continue to be evaluated every few weeks, and at the end of the year a few were offered full time positions.
After my short teaching experience in March I received a letter saying that I “might” be offered a part time position. Apparently I was right on the cusp – and whether I got a part time position depended on how many part time positions were available, and how many candidates above me changed their minds. At first glance through the letter I thought I had received a “no” letter. I was sad. It was only after a second more thorough reading that I actually learned my situation. But my heart was deflated and resigned to the fact that I probably wouldn’t get to teach.
Several weeks passed and I had nearly forgotten about seminary – or at least put it out of my mind. It was August, and I was about to graduate from BYU. Out of the blue one day, and totally unexpectedly, I received a phone call from one of my instructors inviting me to take a part time position. It was hard to contain my emotion long enough to hang up. I jumped around the house rejoicing. I have never been so elated in all of my life. Never have I had such a feeling of joy. After a few minutes jumping around, gratitude settled in and I knelt down and prayed and wept. And wept some more.
For that school year I was a part time teacher at Pleasant Grove High School Seminary. The experience was fun and challenging. It was what I wanted to do. I was evaluated many times throughout the year and I felt I had a pretty good shot at full time job. Towards the end of the year we were told to expect another phone call telling us yes or no. Mine came on the anticipated night.
“Hello”
“May I speak with Brian, please.”
“Speaking.”
“Brian, I’m sorry…”
Again I tried to contain my emotion long enough to hang up. That life path was closed. I cried. And then cried some more. I had never felt so sad and deflated.
During those solemn days I received two timely bits of advice that have set the course for the remainder of my life. After explaining the saga to a friend he said, “Seminary teachers have it easy. Your challenge in life will be to teach the gospel through programming a computer as well as you could in front of a class.” That has often been a point of pondering for me.
Another friend pointed me to a talk by Janet Lee entitled, “Knowing When to Persevere and when to Change Direction.” In the talk she describes how we should color with the crayons we have in our box, rather than wish for crayons we don’t have and not coloring at all.
Sometimes life happens and the deep feelings I had once upon a time are rekindled, and I identify a little too much with uncle Rico trying to make reconciliation between what is and what might have been. And after a few moments I come to the same conclusion – my occupation is only a small part of who I am and my desired destination in life. I have some awesome crayons, some good coloring skills (and bow staff skills), and it is time to color.
So if you are in a situation where life is different than you imagined, read the crayon talk, get a crayon from your box and start coloring.
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