When a ward member asked me to teach his gospel doctrine class while he was out of town, I was relieved that the class met in the Relief Society room, not the huge cultural hall. I was much more comfortable teaching in a smaller setting. I put serious, prayerful effort into lesson preparations that week, selecting several meaningful pictures to share and printing key scriptures from the Bible to display on the chalkboard. Rarely had I felt so prepared to teach.
Sunday morning found me at the organ playing prelude music for Sacrament Meeting, my usual calling. As a bishopric member approached the microphone to conduct the meeting, I hurriedly changed the organ settings for the opening hymn. In my distraction with organ preparations, I nearly missed the announcement that our ward’s two gospel doctrine classes would be combined that day and would meet in the cultural hall. What?! That meant I would be teaching all of the adults! No one had apprised me of this situation beforehand. I broke into a sweat as I started playing the opening song.
At the end of the meeting, I rushed through one short hymn for postlude, then frantically gathered my songbooks and Sunday school bag and raced down the hall to set up for the lesson. I trembled as scores of adults entered the cultural hall, filling the long rows of metal folding chairs. Because it was the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day, there were many visitors attending. Never had I felt so flustered before teaching a class. After an opening prayer was said, I proceeded to give the worst lesson of my adult life. My carefully prepared visual aids–around which much of the discussion was to be centered–were totally ineffective in a venue that large, since most of the class members couldn’t see them. I was teary and shaky the entire hour, and seriously considered walking out in the middle of the lesson.
At one point I found myself straying from the prepared material, sharing a random story from the Book of Mormon, which was not the book of scripture we were supposed to be studying, nor anything I had planned to discuss. I recall wondering, Why am I suddenly talking about Nephi? When the disastrous lesson finally ended, I couldn’t escape fast enough. I shed many tears of humiliation over this episode, and my confidence as a gospel teacher took a significant hit.
You can imagine my surprise a few days later when a sister from my ward called to thank me profusely for the lesson, saying that the scriptures I had shared from The Book of Mormon were an answer to prayers she had been saying for months. I was dumbfounded. When I say that the lesson was an absolute disaster, I’m not exaggerating. The scriptures say that He will use “the weak and the simple” to proclaim the gospel. (D&C 1:23) Was it possible that Heavenly Father had used me as an instrument for good even when I felt I was failing miserably?
I cannot look back on that dreadful Sunday school lesson without shuddering. However, I gained an increased witness that God’s hand is over His children. When we are willing, worthy, and do the best we can, through His almighty power He can use “the weak and the simple” for His purposes.
I love the following experience shared by Latter-day Saint songwriter Janice Kapp Perry:
In 1985 I received a request by the Church to write a song that would name the seven Young Women values. The seven values were listed, and I attempted that evening to organize them into a set of lyrics. [An eighth value was added later.] Having no success, I called Sister Ardeth Kapp, Young Women General President, and asked if I could write more general lyrics that would broadly cover the values but not list them specifically. In her kind way she said, “No, we need them to be listed in order so the girls can remember them. We thought it looked difficult too, but we’ll be praying for you!” She then explained the significance of the values and the fasting, prayer, study, and thought that had gone into developing the program over many months.
With my newfound understanding of my important assignment, I retired to my bedroom on a Sunday afternoon and asked my family that I not be interrupted for a few hours. I prayed with all the sincerity of my heart for guidance from the Spirit. I asked forgiveness for my shortcomings and recommitted my heart and soul to the Lord’s service…And then I set a blank page in front of me, picked up a pencil, and tried in every way I knew how to listen to the Spirit’s prompting. That warm, exhilarating feeling that writers yearn for but which I have felt to this depth only a few times in writing hundreds of songs came over me powerfully. What had seemed awkward and difficult two days earlier now seemed logical and possible. The words, including the preamble, were organized in just a short time, and the music came simultaneously…I felt that any writer in the Church who had been given this assignment might have written the same song. (1)
During my seventh, eighth, and ninth grade years, I enjoyed playing the flute and performing with the Concert and Symphonic bands at my schools. As I reached tenth grade, I wanted to sing in various high school choirs, so I set my flute aside and pursued singing instead. I still pulled the flute out of my closet occasionally and played through some of my favorite songs, but by the time I reached college one of the keys on my instrument was broken and a few of the pads were loose, so I didn’t play anymore. My beautiful silver flute sat in its case, gathering dust.
Several years passed by, filled with a mission, marriage, and babies. One December, as a Christmas gift, my husband secretly sneaked my flute out of the house and had it repaired and polished for me. It was completely unexpected, and a wonderful surprise to hold my shiny musical “friend” in my hands again, the feel of the silver keys so familiar on my fingertips. As I lifted the flute to my lips for the first time in many years, I wondered if I would remember how to play. But it all came back to me as I blew across the mouthpiece. I was a bit rusty, and the muscles around my mouth were out of practice, but I recalled all of the technique and fingerings, and it was pure pleasure to produce music on my flute again.
Later, after the refurbished flute was back in its case, I considered the experience. For years my instrument had sat unused, not because I lacked the ability to play it, but because it was broken and could not produce the proper notes when played. There seemed to be a lesson there.
Heavenly Father is eager for His children to participate in His work, but needs us to be in good working order first. Our Almighty God certainly has the power to use us for good, but we must be willing and worthy. Thankfully, our brokenness can be healed through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, and His grace can compensate for our weakness.
Once we realize that we need not be all powerful in order to do God’s work, just worthy and willing, it takes the pressure off of us as we serve in the Church. We don’t have to be brilliant teachers or highly experienced leaders in order to serve effectively. When we’re willing and worthy, the Holy Spirit can work through us to do and say what is needed, even when we don’t realize it–as in my disastrous Sunday school lesson.
Elder Ciro Schmeil gives an important reminder, “…we don’t need a calling to be an instrument in the Lord’s hands. We just need to have the desire.” (2) We can be instruments in God’s hands every time we listen attentively or show tiny kindnesses to a family member, co-worker, or even a stranger.
The same Lord who took a young boy’s small offering of bread and fish and miraculously fed a multitude can take our meager gifts and use them for His work. Eighteen- and nineteen-year-old youth serve as missionaries to gather Israel. Queen Esther was an instrument in God’s hands to save her people. Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery were 24 and 23 years old, respectively, when God used them to translate The Book of Mormon. Because Nephi was willing and obedient, God used him to obtain the plates of brass and to build a ship that would carry his family to a promised land.
God doesn’t often ask us His children to restore a church, translate an ancient manuscript, or build an ocean-worthy ship. But He might ask us to assist the homeless, go on a high adventure campout with young priests, or minister to someone we don’t like or with whom we have nothing in common. Yes, we may be weak or feel we lack the skills to fulfill these assignments, but that’s exactly why God asks hard things of us. By taking a leap of faith and accepting an intimidating calling or following a prompting, we give Him the opportunity to show up–to prove to us that He is big enough for the job.
Elder Neal A. Maxwell says it best: “God does not begin by asking us about our ability, but only about our availability, and if we then prove our dependability, he will increase our capability.”
Notes:
- By Janice Kapp Perry “Songs from My Heart,” p.80, Sounds of Zion Inc., 2000. Used by permission of the author.
- Elder Ciro Schmeil, An Instrument in the Hands of the Lord,
Lee HillJuly 20, 2022
Thank you for this article. I was severely injured a little over a year ago and, while I have undergone a miraculous recovery, I still lack the strength and agility to serve as I used to. It has been discouraging for me to not be able to participate in helping people move or engage in other activities that require physical strength. However, I get little whisperings now and then reassuring me that contributions I make, however meager in my own eyes, are acceptable to the Lord.