1986
Learning to Listen
April 1986


“Learning to Listen,” Ensign, Apr. 1986, 45–46

Learning to Listen

My thirst for knowledge was insatiable. A convert to the Church, I felt I had a lot to learn, and so I read all the materials I could get my hands on. Yet, after ten years, I still did not comprehend how people received revelation. The burning sensation and that still small voice others talked about seemed to elude me.

Marriage only added to my frustration. When decisions had to be made, it was my husband who always got the answers. His track record was terrific; we had the help we needed when we needed it. I found it easier to pray that we would get the answer, then just follow his counsel.

Still, every once in a while, my inability to receive revelation would leave me with a nagging, let-down feeling. This usually came when I went visiting teaching. I would kneel in prayer and ask that the Lord help us discern the needs of those sisters my companion and I were to visit. Then we would make our visits. The sisters never seemed to need our help, and so I would let things drift, all the while yearning to be of inspired help.

An employment change for my husband brought us into a new city and a new ward. I was so bothered by my previous “failure” as a visiting teacher that I did all I could to avoid the Relief Society presidency. But in spite of my best efforts, it didn’t take them long to find me and make the call. My initial visits with the wonderful women my companion and I were assigned to promised to be only the first in a series of special visits. I worked hard on the lessons trying to bring some special meaning to them for the sisters. I wanted to give them all that I could. Yet, when I prayed to know the needs of these sisters, the heavens were silent.

One morning while I was dusting, a thought came into my mind—call Amanda. I quickly pushed it away so I could get on with my work, but while I was sorting laundry, it returned. I impatiently told myself that Amanda was busy preparing her cooking mini-lesson for homemaking meeting that evening. She wouldn’t have time to chat. I went on to the dishes, but once again the thought came—call Amanda. I gave up, dried my hands, and went to the phone. All the time I was dialing, I was practicing my apology for bothering her when she was so busy.

When Amanda answered the phone, I found myself not apologizing, but asking if she needed help with her cooking lesson. To my surprise, I found that she had been on her knees in prayer asking for help. She needed someone to fry extra portions of the food so that each sister attending home making meeting might have a taste. Out of desperation, she had almost decided to skip that part of her demonstration.

A couple of weeks later, I was writing letters to some of my relatives when I was troubled by another thought. Whenever I would pause in my writing to think, the names of the three sisters on my visiting teaching route came into my mind. I pushed the thought aside and kept on writing. But the more I pushed, the more it persisted. Finally, I let it stay just to see what would happen. A few minutes later I was busily engaged in writing short notes to the three sisters, telling them simply that I was thinking of them and wishing them a happy day.

With the pressures of everyday activity, I easily tucked this experience in the back of my mind. One day, my daughters and I got involved in making and decorating a batch of sugar cookies. It turned out to be a very large batch of cookies. I knew we could never eat all of them. Again, a thought came into my mind—the sisters on my route. I had learned by this time not to ignore those kinds of thoughts, so the girls and I quickly wrapped the cookies and went to deliver them. On the way back home my oldest daughter said that sharing the cookies had been a great idea; it had made her feel good.

After I put the girls to bed, my daughter’s comment returned to my mind. I suddenly realized that these thoughts which popped into my mind were a bit unusual. I cornered my husband that night and asked that he tell me what was happening. He explained that the thoughts were just my way of getting the answers I had sought for so long. Each had shown me a way to help my sisters.

The more I thought about this, the more I realized that I had been limiting myself by expecting to receive a constant flow of revelation on behalf of my sisters. Sometimes, all a person needs is a friendly face when the day is dragging. None of us face major problems all the time, nor do we always need outside help in dealing with them. More important, I found that I could receive inspiration. But it would come according to the Lord’s will, not mine, and in the way he tailors for me. I felt as though a load had been lifted from my shoulders.

With my new understanding came renewed gratitude for the wisdom of my Heavenly Father. I knelt to thank him, and to ask for help in remaining worthy of his Spirit in the future.

  • Rhonda McNeil, mother of two, is an assistant data entry clerk in the Provo (Utah) Sixteenth Ward.