One of
the great things about my job as a piano teacher is I often get to
work with the same student for several years.
Some
students I have taught for more than 10 years, watching them launch
into adulthood with missions, marriages, and college.
Recently,
a former student (we’ll call him Jason), who I had taught from
the third grade until he graduated from high school, invited me to
attend the temple with him as he went for the first time in
preparation for accepting his mission call. I was thrilled.
My
husband graciously took care of the children while I disappeared for
a few hours on Saturday.
As I
sat down next to Jason’s mother (we’ll call her Susan) in
the chapel of the temple, waiting for our turn to attend a session,
she leaned over to me, thanked me for coming, and whispered, “You
know, it really does take a village.”
I
pondered her words throughout my visit to the temple that day. Jason
looked so handsome and pure. He was ready to accept his role as an
adult in the Kingdom of God.
In some
ways it was a miracle he was there that day. Between ADHD and type 1
diabetes, his life has not been easy.
I
thought about the day I called Susan when he was about 13 years old.
I told her he really wasn’t practicing at all, and was not
making any progress. I wondered if she felt she was wasting her money
and maybe piano was not really what he wanted to do. She shared
something that truly humbled me.
I knew
that Jason had been adopted as a baby, but I didn’t know that
the one promise his birth mother had asked for was that he be given
piano lessons.
Susan
was determined to honor that promise. She felt that as long as he was
enjoying coming to lessons, she didn’t care if he never learned
very much piano.
Over
the years she began to joke that piano lessons were the cheapest
therapy she’d ever found.
It is
true—Jason didn’t practice much. But, he did talk to me.
Things he didn’t want to tell his mother, things he was upset
about at school, things that scared him—he told me these things
because he knew he could trust me.
I
especially remember one day in the last year of his lessons. He came
in very upset. I tried to get him to play something we had been
working on. He clearly didn’t want to play anything. So I
waited patiently.
This is
key—waiting for a teen to start the talking. Too often we
adults want to hurry up, get to the point, stop talking so I can tell
you what you should do now, because I know everything, blah blah
blah.
He got
a little teary. He said his best friend had decided to become
sexually active with his girlfriend. His best friend had been raised
in the Church, and had always seemed to have a testimony. It was
somewhat devastating for Jason to see his friend make these choices.
It forced him to reevaluate his own beliefs as well as his friendship
with this other young man.
I
remember feeling so proud of Jason that day, because it was clear his
friend’s choices were serving to galvanize his own sense of
morality rather than undermine it. It was obvious that somewhere
along the line he had developed his own testimony, independent of
those he loves.
At the
end of the temple session that day I found myself standing next to
Jason’s aunt in the Celestial Room. I knew that she had never
had children of her own, but had dedicated all her mothering energy
to her niece and nephews, one of which was Jason.
It was
so clear to me that she and her husband loved Jason as though he was
their own.
Watching
the adults that love Jason surround and congratulate him in that holy
place, I couldn’t help but agree with Susan. It does take a
village.
For
Jason, it took a birth mother who loved him enough to place him in a
stable home; adoptive parents who took him without a moment’s
hesitation, although they didn’t know exactly what they were in
for; an aunt and uncle that served as a second set of parents;
grandparents, friends, and teachers (like me!) who accepted him as he
was.
As a
parent, I pray that my children and I find this kind of support in
our extended family, ward, and schools. And I choose to be that kind
of support when a child comes into my life through any avenue.
One of
my favorite stories from the Book of Mormon, since becoming a mother,
is that of the armies of Helaman. I love that these teenage boys saw
the right choice when it came to them because their mothers had
taught them the Gospel.
I think
all Mormon moms love that verse, “We do not doubt our mothers
knew it.” (Alma 56:48)
But,
their mommies were not marching to war with them. Who was? Helaman,
that’s who.
His
righteous leadership and respect for these young men, who were mostly
teenage boys, made all the difference. He saved their lives.
It is
unlikely that as a Primary leader, Sunday School teacher, aunt, or
neighbor that I will have the opportunity to save children from
violence. But, in each of those roles, perhaps I can do just a little
bit to save their souls.
Emily
Jorgensen received her bachelor's degree in piano performance from
Brigham Young University. She earned her master's degree in
elementary music education, also at BYU. She holds a Kodaly
certificate in choral education, as well as permanent certification
in piano from Music Teacher’s National Association.
She
has taught piano, solfege, and children’s music classes for 17
years in her own studio. She has also taught group piano classes at
BYU.
She
is an active adjudicator throughout the Wasatch Front and has served
in local, regional, and state positions Utah Music Teachers'
Association, as well as the Inspirations arts contest chair at
Freedom Academy.
She
gets a lot of her inspiration for her column by parenting her own
rambunctious four children, aged from “in diapers” to
“into Harry Potter.” She is still married to her high
school sweetheart and serves in her ward’s Primary.