Seminary lessons learned by a teacher

Editor's note: With the upcoming 100-year celebration of the LDS Church's seminary program, Mormon Times is sharing experiences and blessings from those who participated in the program.

It was after I taught seminary for a year that I learned sometimes the greatest rewards in life come after the greatest struggles.

On the morning of Friday, April 17, 2009, my wife, Lisa, found me in our basement and asked if I had received the “big phone call” yet. “Any minute now,” I replied.

For the hundredth time, my wife and I reflected on all we had experienced over two years while I pursued a full-time seminary teaching position with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

I can only describe the process as extremely rigorous. The gauntlet of requirements involved taking classes and graduating from institute; obtaining a student-teacher position; preparing for and teaching classes five days a week; being evaluated by my teenager students; and being observed and critiqued by serious men in dark suits. I attempted to meet these requirements while working another full-time job and amid numerous sleepless nights.

Student teachers were warned in the beginning that there were no guarantees. Because so many sought this opportunity, each candidate was given one shot to go through the program and be hired. The reality was that only a small percentage would be offered a job.

The most stressful moments occurred when an administrator, sometimes more than one, would drop by unannounced just minutes before a class to evaluate my teaching performance. One day, three walked in and opened laptops along the back row. The trio watched my every move intently and typed notes for the next 45 minutes. After class I felt like I was on the seminary teacher version of "American Idol" as these judges analyzed every word of my lesson.

Ultimately, I listened to their suggestions, worked hard and did my best to improve. I had no regrets. I felt my chances of getting hired were realistically good.

Back in the basement, the phone finally rang and the news was not good. I wasn’t hired, and the disappointment was overwhelming. In the dreary days that followed, I pondered why I had felt prompted to move in this direction if it wasn’t meant to be. Was this how the men in Zion’s Camp felt after their long, grueling march to Missouri, only to turn around and walk home without a fight?

Then I had my “Rudy” moment.