My Kids

A dozen years ago, in my first trimester of pregnancy, when I had a realization while riding a bus that chilled me to the bone.

“I hate kids.”

The middle school students on the bus were acting like…middle-schoolers: loud, obnoxious, silly, self-absorbed. I touched my stomach and realized that the baby inside would, someday in the future, turn into one of those. (In fact, she’s one of those today).

I frantically called my sister and relayed my terrifying revelation. I have always loved babies—in fact, in an essay I wrote in sixth grade entitled “My Perfect Day,” I imagined a scene in which I flew on a private jet stocked with a dozen babies just to entertain me. (Yes, I realize now that this is not a fantasy, but a nightmare!) But I worried that once my adorable baby became a kid, I wouldn’t like it anymore.

“Don’t worry,” my sister reassured me. “I hate other people’s kids too. But you always love yours.”

My husband still occasionally teases me that I hate kids—but if that’s true, I voluntarily spend an absurd amount of time with them! Since 2016, I’ve worked with children aged 3-11 each week at church, either by teaching, playing the piano, or leading the music program. I organized a summer choir for middle schoolers. I coach Battle of the Books for grades 3-8, and I also coach an FFA competition team at PJMS. I still find some kids to be annoying, but not my kids, and my kids now include not only the five I bore, but also each one I’ve ever worked with.

Mary Lou Kownacki once said, “There isn’t anyone you couldn’t love once you’ve heard their story.” I’ve found this to be true—I actually can’t help falling in love with kids once I know them. Attention-seeking behavior gets translated into a desperate need to belong. Trying on a mean-girl persona is really just learning by doing how to relate to people and make friends. Lies can be a bid for connection.

“My” kids have taught me to love them and see them as our Father in Heaven does: as imperfect beings doing their best who need loving guidance, not condemnation for their faults. That’s how He sees us all.

But they have also taught me much more. A hug and a handmade card after singing time has reminded me to be loving and reach out to those the Lord puts on my heart and mind. A lesson that is a total flop has taught me to be better prepared and more prayerful.

And most importantly, their sincere and simple testimonies have helped me focus my own on what matters most: Jesus Christ and our earthly journey back to him.

A few months ago, I was teaching the children in my congregation the hymn “It is Well With My Soul.” I spent time explaining the meaning of the similes “peace like a river,” and “sorrow like sea billows,” asking the children to imagine a bubbling brook and a roiling ocean. A boy—I’ll call him Jason—who only attended church occasionally, raised his hand and asked, “What is a soul?”

Caught off guard, I tried to quickly explain the abstract existential concept with a simile about a hand in a glove, then returned to teaching the words of the hymn. Jason’s hand went up again.

“But why do we need a soul?”

I was dumbfounded. How could I even begin to answer this question, with just five minutes of instruction time left? I told him briefly that our souls lived with God before they were given bodies and will live with God after we die, and then I continued teaching the song. But the question has haunted me ever since.

What good is it to know the words to “It Is Well With My Soul,” if you don’t know what a soul is and why you need one? Should I have abandoned the song, picked up a piece of chalk, and taught about the more important tangent of who we are and why we are here? Perhaps.

Jason’s question made me realize that at times I get caught up in the less consequential: teaching “my” kids to memorize songs and scriptures, making sure they enjoy fun activities and bonding with them, when my ultimate task is to reiterate to them, and to myself, our eternal relationship with our Heavenly Father and that our ultimate goal is to return to him.

Jesus Christ said, in Matthew 18:3, “Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven” (KJV).

In other words, if you don’t stop prevaricating about what a wave looks and feels like long enough to consider what a soul is and why you need one, you’ve missed the point.

“My” kid, Jason, taught me that. I’m so grateful that I have his influence and the influence of many other precious children of God in my life. I aspire to follow King Benjamin’s invitation: to become more “like a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love,” (Mosiah 3:19).

Rachel Kenley Fry is a writer and stay-at-home mom of five. She loves volunteering her time with children and young adults throughout the Mat-Su Valley, who teach her, stretch her, and strengthen her testimony of Jesus Christ every day. She is a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.