Last Sunday we tried to teach the Sunbeams about the temple. Sister McCready was out of town, so we had all of them. There were only six, but when the three most rowdy ones don't speak English, it gets really difficult to actually say anything except "Stop it. Don't touch her. Sit down. Now."
These children were jumping off their chairs and then throwing them, then chasing each other around the room, all the while screaming at the top of their lungs. Let's just say the lesson was one of the least effective we've ever taught.
Finally, we bribed them with saltines to sit around me on the floor and tried to fit our whole lesson into this 30-second time span before they went crazy again. "Be reverent for one second and then you can have a cracker," and then, with haste, "The temple is a sacred place, where you wear white and get married and do service. Have a stinking cracker."
We ended up tired and frustrated. I wanted so badly to tell them what I love about the temple, but I didn't do it very effectively. So, if I had the chance again, I'd say a version of this that four-year-olds could understand:
I've said it a million times already, but the Church is so comforting when I'm far away from what I call my home. No matter where I go, it's the exact same, and always will be.
The Friday before our insane lesson, we drove up to the Baton Rouge temple to do an endowment session. It's a tiny temple, at least compared to what I'm used to, with only three sessions a day. It had been a couple of months since we'd last been, and I was reminded again what a precious gift temples can be to those who attend. Not because of their beauty, but because of the covenants and ordinances made and service done inside.
When I go in wanting to learn, I learn. And even though I still have many questions, maybe even concerns, about what is said and done in the temple, I still feel an overwhelming peace that comes from knowing that even if I don't understand, this is correct, this is truth.
This is a simple truth that I know.