Martha, Rochelle, and Me

I want to tell you a story about Martha and Rochelle, and how they changed my life. 

Martha Proctor was the stake young women's president in the Columbia Missouri stake of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints back in the 1970s. I was never in her home. We only spoke a few times. 

Rochelle Roskelley was a girl I met my freshman year at Brigham Young University during the second semester. She was mature and gentle and kind, and a very good listener. We talked, we laughed, we colored together, and one April night, she shifted my paradigm.

When I headed to BYU in the fall of 1977, I was looking for a new beginning. All through high school, I felt awkward and out of place. I was too loud, I was too pushy, I was too immature … there were too many things that felt wrong about me, and I was looking forward to being in a new place where no one had preconceived notions about who I was. In other words, I was a normal 18 year old, but it didn’t feel normal to me. Everyone else seemed to have it all together, and I felt like a mess.

Instead of being an awkward kid, I wanted to be a refined and gracious woman. I wanted to be the kind of person who, when I walked into a room, people wanted to get to know. That was my ultimate goal, and I thought about it every single day. I had no clue where to start.

My freshman year was a lot of fun. I learned so much, and met tons of terrific people. I made new friends and did what I thought was a lot of growing up. I tried hard to listen more and chatterbox less. I tried to exude more confidence and less silliness. Of course, it was hard for me to measure my success at achieving my goal, but I made progress. Or, I thought I had until the last few weeks of the year. As the semester drew to a close, I made a few brand new friends; people who had been in my classes or in my church ward for some time, but who I had not previously connected with. In a single week, three of these newest friends said nearly the exact same words to me: “I’m so glad I got to know you, because when I first met you, I didn’t think I’d like you at all!”

I was devastated. My experiment had been an utter failure! I turned to Rochelle in abject gloom. How had I failed so completely? For the first time, I shared my foolish goal out loud with someone else. On a balmy April evening, we walked the streets of Provo for hours. She let me blather on, and listened carefully, and then she asked me some great questions.

First, she asked me if I had ever known anyone who had the traits I was aspiring to achieve. I thought for a long time, and Martha Proctor came to my mind. It wasn’t that I knew her so well. I had seen how she interacted with others, how she carried herself, and I had heard her speak and bear testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I remember clearly just sitting next to her in a church classroom, and the way I felt in that moment. Her grace and kindness, her refinement and presence seemed to exemplify everything I wished I could be, and everything I now seemed to have failed to achieve.

Rochelle asked what it was about Martha that stood out the most to me. I thought hard about that, and for once I didn't have a quick answer. It wasn’t her beauty or poise, or her wisdom or testimony, although each of those qualities was impressive in its own right. I realized that it had to do with how I felt when I was with her. I felt heard. I felt respected. I felt safe. I felt loved.  As I voiced these thoughts, Rochelle looked at me knowingly. A light went on in my head and my heart for the first time. It wasn’t about class or refinement. It was about love and trust. I realized that that is all any of it is ever about.

To make the rest of this long story short, I finally began to understand that I had had it all backwards, and that’s why I had failed – why others’ first impression of me was a negative one. What I should have been trying to become was the kind of person who walked into a room with the desire to get to know every other person there – to have the kind of heart that was open to everyone, with a genuine interest in their happiness rather than self-absorption. 

That long conversation on that walk through the streets of Provo, Utah on a spring evening  began a slow and sometimes painful transformation in my life as I worked to rearrange my priorities. I explored what it meant to lose myself in the service of others. My success there varied, but I did begin to see the value of others in a new way. 

This week, I attended Martha's funeral. She was 100 and a half years old at her passing! As her youngest son spoke, he reminded everyone there that each time one of us had felt Martha's love, or had been served by her, we could recognize that act or that feeling as a token of God's love for us, because her love for others was born of her love of God.

On my journey since the spring of 1978, I have come to understand in a very real way that the love of God is not a theoretical, abstract concept. It is as tangible as the Christ child who lay in a manger; the actual embodiment of that love, which is sometimes called the condescension of God. It is a love that is hands-on, practical, up-to-date, all encompassing, and never ending.

His love for us, or our love for Him - which is it, really? - displays itself daily in the love we offer one another – to family or to stranger. It is sweet beyond description, and once we have truly tasted it, we are forever changed. I am grateful for Martha's example, and for Rochelle's gentle guidance to help me understand that I could choose a different way of seeing other people - of seeing them not as objects or obstacles or opportunities, but as individuals with extraordinary value deserving of mindful consideration and love.