Yesterday we held our first in-person Relief Society meeting since the Covid 19 Pandemic shut down our church gatherings 14 months ago. Last Spring, when David began holding court in our home instead of the state courthouse where he sits as a District Court judge, I spent most days in the garage making a pile of sawdust with my pandemic project: wooden Sacrament sets. I estimate I drilled thousands of 1” holes into small plaques of wood, sanding and staining and lacquering and painting. Because the people of our religious faith could no longer meet to partake of the holy Sacrament each week, we were encouraged to perform this ordinance in our own homes. The first time David knelt in our family room and blessed the Sacrament we used paper cups and a salad plate. It’s a whole other story how our simple little wooden Sacrament sets came to be, but the process of making them became a divine diversion for me as I reeled from the effects of this pandemic.
One day, a year ago this month, our friend Paul came down the street for a visit. This was unusual, because, you know, we weren’t interacting with other humans very much at that point. Paul is Dave’s golf buddy, so I didn’t think much about the fact that he is also the bishop of our congregation. Bishop Paul had come to ask if I would be willing to serve as Relief Society president in our ward. Thus began my journey into intimate, creative service during a crazy historic period in the modern history of our world. It has taken deep diving into murky waters to figure out how to serve well when we cannot meet. I have left dinners on doorsteps more times than I can count, and held heart-to-hearts through text and over the phone. The word Zoom has taken on a whole new meaning. My first week as president we had a death in the ward. Instead of providing lunch for the grieving family, we made 80 boxed lunches. The birthday gifts we left on the porches of our church sisters consisted of a fabric mask and a bottle of sanitizer. What a ridiculously unprecedented year it’s been.
So yesterday we met in the Relief Society room at church. My counselors and I sanitized before the meeting, and my secretary Bonnie set up the computer technology so we could broadcast the lesson to sisters who could not attend.
I stood in the front to conduct the meeting, wishing all the women a blessed Mother’s Day, sharing a few announcements, and introducing our presidency (who had been serving for a year, mind you) and our new teacher. I told the sisters I had really no idea what I was doing, and I hoped they would tolerate as I learn. “The last time I was RS president was in the jail,” I told them. And that was perfect for me, because I was drastically limited in what I could do for and with my sisters. Really, I felt sort of like a fish flopping about on dry land.
Linda Bailey taught a great lesson on spiritual unity. It was super sweet to interact without raising our virtual Zoom hands. Nola Freeman told a story about her grandson at one point, and the image has been replaying in my head ever since. She said she and Dal sat on the sidelines of a soccer field with their grandson’s parents, cheering on their five-year-old boy. They watched as every kid on the field shifted to wherever the ball went, like those little metal shavings in the Wooly Willy magnetic board I used to play with as a child. At one point Nola’s grandson ran over to the sidelines in front of his grandparents, threw out his arms and yelled “I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I’M DOING!”
Don’t you just love that image? Seriously, if that’s not you these days, then you’re living in denial. Either that, or you’re not doing anything.
As I was sitting there enjoying Linda’s lesson, I remembered I forgot to get the closing prayer. I leaned over to my first counselor Erin, who totally gets me, and she nodded. Then Linda asked what time the meeting was supposed to end. “Uh,” I said, “I have no idea. I’ll text the bishop.” I forgot all sorts of stuff yesterday. And knowing myself, I’ll do the same next time.
Here’s the thing about deciding to participate whole-heartedly in a lay ministry. We are all hacks. We don’t go to four years of Divinity school. I figure the best way to deal with my slide down the learning curve is to run over to the sidelines, throw out my arms and proclaim: “I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I AM DOING.” Maybe they’ll give me the benefit of the doubt, get a good giggle, and realize the underlying force in all of it is love.
After church, I got the following message on my phone. It was from one of our sisters who lives in our ward now, but she was also one of my sisters in the jail when I served there. She and her husband were both serving time together. They have since both become clean and sober, have embraced their Lord and each other, and represent the beauty of what the Gospel of Truth can do for us mortals. She is candid about her life and openly shares her experience, which is a blessing to all of us. Her words to me were like Heavenly Mother was blowing me a kiss on Mother's Day.
