"RELEASED" SOCIETY PRESIDENT

Over three and a half years ago, when our world screeched to a frantic stop with a worldwide pandemic, our friend Paul Dickamore called to ask if he could come visit. Visiting is in Paul’s nature normally, but these were not normal times. We welcomed him in, our faces covered with masks, and we sat with appropriate social distance. Thinking this was a friendly visit between a church leader (we was our Bishop) and his congregants, I was stopped short when he asked if I would be willing to accept what we know as a church “calling”, or divine assignment, to serve as the president of our church women’s organization known as Relief Society. I shook off the disbelief, though I could not for the life of me figure out why they would want such a flawed person filling that job, especially in such taxing times.

Years before, when another Bishop called me to be president of the Young Women’s organization, for our teenage girls, I immediately told him I had a problem with what was known at the time as the Personal Progress Program (I was not a fan of requiring girls to set goals on someone else’s goal list). That wise bishop responded with: “Can you love the girls?”

"Yes. Yes, that I can do." And I did.

So again, I answered yes. 

Looking back to that pandemic period, I suspect the Lord and his appointed leaders might have needed my bend to creativity. We had to figure out how to meet the needs of women on the varying spectrum of faith, who could not gather in person, many of whom were single or widowed, divided by social demographics on top of a pandemic. I spent that first year working through how to keep our spiritual and social ship afloat.  At the same time my husband, as Presiding Judge in the Second District of Utah Courts was trying to figure out how to keep the courts running virtually. I simmered soup and made bread, to take to sisters and families, in our kitchen while Dave held virtual court in his Judicial robes in the next room. What a strange and memorable (and frankly exhausting) time that was.

During my tenure as Relief Society President we handled twenty funerals, a few from Covid but mostly from the demons of cancer, falls, heart attacks and other typical doorways to death. I have sung at more funerals than I can count, and have served so many luncheons and dinners to grieving families that our normal bi-monthly Sunday family dinners for 25-30 people seem small.

Of course, none of this is done singly. That’s the most beautiful part. We work as a team, pulling each other up and over and through each joy and challenge set before us. I’ve had four incredible Counselors, at separate times, and a kind and capable Secretary. And Compassionate Service Leaders who are the hands of God in action. 

A few months after I began my service a young man from Houston came to live with us. Ariel has become like member of our family. Our grandkids call him Cunkle Ariel (Cousin-uncle). He lives with us still. He is not a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and was not familiar with out tenets. But he saw first-hand what was happening from the inside out. One day, standing at the kitchen island, we were talking politics and government.

“You know what America needs, to get this government in shape? They need a Relief Society President.”

We had a good laugh. 

He’s not too far off, though. We could use leaders who are conscious of the needs of the people. A system that weaves a thread between the broader leadership and the quietest citizen (Ministering). A process for uniting people in common causes (worship) and meaningful and purposeful work (service). These unifying activities create a byproduct of self-worth and willingness to be led by trustworthy leaders. We own our ability to sacrifice (the paying of tithes and offerings/ fasting / temple and missionary service) and acknowledge we are miraculously made larger when we purposefully make ourselves and our personal treasury smaller. 

Ariel may be right… America needs a Relief Society President.

During the holidays in December, our current Bishop called to visit. I knew it was coming. He was going to release me. And I was worried that it would devastate me. I knew it was past the typical time to let another fill that position. I absolutely love how our church has a lay ministry, and we all take turns filling jobs. I love how this requires us to be patient with and tolerant of each other. I love how it allows us to bend our pride and request guidance from the Lord and His angels. Stagnant water gets stale and full of slimy undrinkable guck. Living water, like the cold streams that flow down our mountains, is fresh and clear because it is moving and alive. I love that we are part of a living gospel, based on a few unchangeable truths, shifting over stones large and small in our journey back Home.

So a few weeks ago our Bishop stood at the pulpit and released me and my presidency, and immediately called four new and highly capable women to fill those spots.

Here’s the strange thing. I had thought I would be an emotional mess when I was released. I have loved with every ounce of me the women of our ward. I have shared their joys and wept with them in their sorrows. I have worried and prayed and struggled and rejoiced so much that I expected to fall apart when I was no longer needed. But I didn’t. 

I didn’t.

It's still puzzling to me that it is ok to no longer have this calling. I suppose it might be different if I were moving and lost touch with them. But frankly, I feel five years younger already! I have renewed enthusiasm for my writing and my music. I’m thrilled to define myself first as grandmother/mother/wife/sister/friend. I’m thinking of teaching guitar and ukulele again. I feel, ironically, kind of born again. Woot Woot!

I still love whom I loved, and can serve one on one those I feel personally beckoned to serve. 

My friend Lisa, the new RS Pres., told me that when they laid their hands on her head and set her apart, she imagined her shoulders growing wider as they spoke. I love that image. We don’t ask for the burdens to change, we just need our ability to carry them to increase.

I pray for Lisa. 

And I continue to pray for my Sisters in Christ. They may have changed my calling, but they did not take away my discipleship.

Not one week after my release I got another call from the Bishop’s Counselor.

“I know what you want, so just tell me one thing…” I said.

“Is this going to interfere with my anticipated January hibernation?”

“No, not at all! You’re going to love this new calling! It’s going to be easy!”

Then he called me to the Ward Activities Committee. He called Tasha, one of my counselors, to that committee as well. We went to church the next day and there was a big old poster on the wall of the lobby announcing the Ward Holiday Party on January 6^th. Tasha and I looked at each other and whispered… “So much for a January nap.”

Of course it was great preparing for, decorating for, cooking for, serving and cleaning up after the ward party. I’m serious, it was. But it wasn’t by any means a nap!

The last two days I have washed and folded 19 large tablecloths from that party. It takes drying them one at a time and folding them warm to keep them from wrinkling. As I handled each one of those large round tablecloths, I recalled the many funeral meals from which I carried those tablecloths home to launder. I recalled the various gatherings we were finally able to have, after the pandemic eased up and people hesitantly began to allow themselves to attend, followed by the laundering of those cloths. I recalled quarterly Ministering interviews coming around relentlessly, and laundering dishcloths and cleaning cloths from the homes of sisters we lost to death or struggle. There has been an awful lot of cleaning up to do. 

Today I met with Lisa for a few hours, trying to help her walk into this massive new responsibility. We have a unique ward, with responsibilities few other wards in our area would know about. A Relief Society president knows more than she wants to know, and far more than any single person except the Bishop and Elders Quorum President would know. It's a lot. And that doesn't include the grunt work that involves laundry. I handed off the freshly washed tablecloths, folded and stacked like reams of white paper. It felt like a symbolic exchange of a heavy handbook and set of scriptures from one RS president to another. They represent the word of the Lord in action.

I salute all who are serving, and who have served, and who will yet serve the women and families of our congregations. We are blessed by each other. I join all my sisters in the human race in recognizing that we are all givers and receivers. But I witness with my heart and hands that it is in the giving that we find our truest most lovable selves.

Onward, Christian soldiers!

My Counselors Tasha Evans and Cheryl Simmons
2021-2023

Counselors Amy Lopez in pink & Erin Ashby in stripes
2020-2021
Secretary Bonnie Smith in black
2020-2023

Welcoming the new RS Presidency at our
RS Christmas party Dec 2023

Late Pandemic gathering

The children's nativity we have done for 30 years became a drive-through event in 2020

Outdoor ward council during the pandemic
(Bishop Paul Dickamore and his counselors 
Scott Christensen and Steve Hone

Pandemic RS activity in my front yard.

Welcoming missionaries sent home during the pandemic

Required attire for all activities 2020-2022

An all too familiar scene in the last 3 years
20 funerals in our ward.

Figuring out the Ministering jigsaw.
My kitchen table was covered for two weeks with 150 names

I am grateful we get to touch once again!

 

DOUG ASAY - PRESENCE

Doug and Julie Asay

This past Spring, when our friend Kathy Oleson died unexpectedly, we gathered in celebration of her life. As a Relief Society we prepared and served a luncheon for her family and close friends after the funeral service. With a good crew of willing and capable people in the kitchen I went out to visit with some of the family while they were eating. My friends Doug and Julie Asay waved me over to their table. I sat and visited a few minutes, interfacing with Kathy’s kids and grandkids, as well as my old friends Doug and Julie. We were no longer in the same church congregation, so we had some catching up to do. While we visited, Kathy’s little grandkids got a little restless, understandably, following a viewing, service, and burial. Doug leaned over and reached into a bag at the side of his chair. Out came two red plastic Corvettes. The boys were soon entertaining themselves on the cultural hall floor.  

“Of course you just happened to have toy Vettes in your bag!” I laughed. 

“Yes, and we brought butterflies for the girls in case they aren't into cars.”

Doug was a giver of presents. First of all, he knew where to find the cool stuff… the stuff nobody else had. One day he showed up in our driveway with a pair of speakers for a sound system.

“Can you use these?” he asked, setting them in my garage. This was years ago. I still use them. 

Once he had a beautiful small acoustic bass that had been damaged.

“You want this?” 

“Sure!” (We are kindred spirits this way. If anyone needs anything… anything at all… one of us probably has it. And if we don’t have it, Doug knows where to get it.) We had it repaired and it now belongs to our composer grandson.

The problem for us now is that Doug took that storehouse of knowledge, good humor, secret haunts for special finds, and remarkable ability… he took all of that and skipped town this week. Left these earthly bonds. Found the perfect glassy reservoir of water and went waterskiing up to Heaven.

This was not too long ago.
 He could hardly walk, but by golly
 he was gonna get up on those skis!

A few weeks ago Doug and Julie came over to our house for a sweet afternoon of music and reminiscence. Dave and my sisters joined us. We laughed a lot and cried a bit. Doug was frail, and not long for this world. He sat in the recliner and talked the talk of a storyteller. Julie kept the stories straight as they veered off in Doug’s imagination. It touched me to see how she gracefully allowed him to be his own storyteller. She has surely been a blessing to him.

Snuggled down for an afternoon in our family room.

Doug’s been sick a long time, and he has outlived what most doctors told him would be his lifespan with the liver disease he was dealing with. He’s a tenacious fellow, determined and driven, and his resiliency has helped them hobble through some rough blows in their lives. Julie has been his steady, in every possible way. When they came she brought a gift of aromatic bath salts for each of us. I am reminded daily of our blessed time together.

Doug is not just a giver of presents. He is a giver of presence. 

Years ago, decades now, our family suffered a great unexpected loss. We had united in a vigil over our eighteen-year-old nephew, Clayton. He had experienced brain trauma in a motorcycle accident. We watched as his beautiful healthy skin healed, and his bruises dissipated. But his brain would not be able to heal from the swelling. We huddled in our grief and celebrated his life, slightly comforted by the lifesaving donation of most of his healthy young body to the transplant healing of other lives. Still, the grief was immense. The light from the doorway at the back of the chapel was blocked by a form just as the services began. There stood Doug, miles from his home, showing up. He knew my brother, Clayton’s dad, through business and had heard of his loss. So, he showed up. His presence still moves us to this day. Always will.

Doug would be the first to tell you of his flaws. And he would be the first to be the hands of Mercy in your own struggles. Libby and I both say if we had gone to the same high school we all would have been best buds. He’s that intriguing blend of faith and mischief. 

By the end the faith won. Even when he used his very last ounce of energy to spark a little mischief. It was love and trust that won in the end. Julie, with every ounce of her own energy and intelligence, let Doug be Doug right up to the moment he flew away. His daughter Melissa spent every morning helping him begin to navigate the day. He laughed till he had no more energy to laugh, sitting in our recliner that last afternoon, telling us about getting up before Melissa did one day and putting on her clothes instead of his own. It was a mistake of a brain being taxed, but he rode it for all it was worth. Doug, and his devoted family, had learned from life experience to roll with the punches and ride the wake of every splashy oversized cruiser that passed them by. No matter how often he ended up down in the water, he always got back up. This is the eternal legacy that ease and comfort will not create. And while what Doug wanted more than anything was to bestow presents on everyone he loved… and even those he may not have liked very much… what he gave, that is uniquely Doug, was his presence.

We could all take a lesson.

The Asay Clan

I have this image in my head of the pearly gates of heaven opening wide for a shiny rebuilt Corvette as it purrs on through. Doug throws his arm up and waves. And depending on where you stand, its either good-bye or hello. Either way, there’s gonna be some sort of memorable story to be told.

 

https://www.russonmortuary.com/obituaries/alan-asay

RICE PUDDING

If I find myself missing my mom, especially on a chilly autumn day when the windows get closed and the heater kicks on,

and the rice cooker has leftover rice from last night’s dinner,

and I happen to have fresh cream in the fridge (because it is the season for fresh peaches)..

Then all I have to do is whip up a batch of rice pudding,

nestle in an easy chair,

and conjure up the sound of her voice in the kitchen,

or on the phone,

or chatting with someone she loves…

Then I am home.

RICE PUDDING with COOKED RICE

1 1/2 c cooked white rice

1 c whole or 2% milk

1/4 t salt

1/2 c cream

1 egg, beaten

1/4 t cinnamon

a pinch of nutmeg

1/3 c sugar

1/3 c golden raisins (optional)

1/3 c raisins (optional)

1 t butter

1/2 t vanilla

Mix and set aside: beaten egg, cream, spices to be added later..

Put cooked rice. salt and milk in a pan and simmer about 10 minutes, stirring regularly, till it thickens.

Add sugar and stir.

Slowly stream-in egg and cream mix, stirring constantly till it's well combined. Stir till thick.

Stir in raisins, vanilla and butter.

Let cook at least 10 minutes.

WHERE'S THE TOOTH FAIRY WHEN YOU NEED HER?

“I only have one baby tooth left,” Joe announced as he bit into a slice of pizza. His seven-year-old sister, Gracie, sat next to him. I had just commented on the disappearing gap where her former baby tooth had been summarily dismissed by a newly emerging permanent tooth. “Wow, your new tooth is coming in nicely!”

Gracie offered a pizza-faced smile, poking the tip of her tongue through the shrinking space of her faded infancy. I smiled back, a full gap of my deterioration revealing itself to her.

What had started last year as an innocent root canal ended up with my tooth being pulled. The first implant failed. The second one happened last month, leaving my face with a lovely variegated patina that lasted nearly three weeks. 

I don’t generally consider myself vain. I’ve had to have decades of discussion with myself to come to peace with the face in the mirror. Nonetheless, the missing tooth in the front of my mouth bothers me. Its probably the result of spending three years working with women in the jail who had lost their teeth to meth use. I smile the crooked smile of my own childhood, when that spot in my mouth carried a baby tooth until I was 16 years-old and surgery and braces pulled the adult tooth to replace it from the roof of my mouth. That was a hard-earned tooth, and now it’s gone. But I have well trained lips that know how to smile a crooked smile in public places. 

I have resorted to fasting and prayer that this most recent implant will hold. I need to be free to laugh unrestrained. Seriously, we all need that grace. (Someday I will outgrow myself)
Take care of that tooth, Gracie! A missing tooth in the mouth of a child is charming. Not so much on an old lady. Alas, such is my fate. 
Trying to replace this missing tooth is costing me a pound of flesh and thousands of dollars. Do you think the tooth fairy would be willing to leave that much under my pillow? 

TWIRLING FOR LIZ

"Are we going to twirl for Liz today?"

Tessie asks this every Thursday after her ballet class. It was more common when she was in preschool and ballet was a little later in the day. This year she was in Kindergarten, so ballet was early, a bit too early for a 94 year-old to be up and ready for company. It was for Judy’s sake that we did not stop by every single Thursday, because Liz would fixate on the thought of Tess’ arms around her neck and it would confuse the routine. But we did arrange quite a few times, when Judy was able to take a break and make sure Liz could be ready. Judy, for the past many years, has been companion to her stepmother, doing what few understand unless you have lived with someone who is well past the date they finally got their senior discounts. Judy works from home in a room in the back of their mobile home, so most often when Tess bounced into their living room, there was only Liz. Tess would stand in front of Liz, smile for her, then when Liz said Go she would spin her little body in circles while her frothy ballet skirt lifted in a rippled circle around her waist. Liz always clapped and cheered. Then she’d throw her arms out and Tess would run into them, reaching her soft little girl arms up and locking them around the back of Liz’ neck. I have watched this routine with great delight, loving how sweet it is for Tess to learn how beautiful old people can be up close and personal.

Liz grew gracefully old. I can’t recall when it was she actually became old. She has always just been Liz. We met three decades ago when she moved into our area and joined our congregation at church. She was sharp and witty, a professional woman who had been widowed for years. 

Born and raised in Los Angeles, CA she had the class of a city girl with the faith of a woman of pioneer heritage. Her great uncle was Heber J Grant, a leader and apostle and eventually prophet and president of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints during the early settlement of Utah. Liz Grant fell in love and married Lee Wissler in LA. Lee was a widower whose daughter Judy was a teen at the time. Lee and Liz adopted two children, Glen and Libby. Then, far too early Lee died. For the decades I have known Liz she has mourned the loss of her Lee, not in a pitiful way, more like a wistful yearning. The last number of years, as her legs have caused he significant pain and those she has known and loved have moved on from this mortal state, Liz has longed to be able to just go find Lee; to return to the heavenly home her faith framed for her, and to be reunited with her beloved parents and siblings. It was not that she did not appreciate this life, or the people here who love and enjoy being with her. She had considerable social grace and always made us feel welcome, loved and important. My husband Dave has served as her Home Teacher and Ministering Brother for twenty years or more. My sister Libby and I have been Visiting Teachers and ministers to her for as long, though neither of us has had that official calling for a quite a while. I am, however, currently blessed to be her Relief Society President, which has facilitated a depth to our already sweet and intimate relationship. Years ago, Liz was our Relief Society President. Life is full of twirling circles.

Libby, Liz and I at the Bountiful Temple

Liz has always been a source for delight. If you ever felt a humbug coming on, or a case of winter blues, all you needed to do was go over and visit Lloyds Park #17. Liz and Judy are both the Queens of Christmas. Christmas went up immediately following Halloween. Some of it remains year-round, like joy refusing to be suppressed.  Then, right about when the light of Christmas starts to wane, Valentine’s Day comes hand in hand with Liz’s birthday. The delight of all of this shortens the dull of winter and soon the green pots lining the steps to the front door are blooming with flowers again.

Once Liz and I were talking about the power of familiar scents and she told me about a particular perfume her husband Lee used to love. I told her how I wear different perfumes the people I love often wear. When I am missing them, or want to feel the strength of their spirit, I spritz a little bit of the scent of them on my wrists. The perfume Lee used to buy Liz was called Joy. A fitting name, don’t you think? 

“Do you have any?” I asked. 

“No, goodness, it’s far too expensive.”

That next birthday we gave her a bottle of Joy. You would have thought we had paid off her mortgage! Sometimes I would lean down and kiss her cheek just to inhale the love she had for Lee.

A couple weeks ago Tess had her ballet recital. We had arranged, with permission, to have Dave and Libby pick up Liz and bring her to the dress rehearsal at Weber State College so she could see the finished product of Tessie’s lessons. I was playing and singing for the dancers. The whole recital would have been too much. Liz was 94 years old, and her legs were not working well. 

The morning of the recital Liz tried to get out of bed and fell, breaking her femur up by the hip. She had already been recovering from a previous fall. Lib and I rushed to the hospital to meet with Judy and their friend-who’s-like-a-sister, Chris. Judy said they had two choices, as per the doctor in the ER: one was terrible and the other awful. They opted for terrible, since awful involved not doing surgery and living in considerable pain, never leaving her bed for the rest of her life. They chose surgery, where a rod would be inserted through the upper leg. (Interestingly, three members of our Relief Society have had broken femurs in the last two months. What is it with femurs and the Somerset Ward?) There were pretty even odds that Liz might not make it through surgery. So instead of watching Tessa twirl with her ballet class Liz was in the operating room. She made it through surgery. 

Tess, Dave and I stopped at McKay Dee Hospital after rehearsal. when Liz was just an hour out of surgery. She was sitting up in her bed. When she saw Tess she threw up her arms and called out her name. Tessie twirled at the foot of her hospital bed in her yellow rain boots and little yellow “Singing in the Rain” costume. Liz clapped and cheered, nothing close to how one would imagine a person to be after they had been in such an involved surgery. Dave lifted Tess up to the side of her bed, then down she went, into Liz’s arms, her lips on her wrinkled cheek, her soft little girl arms tucked between her neck and her pillow. It was their last embrace.

Liz came home from that surgery and the rest of her body decided not to cooperate. Hospice helped ease the exit. My sister Libby and I spent the night two days ago so Judy could get some much-needed rest. It was a sacred time. Liz was not comfortable, and at times it was necessary to have two of us there. Eventually I went home and Libby nurtured her on her won until Judy, still with not enough rest, took over. Yesterday Judy’s daughter Tiffany flew in from Oregan to help stand guard. Last night Dave and Paul Dickamore laid their worthy hands atop Liz’s white hair and offered her comfort and assurance that she could go Home. When they left I sat at her bedside. A circle of women gathered around her: Tiffany, Chris and Judy and I. I played my guitar and sang for her, songs she knew and loved, including songs she had planned for years to have me sing at her funeral. I sang them with a pinch of heartache because I was leaving for a long-planned family trip back to our hometown near Pittsburgh PA. All of children and grandchildren, 20 of us. Knowing, after all these years of her wanting to die and not being able to, that when it finally happened I might be gone caused my heart to ache, so I sang us through the heartache. About five hours later Liz took the mighty leap into Heaven. 

I am sitting now in the seat of our van, the seats behind me filled with grandchildren, Dave at the wheel, somewhere in the middle of Nowhere, Wyoming. My computer sits on my lap and that pit in my stomach jabs as I click the keys. Liz and I are both going home I suppose. Back to where things are vaguely familiar but details are sketchy. My sister Libby carries the torch, along with my counselors and other church leaders, in helping Judy work through Liz’s going away party. 

Tess sits in the booster seat behind me. I have not yet told her about her Liz going back to Jesus. She left her mom this morning to ride across the country with us, and we thought the weight of such news would make her little girl heart too heavy right now. So, for a minute or two, we will let her think she will be able to go twirl for Liz in a few weeks when ballet starts up again. Truth is, Tess, we will get to twirl for our Liz, whether she is watching from her new place, or it is years from now and we are all in that place together. We will no doubt do whatver it takes to delight one another. Meanwhile Tessie, when you twirl for me, we will think of Liz.

Fare well, dear friend.

FEED THE 5000 PASTA SALAD

Got a crowd to feed? Here ya go.... I've made this for all sorts of gatherings, from showers to family picnics. I often scoop it onto Costco croissants, though I usually cut them in half to make them more manageable. It will store covered in the fridge for days. FEED THE 5000 PASTA SALAD   3 - 8 oz. pkgs. Medium or large shell pasta (cooked) 1/4 c. chopped green onion 1 small can water chestnuts, drained 6 c. cooked and cubed chicken breast 2 c. chopped celery 2 large cans crushed pineapple, drain juice and reserve in a separate bowl 2 c. diced red apples (soak apples in reserved pineapple juice for a few minutes, then drain - to help avoid browning) 2 c. red grapes, halved 1/2 c. cashews (optional. Add just before serving) salt and pepper to taste

Cook pasta in a large pot of boiling salted water until slightly tender. Drain water and cool pasta. Put in large mixing bowl and add remaining ingredients. Toss together then add dressing and mix well. Dressing:  2 c mayo 3T vinegar (or lemon juice)  3 T  sugar ½ t celery seed (optional)  Salt and pepper.  Mix well   Or 1 c. mayonnaise 1 - 8 oz. bottle of Kraft coleslaw dressing Mix together salad and dressing. Will keep a few days. After a day or so, add more dressing to moisten it up a bit. Add nuts only before serving or they will get soft.   Chill in refrigerator before serving. Serve either on leaf lettuce or on croissant as sandwiches.