So, when Ron and I finally bought our first house, where I went to church changed because of where the borders were drawn for each congregation, or ward as we call it. I was just barely starting to feel comfortable where we were going, and this was a bummer. But when I was discussing this change with a friend from that ward--Suzanne, was her name--she told me that sometimes change is for the better. I didn't believe her. But sure, I accepted that it was a possibility.
It's a long name, but I'm a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, which I truly do believe was restored by the Lord through Joseph Smith, and has all the priesthood authority and saving ordinances necessary to change our lives for better now, and to enable us to return to live with God in heaven. That's why I've kept going to buildings full of strangers even though it's been uncomfortable. Our congregations meet in units called wards, and for the last 7 or 8 years now, mine has been the Eastmont Ward.
I wish everyone had the chance to live in the Eastmont Ward at some point in their lives. I mean, it was awkward at first. It was slightly comforting to be greeted by a young, bald father when we came, since there was a young, bald father who'd been our friend in our previous ward. The bishop warmly welcomed us at a Christmas activity, and that was nice to be noticed and befriended so soon. For a while, I felt like I just kind of floated along without getting to know anyone well, but I was determined to get involved this time. As I sat next to people and talked to them, I got invited to activities and get-togethers, and I could barely tell the lifelong friends apart from the new move-ins like me. That was unusual.
The change of wards was actually for the better! Sorry, old wards, but Eastmont is simply my favorite. It is where I've found acceptance. It's where I was entrusted with things that were difficult, and was lovingly and patiently encouraged to keep trying. I was praised even when I thought I'd flunked the whole thing. Is it entirely peopled with saintly grandparents? No, but the more I've gotten to know people there, the more they feel like family, and like true saints: sinners who keep on trying. I was asked to teach children in Primary and play the organ for the whole congregation, things that I had barely any talent or ability for. These things forced me to work hard to keep up with and get better, which has brought me more satisfaction than if I'd just gotten to sit still and listen. Working hard in the gospel is a good thing.
When my husband stopped coming due to his changed beliefs, I had to decide if I was going to go alone and sit by myself or not. By divine inspiration, they gave me reasons to come (and to come on time!). This strengthened my faith when it might have shriveled up entirely. Any anxiety that I felt with an upcoming lesson for a chaotic class of 7 and 8 year-olds and/or playing the organ badly in front of everyone--and I did feel anxiety--was overcome by the desire I felt to serve the Lord and these good people I was getting to know. Not because I'm so unselfish, but because I was needed. I just sang pleading hymns in the car while I drove there to keep from breaking down from nervousness. It helped. And then I sang thankful hymns on the way back. Lots of singing in the car.
One time I played the organ so, so, SO badly that I went to the women's bathroom to cry about it instead of going to Primary to sit with my class. I think it was another Suzanne, the one who showed me how to play the organ, that inadvertently found me, and instead of agreeing that I'd done badly, she just said something like, "Oh, there you are! Come on, we need you."
And that's what it's been like with pretty much everyone! You show up and try your feeble best, and they love you for it. They seem to accept that everyone has made mistakes, and through Jesus Christ's Atonement, you are forgiven. They accept that everyone still makes mistakes, and everyone is in a growing and learning process. And it's not like everyone who lives in the borders of this ward is the same. We all have widely different circumstances, hobbies, favorite sports teams, and political preferences, but two things unite us: the mere location of our homes, and more importantly, our faith in Jesus Christ. That's why we all go. Not because we're a tight group of friends, or that we need to pretend that we're perfect. What I've experienced there is solidarity, sympathy, and encouragement. With that atmosphere, I've been able to grow, learn, and contribute.
I don't know why this ward is different. Many people have come and gone, some of whom I'd call the backbone of our ward, and the borders have been changed at least twice. I still feel like it's a place of faith, acceptance, and love. I feel that everyone there is needed, even someone as bad at helping people as I am (seriously, my piano skills are not the best). I feel like it's a place where people actually, actively live the gospel of Jesus Christ. Where they accept you as you are, but encourage you to grow, and help you along the way. I couldn't even begin to list the people that have helped me. That list grew astronomically when I had a baby and I needed someone to hold her while I played the organ. She did not like being held by other people, either, so that was especially kind of them. So many of them have moved away, or are in another ward now, and it's so sad. I do know that where they are now is so much the better for their presence. Their new wards and communities are downright fortunate to have them. And you guys had better appreciate them!
I still don't like change; it's scary and unfamiliar. It tears holes in our friendships and comforts. It can make our struggles--our needs--overwhelming. But I've learned that yes, sometimes it can be good, and even better than before. I've learned that our needs in life bring us closer to people we never would have gotten to know, and I wouldn't trade knowing them for any level of mundane comfort. The harder we try to serve and help others even while we are struggling has, oddly enough, made us stronger and better able to endure or overcome our struggles. The sweet overcomes the bitter somehow. Somehow. It's kind of a miracle. But then, we believe in Jesus Christ, who was born of a virgin, performed countless miracles in his life, and then rose from the dead. Our God is a God of Miracles, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised.
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