Free Association ... It's What's for Breakfast

Do you ever have times when you know that something good is about to happen?

One of the blessings of having my youngest at her sister’s for the summer is ample time to read, study, ponder, and pray. [She is a lovely human being, and I enjoy her company enormously. Let the record show that I will be delighted to have her home again tomorrow night. Nevertheless, I cannot deny that I am far busier when she is here, than when she is away, and it has been pleasant to be a Human Being for the past several weeks, and not exclusively a Human Doing.]

There are times when Heaven feels very near, when I am moved to tears by a passage of scripture, or moved to action by a carefully considered essay. For some time I have had the sense that my life is opening outward again, that I will be learning new things and having adventures and becoming more the woman my Heavenly Father has in mind and perhaps a wee bit less of the opinionated critter that I presently am.

I was sitting in sacrament meeting Sunday before last, when I learned of auditions for a vocal ensemble that performs inspirational music at sundry churches. I remarked quietly to my friend that if LittleBit were graduated and out of the nest, I would love to sing with them. I sing sporadically with my ward choir. Love to sing, love to practice, and am invariably confronted with a body that is screaming for sleep by the time our block of meetings is over and it’s time for choir practice. In the war of Mind over Mattress, Mind wins six days out of seven, and on the Sabbath, Mattress takes unholy revenge.

Against all logic and common sense, I took down the contact information for the choir. I came home and fired off an e-mail. And the response has been sitting in my inbox for over a week, mocking my hesitation. So this morning I got brave and filled it out and e-mailed it back before I could change my mind. If this is something I’m supposed to be doing at this time, then God will help me to keep all the shiny plates spinning.

The one consolation I have is that these are fellow Christians, and presumably if they don’t like what they hear, they will save their chortling until *after* I have left the building.

I was sitting in Sunday School two days ago, minding my own business and taking notes for a poem that ambushed me during a video clip on Elijah and the widow of Zarephath, when a member of the bishopric called me out of class. An aside to those of you who are members of another faith or a different sect of Christianity: we [the LDS] are a lay church. The bishop spends many hours a week in service to the congregation, above and beyond the time he spends at his job and with his family, for which he is paid exactly … nothing. All the effort that’s necessary to sustain and educate a congregation is done by inspiration and volunteer effort. So when a member of the bishopric calls you out into the hall during the meeting, unless you have done something truly heinous and spectacularly public — such as robbing a bank — and are being invited to repentance, then you are probably being called to serve. And my thought as I followed him down the hall to meet with a second member of the bishopric was “Oh dear Heaven, why do I have the feeling my life is about to get more complicated?”

We sat. We prayed. OK, *I* prayed, roughly along the lines of “Please help me to listen to the spirit and to be open to whatever new adventure Thou hast in mind for me”, which made them chuckle. [I knew I was not going to get the “Thou shalt not rob thy neighbor’s bank” lecture.]

Church etiquette precludes divulging my new calling before it is announced to the congregation and receives their sustaining vote, but suffice it to say that I am ever so relieved not to have been called to work in the nursery! [Yet again.] I substituted in nursery a few weeks ago, and they are utterly charming tiny people, but I am used to dealing with taller people, and I inadvertently clocked one of the little girls with a Little People house as I was turning to put it away in the toy closet. Much drama ensued, and she still gives me a wide berth when she sees me in the halls.

I am relieved when a new calling requires talents I already possess; no doubt I will acquire new ones as I serve. So I think that I have part of the answer to this sense of expansion that’s been hovering about me for the last little while. New calling at church, possibility of getting to sing on a regular basis at a time when I’m less likely to fall asleep mid-song, two new guys at the church singles’ dances who actually know how to *lead*. Huzzah! for the men possessing sufficient wit to dance around my perpetually bare feet and not on my toes.

Metaphorically, or otherwise.