I went over to Fort Worth yesterday morning and discovered that I had gotten there just in time for the Spanish Ward. I went back at 1:00 for my new ward’s meetings. Sigh...
I love my new ward. Already. It’s minuscule [that word really should be spelled miniscule; miniskirt, minivan, mini muffins; minuscule? what were they thinking?], which means that it should not take long to get names and faces matched up. And it’s friendly. I introduced myself to the woman who was handing out the sacrament meeting programs, and she asked where I would be living, and before the meeting started ten minutes later, she had brought over one of my new neighbors and sent another to find me.
The stake president was the bishop of the ward that we lived in when we stayed with friends, fifteen years ago. So I already love and respect and trust him. Today was ward conference in the new ward, which is why I got to chat briefly with the stake president after sacrament meeting and reintroduce myself.
But before that happened, and after the closing prayer, I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up into the blue, blue eyes of The Nice Brother, who was attending on stake business. And who seemed as pleased to find me there as I was to see him. I spent a good portion of Gospel Doctrine class beaming “ask me out, ask me out, ask me out” across the room while keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the teacher.
I didn’t think anything could be better than the dance last night. I was wrong.
OK, maybe not that giddy. But I could be persuaded. The giddiness distracted me, at least a little, from one of my purposes in attending. I’ve been collecting impressions over the last four or five months. And I’m trying to piece them into one coherent whole, but I think there are still a number of important pieces missing.
I am feeling flashes of inspiration rather more frequently than I’m accustomed to. I recognized The Nice Brother when I first set eyes on him earlier this year, from a very brief description that 2BDH had given me. I just knew him. I knew which male friend it was who had been the Good Sam to another sister in our dinner group. I think I know what my calling will be in the new ward; I think it was confirmed by something apparently random that one of my friends said when we were visiting teaching last month. My best friend was talking about a difficult calling she had had recently, and how hard it was to mentor a certain individual, and I knew who it was, without her giving a description or mentioning a name. I just wish I were better at getting impressions about my kids, but I think that I don’t because I am standing too close to the trees.
I wish I knew what this meant. Because ultimately the connection with Heaven is what supports my connection with any of my fellow mortals. And I don’t want to get distracted by something that might become pleasant and/or exciting and miss out on something that is subtle and more enduring. Nor do I want to miss on something that is appropriately pleasant and exciting because I am overly focused on the subtle.
In the meantime, I am grinning like the Cheshire Cat. And today I will be binding off the second Serpentine [small] and casting on with my purple Jojoland Cashmere for the Flared Lace Smoke Ring.
Laissez les bons temps roulez!
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!