Sunday was kind of a crazy day. The kids had stayed up somewhat later than they were used to (we didn't get back to the campground until around 11:30 PM) and had gone to bed sniffling about having been condemned to die a fiery death in hell...over a loudspeaker. Then we had to wake up and get ready for church a few hours earlier than we were used to (the ward here meets at 9:00 AM while our home ward meets at 10:50 AM).
The church was packed. The chapel was filled and they had chairs set up in the chapel overflow, the cultural hall, the second cultural hall, and the stage in the very back. Andrew heard they set up 1200 chairs in the expanded chapel.
The meeting was also piped into the Relief Society room and the primary room.
It was fun to meet for a regular sacrament meeting with such a big congregation. Usually when we meet in numbers that large it's for a more unusual meeting like stake conference.
Benjamin continued his wild antics from the night before. Andrew and I took turns carrying him out. He's usually not too loud vocally but we were sitting on metal folding chairs and, boy, are those things ever fun to pound on! And then it's so terribly disappointing when your parents interrupt your pounding that your only choice is to howl about it. *sigh*
We were in and out a lot.
Even Miriam acted up. The first fit was over paper.
"Did you bring the church bag?" she wanted to know.
"I didn't," I said.
"But did you at least bring crayons?" she asked.
"I did," I assured her.
"But did you bring your folder of paper?" she asked, referring to the dog-eared folder full of scrap paper that I keep in the church bag.
"I didn't," I said. "But I brought your notebook."
"But I always feel bored when I colour in that notebook!" she whined. "I need the regular folder of paper we use every Sunday!"
It was a ridiculous fit, but not enough to warrant carrying her out of the room screaming. I can't even remember why Andrew had to do that, but he wasn't very pleased about it. He simply carried her out to the hall, set her on her feet, and sternly said, "Miriam—I haven't had to take you out of sacrament meeting in years! So stop crying and get back in there."
They were gone for perhaps thirty seconds and Miriam came back in willing to find a more rational solution to whatever problem she'd encountered.
To add insult to injury, Andrew was battling a case of food poisoning. Because of this, and because of the torrential downpour, we decided to stay for the full three-hours of church (even though the church was opening the historical sites at 10:30). The mission president and his wife spoke in church and encouraged everyone to stay, but few did in comparison to the number that showed up for sacrament meeting.
Miriam marched right up to her class, determined to make new friends. Rachel stood in the back of the primary room clinging to my waist and crying until a couple of other girls her age showed up. We didn't even try to drop Benjamin off at nursery because he has a hard time going to nursery in our regular ward.
It was nice to get to sit through Sunday School and Relief Society for once, though I was battling Benjamin so I'm not sure how much attention I was able to pay. I'm not sure I would have been able to pay attention, anyway. They didn't sing one wiggle song! I've been in primary far too long to be expected to sit through three hours of church without a single wiggle song.
"But this is how it's going to be, I guess," I thought to myself.
I've known for a while that our primary presidency was going to be released and I've been quite surprised by all the feelings this news dredged up. I have never been released from a calling before. Well, I suppose I have been released before, but this time was different. In years past moving has been my main method of getting released.
I move into a ward. I get a calling. I move out of the ward.
More specifically, I move into a ward, I get called as primary secretary I move out of that ward and into a new ward where I get called as primary secretary again. Repeat ad nauseum for the past eight years (though two of those years I was a primary teacher and not the secretary (though I joke that I should have been the secretary in that ward—they just wouldn't call me because I was "temporary" and they needed "stability" in their leadership—because they went through something like seven secretaries in the two years we lived there).
Primary is all I've ever known. I was a primary worker before Andrew and I got married, too, so it's been about ten years that I've spent back in primary. Besides, it felt a little bit like being fired. Or something. (But not quite that extreme).
"So, who's in the new presidency?" I texted my friend Marian, the now former primary president of our ward, when I knew church was over for her.
She texted me back to tell me and then said, "And you were sustained as a primary worker today! You just can't get away, can you?"
"I was sustained as a primary worker?" I texted back.
"Did you not know about that?" she asked.
"I knew nothing about that until right now," I said.
It did come as a surprise. Last I heard I was going to be released and then I'd get to "spend a few weeks kicking back until [they] found something new for me to do." So much for that.
"If I have to go back to primary, I hope I'm Sister Wood's co-teacher," I said to Andrew, knowing that position was open since her co-teacher had been put in as a member of the new presidency. I had my suspicions about this because Sister Wood had called me to say she'd be out of town this week, but that her co-teacher would be there, though she wasn't sure if she'd be available to teach or not and Sister Wood wasn't sure why (though I immediately realized why because I knew a new presidency was being put together and she didn't).
As soon as I said those words Sister Wood called.
"I hear you're going to be my new co-teacher!" she said. "I'm so excited!"
So am I. I love Sister Wood. She's been Miriam's teacher the past two years (which means I'll get to teach Miriam, too).
Sister Wood knew before me because her daughter-in-law had asked who the new co-teacher was going to be because her son Lincoln is also in that class and was very concerned about getting a new teacher.
Anyway, it was a bit of a whirlwind of a day. And I haven't even talked about what we did after church. That's next...
I'm kind of relieved to be back in primary. The new primary president told Marian that she had been in primary for 17 years before she got put into another organization, so if I'm following in her footsteps I have about seven more years of service in primary before I try something new—only to go back to primary, obviously.
The church was packed. The chapel was filled and they had chairs set up in the chapel overflow, the cultural hall, the second cultural hall, and the stage in the very back. Andrew heard they set up 1200 chairs in the expanded chapel.
The meeting was also piped into the Relief Society room and the primary room.
It was fun to meet for a regular sacrament meeting with such a big congregation. Usually when we meet in numbers that large it's for a more unusual meeting like stake conference.
Benjamin continued his wild antics from the night before. Andrew and I took turns carrying him out. He's usually not too loud vocally but we were sitting on metal folding chairs and, boy, are those things ever fun to pound on! And then it's so terribly disappointing when your parents interrupt your pounding that your only choice is to howl about it. *sigh*
We were in and out a lot.
Even Miriam acted up. The first fit was over paper.
"Did you bring the church bag?" she wanted to know.
"I didn't," I said.
"But did you at least bring crayons?" she asked.
"I did," I assured her.
"But did you bring your folder of paper?" she asked, referring to the dog-eared folder full of scrap paper that I keep in the church bag.
"I didn't," I said. "But I brought your notebook."
"But I always feel bored when I colour in that notebook!" she whined. "I need the regular folder of paper we use every Sunday!"
It was a ridiculous fit, but not enough to warrant carrying her out of the room screaming. I can't even remember why Andrew had to do that, but he wasn't very pleased about it. He simply carried her out to the hall, set her on her feet, and sternly said, "Miriam—I haven't had to take you out of sacrament meeting in years! So stop crying and get back in there."
They were gone for perhaps thirty seconds and Miriam came back in willing to find a more rational solution to whatever problem she'd encountered.
To add insult to injury, Andrew was battling a case of food poisoning. Because of this, and because of the torrential downpour, we decided to stay for the full three-hours of church (even though the church was opening the historical sites at 10:30). The mission president and his wife spoke in church and encouraged everyone to stay, but few did in comparison to the number that showed up for sacrament meeting.
Miriam marched right up to her class, determined to make new friends. Rachel stood in the back of the primary room clinging to my waist and crying until a couple of other girls her age showed up. We didn't even try to drop Benjamin off at nursery because he has a hard time going to nursery in our regular ward.
It was nice to get to sit through Sunday School and Relief Society for once, though I was battling Benjamin so I'm not sure how much attention I was able to pay. I'm not sure I would have been able to pay attention, anyway. They didn't sing one wiggle song! I've been in primary far too long to be expected to sit through three hours of church without a single wiggle song.
"But this is how it's going to be, I guess," I thought to myself.
I've known for a while that our primary presidency was going to be released and I've been quite surprised by all the feelings this news dredged up. I have never been released from a calling before. Well, I suppose I have been released before, but this time was different. In years past moving has been my main method of getting released.
I move into a ward. I get a calling. I move out of the ward.
More specifically, I move into a ward, I get called as primary secretary I move out of that ward and into a new ward where I get called as primary secretary again. Repeat ad nauseum for the past eight years (though two of those years I was a primary teacher and not the secretary (though I joke that I should have been the secretary in that ward—they just wouldn't call me because I was "temporary" and they needed "stability" in their leadership—because they went through something like seven secretaries in the two years we lived there).
Primary is all I've ever known. I was a primary worker before Andrew and I got married, too, so it's been about ten years that I've spent back in primary. Besides, it felt a little bit like being fired. Or something. (But not quite that extreme).
"So, who's in the new presidency?" I texted my friend Marian, the now former primary president of our ward, when I knew church was over for her.
She texted me back to tell me and then said, "And you were sustained as a primary worker today! You just can't get away, can you?"
"I was sustained as a primary worker?" I texted back.
"Did you not know about that?" she asked.
"I knew nothing about that until right now," I said.
It did come as a surprise. Last I heard I was going to be released and then I'd get to "spend a few weeks kicking back until [they] found something new for me to do." So much for that.
"If I have to go back to primary, I hope I'm Sister Wood's co-teacher," I said to Andrew, knowing that position was open since her co-teacher had been put in as a member of the new presidency. I had my suspicions about this because Sister Wood had called me to say she'd be out of town this week, but that her co-teacher would be there, though she wasn't sure if she'd be available to teach or not and Sister Wood wasn't sure why (though I immediately realized why because I knew a new presidency was being put together and she didn't).
As soon as I said those words Sister Wood called.
"I hear you're going to be my new co-teacher!" she said. "I'm so excited!"
So am I. I love Sister Wood. She's been Miriam's teacher the past two years (which means I'll get to teach Miriam, too).
Sister Wood knew before me because her daughter-in-law had asked who the new co-teacher was going to be because her son Lincoln is also in that class and was very concerned about getting a new teacher.
Anyway, it was a bit of a whirlwind of a day. And I haven't even talked about what we did after church. That's next...
I'm kind of relieved to be back in primary. The new primary president told Marian that she had been in primary for 17 years before she got put into another organization, so if I'm following in her footsteps I have about seven more years of service in primary before I try something new—only to go back to primary, obviously.
Oh, primary is the best place to be for sure. For me, I have been in Primary most of my life. Graduated from Primary at age 11, and began babysitting for Primary. (We did not call it nursery; it was babysitting.) Then a Primary teacher at age 13. Brief hiatuses (hiati?) while at BYU where there was no primary. Summer primary, though. Then primary, primary, primary. For me it has usually been counselor, chorister or pianist, with brief spells of being a teacher. I love primary! So I am happy for you! I love wiggle songs! This Sunday, I told the kids who were being balky about getting up for a wiggle song that our culture SITS TOO MUCH. (Because I know all about how they don't have PE very much at school!) Our bodies were made to MOVE. Love me some wiggle songs.
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