Changes. Hard, but not always a bad thing.

A week ago, our LDS Stake made some major boundary changes, dividing our ward and creating two new wards in the process. One of the divisions runs between me and my BFFs, aka The Sisterwives. They all live on the same corner, so they`re together in the new ward, I`m out here by myself. I commented on my Facebook page, and later it occurred to me that my non-LDS friends probably have no idea what that means. 



An LDS Ward is the local unit - with geographical boundaries. How large an area it encompasses depends on the density of the LDS members. In Arizona, the ward I grew up in is only about a square mile. Here, our ward included the towns of Prunedale ( more a rural area than a town) Castroville, Moss Landing, Marina and part of the military community housing on Ft Ord. We had about 700 members on the books, with about 400 "active" members; people who come to meetings and activities regularly. Several wards together make up a Stake. Our Stake boundaries are essentially the Monterey County lines, we have 12 wards. When a member moves to a new area, they don`t "shop" for a ward, they attend the ward for that geographical area; lds.org has interactive maps to help figure out which ward they should attend. New members are welcomed into the "family" and instantly have a crowd of people who have their backs, even if they don`t know anyone`s name yet. 
A Bishop is called as the leader of a ward. His job is to oversee the physical and spiritual well-being of all of the members of his ward, whether they come to church or not. Of course, he has people called to help him, but with a large ward it is still a daunting task. As with all other "callings" in the LDS church, this is not a paid position. He still has a regular career and a family to take care of. He is usually called for a period of 5 years or so, then will be "released" and a new bishop called. 


I have lived in many wards in the church in Arizona, Utah and California. I have never lived in a "bad" ward, though people assure me they exist. Most of my wards were good wards: where people were freindly, helpful etc. Then, I`ve lived in a couple of great wards, where we were like a giant family, with a lot of love for each other. Our ward here was like that. We were very diverse: well-off and not, military and civilian, Korean, islander, middle-eastern, white and just about every other color. But, we all love each other and we had many great traditions, just as a family does. 

When we are baptised into the church, among other things we are charged to love one another, to "bear one another`s burdens that they may be light" and to "mourn with those that mourn and to comfort those that stand in need of comfort". Willingness to do this is what makes a ward great. Because you truly learn to love those whom you serve. It also means that this is not a Sunday-only church, throughout the week we are helping where we can to make sure that known needs are met. That doesn`t mean there are no problems, people are still human and imperfect, but overall there is a feeling of love and "we`re in this together". Like a family, we don`t pick our ward members, we learn to love them as they are.

As the LDS population in our area shifted around, partly due to old housing at Ord being razed and new areas built, we had wards in our stake that were tiny, and a couple that were the size of ours; very large. So to reduce the stress on the bishops and to allow them to lead and serve ward members more effectively, they redrew ward lines to balance the membership out better, and created two new wards. It`s really a good thing; we can serve and help one another more easily in smaller wards, fewer needs will slip through the cracks. 

Realistically, we all still live in the same houses, just as before. The Sisterwives and I still have kids in the same activities, and the only thing that will change for us that we will be worshipping on Sundays in different buildings. But, it feels like someone separated our family and that part takes a bit of mourning to get over. 

Teachers

When Meghan was about two years old, my parents came and spent a week with us.  Just before they came, I had bought Meg one of those wooden puzzles with the illustrated letters of the alphabet.  Meg loved it, and was pretty quick learning how to put it together.  When Mom came, she sat and played that several times with her, teaching her the names of all the letters.  I hadn't attempted that, I figured two was kind of young.  By the time Mom left, Meg knew all of her letters.  She was very excited about that knowledge and would point out all the letters in signs all over town and tell us what they were.

She knew,on some level, that letters had to do with reading. She would ask how to spell words from time to time and I could see the little wheels turning.  Sometimes, though, she would inform me that even though I spelled dog D-O-G, she spelled it her own way, which would be some random combination of letters.  She was very stubborn about it, "no, I do it my OWN way".  I told her that it was great that she had her own way, but if she wanted other people to know what she was writing, she had to spell her words in regular English.  For the same reason, I couldn't teach her to read.  She had to do it all her OWN way.  I wasn't in any great hurry, she was only four at the time.  But, it seemed so silly that a kid who knew her letters at two, couldn't grasp the reading thing.

She started kindergarten, with a wonderful teacher, Mrs McCabe.  She was impressed that Meghan knew all of her letters, and asked if I had tried to teach her to read yet.  I told her the story, and kind of just told her "good luck".  But, I had underestimated the power of "teacher worship".  Meg adored her teacher and anything she said was sacred and not to be disputed.  Fortunately for us, Mrs McCabe was awesome and there was nothing to dispute.  And Meg learned to read in less than a week.

We had similar experiences with piano lessons.  I tried for about a year and just didn't have the necessary patience for "I do my OWN way".  Then, I had my friend Lynette teach her for awhile. Lynette was someone who Meghan already loved, she was the mom of one of her best buddies. She did great with her and I was relieved to have someone else teaching her.  Then Lynette moved away.  Sad days.  About the same time, though, we met another sweet lady who taught piano, and she still takes from her now.  This patient, kind teacher has taught her much more than just piano, and I'm grateful to her.

Meg is now a teenager, and she attends seminary every morning.  She has a great teacher, whom she loves.  Many mornings she comes home, having learned some amazing thing that her dad and I have tried to teach her for years.  But, because Sister Sawyer said it, or more likely, found a way for them to discover it for themselves, Meg now "gets" it.  Seminary teachers deserve a special place in heaven.

So, you probably see a pattern here.  I certainly do.  And even though I home school Meghan now for a myriad of reasons, I still look for opportunities for her to be taught by someone else. She's much less stubborn with other people than with her parents, and I suppose that that's not all that uncommon.  But, it makes me grateful for people who are willing to be teachers, for the many school and church teachers that have helped us teach this stubborn soul.  She's a good kid, and being stubborn isn't always a bad thing, as long as she's being stubborn about the right things.

Tonight, she came home from her college class, telling me about how, when things go wrong, we shouldn't be a "victim" and try and blame it all on someone else.  We should take responsibility and get up and deal with it.  Pretty sure she's heard that from me her entire life.  Thank goodness a teacher finally said it, so now it's true.