Our New Ward

So, on Easter Sunday my husband and I attended our new ward for the first time. In our meeting with the bishop, he referred to it as a "Newlywed, Nearly Dead" ward, which in our findings was eerily accurate.

Rows and rows of white hair, interspersed with screaming babies and children running loose in the aisle ways. One dad in particular was keeping his son at bay by holding onto his overall straps. Four or five mothers and three fathers stood in the back of the church, comforting their babies. My husband couldn’t pay attention to save his life – so he kept whispering to me and fiddling with my hand. In front of us were our neighbors, whom we had only met once. Of course in our desperate attempts to make friends, we were excited when they began talking to us after sacrament.

Sunday school was actually intriguing, as I learned more about the inner workings of our new ward. It seems our ward is slightly dysfunctional, with rumor mills, inactive members/people who leave after sacrament, and a slight separation of “class.” I figure we will fit in just fine. The Sunday school teacher expressed dismay at the “rich” people who live in the nicer houses in the new subdivisions, and how the “good” people are the meek ones who live – where she does. I think she said this not realizing that half the ward lives in these “rich” suburbs. Her statement got chuckles from two women sitting in front of us, who undoubtedly are married to doctors, and live in these forsaken places.

I know why they call it “Relief Society.” What a better way to escape children and husbands than to talk about God and crop night. I sat down in a corner alone, hoping someone would sit by me. Someone younger than say, eighty. All the ladies sat together chatting front and center. A young, pretty, smiley mom introduced herself as the RS president. The two younger women from Sunday school entered and made a beeline for me. They were blonde, pretty, and held babies on their hips. As the meeting began, I looked around and noticed I was the only person in the room who isn’t a mom. The girls who were pregnant or holding babies sat on one side, and the older ladies on the other.

This week is going to be interesting. During the last two meetings, we were introduced as the “new” people, and were asked where we live. Without thinking, we blurted out our address. I expect they will be showing up around 7pm every night this week.