a Thor in the side

This ward is so weird.

Or I’m so weird.  Probably both, and in polar opposite directions.  I’m intense, serious, deeply conservative, intentional, and every other adjective that can just be translated as “too much.”  The ward is bored, boring, vascillatory, short-sighted, pacific, and every other adjective that means pedestrian.

During our seven years here, I’ve sometimes (read: often, or usually) come home from church irritated to an almost irrational degree — like moments away from the kind of crazy that scares everyone.  I’ve thrust open the door, marched myself upstairs to my bedroom, and had to just have an hour or two to either debrief every dumb comment made and express exactly why they were so wrong (and I clearly wasn’t) and wait for my blood pressure to go down a notch.

A few of the real keeper moments:
Savannah and Kelli helped me clean house with I was crazy pregnant with Abbie
People brought meals after she was born, and it was deeply fabulous and amazing.
Jenny and Jen have been the best humans and visiting teachers.  I did nothing to deserve them; they’ve just been a Godsend.

A few of the less amazing moments:
The time Amy The Organist lashed out at me in weird texts when she thought I had complained about her daughter.  I had been complaining — quite a bit — entirely about myself and my ineptitude.  She didn’t seem to believe me.  I ran out of give-a-cares; you can’t change people’s minds and I don’t really plan on trying.  She proceeded to be a little bit passive-aggressive.  It kept life interesting.
The time Amy the Organist (who is super lovable, despite this entry) bore her testimony to the ladies in Relief Society, but instead of it being about the saving power of Jesus Christ, it was about pharmaceutical drugs
That time the Bishop’s wife bore her testimony about learning to love her two year old grandson even though she was totally annoyed (at first?) to have him live with her
All the times I was the only human on without a mask.  And the number of people who died because I didn’t mask was zero.
Oh, the time that I bore my testimony about fasting during Sunday School and got called out by the teacher (a pharma rep by trade) as fake news.
Every other thing I said in church.  Ever.  And the way people responded like they literally had no clue how to handle me.  Like maybe I was an alien, or an atheist, or smoking in the building or something.

Anyway, I am so grateful for our home.  I could go on and on about how relieved I am to have a place where we can all fit and comfortably grow, where we can homeschool with relative ease, and where we can make so many happy memories.  But this ward is not my jam.  Every other ward I’ve been in since we got married 20+ years ago, I’ve been called as at least one type of adult teacher.  I’m really good at it, and it’s about the only thing I’m good at.

Not here.  Here I am just a thorn in the side of all the other humans.  (My autocorrect changed it to “a Thor” which would be pretty awesome, truly).   There is no easy answer to this problem.  Such is life.  I just sometimes like to reminisce about the callings I’ve had, and the time I was thanked after an RS or Gospel Doctrine lesson — even the times I got thank you notes — and think, “well, maybe I do still belong in this church, even if this ward doesn’t feel like home.”