Musings From the Basement

A little background:  I was quite happy in my family ward in Salt Lake.  They loved me, thought I was brilliant, gave me a calling teaching, and everything was going swimmingly...until I up and quit my job, moved all my stuff into storage, and started hanging out in Provo.  Still, this wouldn't be a problem--my bishop up there was quite happy to keep my records until I decided where I was going to land--except that my temple recommend expired on June 30, 2008.  So I needed a ward.  One where I would attend so that they would give me a new recommend.  At any rate, I am now attending a singles' ward, and it is not the nightmare I have imagined, although it is definitely not without its adventures.  And I'm gonna share a few with you now.  Here goes:

So I had met the executive secretary once or twice and we had had a conversation on at least one occasion, so I don't think I was out of line in assuming that he would remember my name.  I'm cute, I have an interesting name, I was sufficiently obnoxious, all things that bode well for being remembered.  Alas, this was not to be.  When I approached Roberto and asked him to put me on the bishop's list, he gave me a blank look and asked me who I was. "Dani Johnson?  We've spoken before." I said  "Oh, right.  Dani.  See, the problem is, we haven't flirted before.  I don't remember anyone's name until we flirt at least twice. One more time and I'll for sure remember."  First of all, who talks like that??  Secondly, doesn't the flirting with the guys make them feel a little uncomfortable?  

Tuesday night rolled around and I show up to my appointment right on time.  8:30.  And they were running late.  WHile I was waiting, who was there to keep me company but Roberto.  I said a quick hi and found an Ensign to bury my nose in hoping to curtail any further awkward conversations.  Roberto peeked his head around the corner and said, "So, are you donating blood tonight?" (There was a stake blood drive going on in the building). "No", I said, "I've been in weird countries this year and they won't take my blood."  To which Roberto replied, "Sure, that's the reason.  It's probably that one thing you did that one time that you don't tell anyone about."

I sat there for a minute trying to make what had just been implied match my physical surroundings.  I was sitting outside of the bishop's office waiting for a temple recommend interview, and I could think of only two things that I could do that would make my blood unacceptable.  And both of them are pretty serious transgressions.  Did he not see it?  Was he trying to be funny? Should I continue to give him the benefit of the doubt?  Is this silence as awkward for him as it is for me?  All I can say is that I hope that this conversation didn't count as 'flirting', because I don't think I want Roberto to remember my name.

The bishop is a great guy.  He's genuinely concerned about marrying off everyone in his ward, so the discussion we had during the recommend interview shouldn't have surprised me.  He actually asked me to spend the next couple of weeks putting together a 'top ten' list of people in the ward that I would like to date, and then he would take a look at it and let me know if they were good guys.  No joke.  He also told me the following: 1) assume all guys are creeps until they prove otherwise 2)that he worries about half the guys because they had maybe one semester of college and couldn't support a family, and 3) that I had a pretty good chance of being 'successful' in this ward because I was fairly physically fit and attractive.  Whew!  That's a relief.  The good news is that I passed the temple recommend interview.

High council Sundays are never my favorite, and if I am completely honest, I didn't go to church with the right spirit.  But for some odd reason, anything that I thought would annoy me about going back to a singles' ward happened today.  A brief summary:

12:55.  I sit next to my friend Mel (who swears his name is Melissa but he goes by Mel because Melissa just doesn't suit him.) so far, so good.

1:00.  I look around and realize that I have made the horrible mistake of sitting right in the line of sight of a guy who has been staring at me for the last four weeks.  He's creepy and it makes me nervous. Oh that I were ugly and not physically fit...

1:15.  The high councilor gets up and starts to speak.  He starts with a joke about retirement and I can feel that it is going to be a very very long talk.  After all, he's retired.  He has nowhere else to be.

1:25.  The high councilor is still speaking.  He kicks into his "I'm-speaking-to-young-people-with-no-experience" mode and begins telling the women that they need to let the guys know if they're interested, and that we need to be careful with our money because someday we may need to pay a mortgage.  Yeah.  I have three mortgages.  Do you want one?  (Please?  How about the one in Michigan?)

1:32   Still talking.  I start bouncing my foot and immediately think of Dallan Flake because he can't sit still through church either.  Mel asks me if I'm nervous about something and I give him a dirty look because I'm getting ornerier by the minute.  And yes, I am nervous about something.  The creepy guy won't stop staring.

1:45.  Still talking.  The bishop on the stand must have been distracted by my fidgeting because he looks my way and shoots me a smile.

1:50.  He finally stops.  I just about start applauding, but another speaker gets up and tries to compact all of his talk into the remaining time.  Luckily he's a geology professor and is used to being boring and ignored and the time seems to go fairly quickly from there.

2:24.  I'm sitting in Relief Society listening to a lesson given by a girl who is an archaeologist by profession.  How cool is that?  Binders are going around with new visiting teaching routes in them and I'm excited because they promised me a route. I finally get the binder and look up my name and find that I am in a three-some.  Ok, that's cool.  Then I look at who we visit teach.  There are three girls and a guy's name.  Ok, that's odd.  Probably a typo.  So I start looking at other lists, and there is at least one guy in all of the groups.  I am completely kerflummoxed.  I lean over to the girl sitting to my right and ask her what the deal is. "Well," she tells me, "There are twice as many girls in this ward as guys.  And about a year ago there were too many for the priesthood to home teach so instead, you just get together with your group once a month." I am not kidding.  They basically took the responsibility of home teaching off of the priesthood.  

But that isn't what bothered me the most.  During my stint as RSP, one of the many things I gained a very strong testimony of was visiting teaching.  In a group like this how could you possibly ever get to know someone well enough to figure out if they needed help?  And a guy?  Seriously?  Want to guess who the guy in my group happened to be?  You got it.  The creepy staring guy.

2:59.  I'm sitting in Sunday School waiting for the lesson to start and I'm sitting by my other friend Mel, who is a girl, and who has red hair.  This random girl I have never met comes and sits in the row in front of us and turns around with a piece of paper and a pen, looking all official.  "Are you guys red heads?" Uh, yeah. "Do you sometimes wear it straight?  Like two weeks ago?" Uh, yeah.  "Is your name and picture in the ward directory?" No, I'm new.  "Great, can I get your name and phone number?"  Why? "Well, two weeks ago, my friend Seth was here and he saw a red head with straight red hair and he wanted her number but he didn't get it so he asked me if I would track her down and get it for him." No, I am not giving my information to a random girl who is then going to give it to a random guy.  Are you kidding me??? 

Is this really what I signed up for? 

Eight Years Ago	Now
Lived in Provo, Utah Lived in my parents’ basement Spent lots of time at BYU in the Mechanical engineering department as a grad student Made as much money as a kid with a good paper route Spent lots of time hiking around the mountains Drove a six year old car with the check engine light on Felt hopeful of the future	Live in Provo, Utah Live in my parents’ basement Spend lots of time at BYU in the Mechanical engineering department as a faculty member Make as much money as a kid with a good paper route. Spend quite a bit of time hiking around the mountains Drive a six year old car with the check engine light on Finally feel hopeful of the future again.

 Returning to most of these I have done with a little grimace on my face.  But the last one—the hope—I wouldn’t trade for anything.  Hope is a strange thing.  It changes everything—it keeps you looking forward.  It saves you from being too focused on the present.  It’s what savings accounts and IRA’s and even the stock market exploit.  It’s why there are so many online dating websites (not that I would know personally, but I have HEARD), and it’s what ultimately keeps us sane.

I stopped by my friend Steve’s house the other day.  I hadn’t seen him for about six months and I like to keep my eye on him.  He’s got this great house in a rural part of Mapleton (as if it isn’t all rural) that he started building about eight years ago and has just about finished.  Everything in it is exactly how he wants it, of the highest quality, and beautiful.

Three years ago, when I was still living in Michigan, I remember visiting the house.  I hadn’t been there in a few years and I was interested to see the almost-finished product.  Steve took me on a tour.  He showed me the five bedrooms and the finished mother-in-law apartment in the basement.  He showed me the loft, complete with bookcases that looked over into the family room where his future children would play.  He showed me the office, which had been fitted with 5 study areas, each complete with its own electrical outlet and drawer bank, where his future kids would do their homework.  He showed me the piano that his future wife would teach their kids to play.  And finally, he showed me the quilting frames in the attic that he had built for his future wife.

I was astounded.  And a little bit angry.  How could he plan the rest of his life when he had no idea what it would look like?  Buying real estate for an investment was one thing.  Planning to the level that he planned was outrageous.  What if he only had three kids?  What if one of them was intent on playing the tuba instead of the piano?  What if his wife had no interest whatsoever in quilting?  How was he ever going to find people who fit neatly into the house that he had built?  I remember arguing with him and I remember that the conversation led to long months where we did not speak.

But the visit I made on Tuesday was different.  The piano is still in the front room and Steve still doesn’t play it.  None of the built-ins that belong to future children have changed at all—in fact, I think some have been added since my last visit. I'm sure the quilting frames are still in the attic. The difference about this visit, I think, was me.

The way Steve has lived his life and the house that he had built suddenly made sense.  I don’t think Steve is set on having five kids and I don’t think he really cares if his wife quilts.  What he was building wasn’t a blueprint for the only future he was willing to accept. What he was building was a physical manifestation of his hope.  Nothing else.  He hopes to be married and have a family.  He thinks about it and plans for it and it keeps him moving forward and looking forward.

It was an eye opener for me.  What do I have in my life that represents how I hope my future turns out?  And do I have enough faith to have a constant reminder of that hope in my life?  I don’t know.

But I do know this:  despite that my mentors think quitting my career just as I was making a name for myself was a stupid move, that in the past six months I have turned down a couple of pretty lucrative jobs and grad school, and that I still do not have a solid plan for how I am going to pay the bills after about October, I wouldn’t trade it.  Because those six months helped me to find my misplaced hope—my belief that there is something greater out there for me than fame and fortune.  The time I took has let me see that what I hope for isn’t achievable by working 80-hour weeks and traveling the world.  What I hope for takes me and God together.  How would I have ever learned that otherwise?