When our young family moved from Texas to Southern Florida for Grad School several years ago, we did not have much time to scout out a place to live. In fact, my husband spent one weekend—alone—securing a condo we could afford in a safe area. The neighborhood was great, but our ward had a few challenges.
Our first Sunday at church, the bishop asked, “how long have you been baptized?”
“Since we were eight years old.”
“Oh, wow! This ward is REALLY going to put you to work!!!”
He wasn’t kidding. Soon, my husband was called to be Elder’s Quorum President, with only one counselor, while in school plus spending around 60 hours per week at the hospital, working for free. I was called to serve as Young Women President, which meant we were both expected to be at early meetings before church, along with our rambunctious, two-year-old son.
With the wide variety of cultural backgrounds and languages in our area, we soon adopted the nickname “Northern South America” to describe our new location. It reminded my husband of his mission in Ecuador, and I even got to brush up on my Spanish! Sundays were often challenging, and much time was spent on fundamentals: teaching basic things like how pray, bear testimonies, bless and pass the sacrament, teach lessons, pay tithing, attend church, etc. However, through the challenges, our own testimonies were stretched, and we became truly connected for the first time to our ward family. It felt as if we were making a difference in bringing people to Christ.
Three years later, just when we felt like one of the “regulars,” it all changed. We weren’t moving to our new dream home, but our area had a boundary realignment. Our neighborhood was shifted into a new ward. It hurt, stretching out of our ward comfort zone, especially when the move hadn’t been our decision. It was if we were picking up and starting again, without the new house. I wasn’t happy, at first, and there was some murmuring on my part.
“We hardly know anyone!”
“No one knows our needs!” (I’m fighting Stage IV cancer, which has a whole set of challenges along with it.)
“We basically have to start over, but we had no say in it.”
I then thought back on our time in Florida. I remembered when a local Spanish stake had been dissolved, placing a number of “new” members in our ward boundaries. Many of them were angry, choosing to quit attending church at all. At the time, I felt annoyed and thought to myself, “Why would they not come to church? What’s the big deal? We even have translators and Spanish classes just for them! I don’t get it; the church is the same wherever you go!”
But, we went.
That first Sunday of the big change, I put on a bright blue wig and a smile, choosing to stand out and not hide in the shadows. It was different, but also much the same. We meet in the same church building, learn the same lessons, and literally sing from the same hymnals. True, it’s taking time to make friends and meet new families, and I still feel like a visitor who can’t remember the majority of names in the room much of the time. Thankfully, there was no packing of boxes or moving trucks, and we are right in the same house. We have plenty of opportunities to spend time with old friends, but I have had the chance to reach out to others, those we might not have otherwise had a reason to get to know.
How thankful I am that the gospel of Christ doesn’t change, no matter what ward boundaries my family calls home.
