I wandered from room to room in the dark chapel. The decorations were taken down, the chairs stacked, and trash emptied. The building was returned to it’s serene state of readiness, prepared for the congregations of worshipers that would come the next morning. The evening had been a success. The food had all been cooked and served and there was enough of it. Over 100 people came indicating that over half our YSA ward had attended. They almost all had dates (set up by my committee) and had danced with them and eaten with them. I even had one, a girl I liked but kept abandoning as I slipped off to check on one thing or another. The audio adapters I had rented worked, at least when a music tech major plugged the cables in the right sockets. The photographer showed up and did fantastic work. There were many smiles. Months of planning culminating in the activity of the year and now I was alone locking up the empty building.
Every time a ward activity ended I was left in the same exhausted slump. A sort of melancholy would descend on me and I would want to sit by myself and stare at nothing in particular. I would review in my mind each aspect of the event noting strengths and weaknesses. Could I do better? How can I make it work better next time? How can I include more people? How could I allow for the purposes of socialization and yet build testimony at the same time? How could I use ward activities to prepare us for the uncertain future?
I was put in charge of ward activities after gaining a reputation for organizing hiking and camping excursions. I was absolutely terrified. I’m pretty solidly on the introversion side and only organized people into activities if I had a high level of confidence about the possible outcomes. But they called me anyway. So I did the best I could. I drew myself some guidelines. One major activity a month. Minor activities were allowed once or twice a month as interest dictated. (I didn’t want to interfere with other groups within our ward structure that also organized events.) Every activity had to have a purpose as directed by the church handbook. I needed to use each activity to reach out to a different person or group of people in the ward (I hated it when ward activities became the social arm of only a few members of the ward). I realized that I would likely only have the calling for a year so I didn’t have time to practice. I couldn’t have any ¨practice¨ runs. I needed to stay in a narrow budget. Yeah…I worried a lot.
But there is a reason. I was promised that all callings are given by inspiration by those who are called of God and my performance of them would have celestial significance to the people I served, regardless of how important I thought the calling might be. So when the quiet, socially ambivalent kid in apt 209 was called to be the ward party thrower I took it seriously.
Maybe that is why after ward activities I would find myself sitting outside a darkened building feeling tired, a bit depressed, and wondering if I was good enough. Had I made a difference? Did I encourage anyone to repent? Was I promoting the unity of the saints necessary for Zion? Did I build intelligence, awareness, understanding, and courage to do the right thing? I often had people thank me for my work. “Great party Riley!” or “Thanks for putting that together!” but does that equal celestial significance? Was it enough?
Well. Yeah. Otherwise I wouldn’t be writing right? Here I am three years removed from that ward dance and a year’s worth of other activities. I’ve had other challenging callings since then that weighed on me in similar ways though not as heavily as activities chair. A few days ago I was contacted by a friend from that ward. He was asking if I had any photos from the first week of that school year. At the new semester a bunch of new people moved into our ward and our bishopric asked me to plan five activities in one week. Since nearly everyone was new I didn’t have a committee yet so I used my friends and did the best I could. I didn’t take any pictures because I was running around at each one trying to make sure everything worked. My friend mentioned that one of those activities, a dessert potluck on the lawn of an apartment complex, was the first place he met his wife. I must have known this, I mean, I watched them date for months and knew they got married. But there was something in me that said they would have been married anyway, regardless of ward activities. And maybe they would have. Maybe. But maybe not.
Celestial significance… I still have all the pictures from our ward prom night. Three years has shown me a number of other participants who are now married. Not that producing couples is the only function of a ward activity. And not that me organizing a ward dance created the relationships or made them succeed. The celestial significance for some of the others may be much more subtle. Maybe it was learning to put up with a blind date, or learning to spill lasagna on fancy clothes and get over it, or finding that joy can be found in service. I think I very rarely get to see the results of my efforts. But now and then I get perspective. And with perspective comes assurance. Assurance that I matter.
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