Ward Family

Something magic happens every Sunday. My kids feel it. My nieces, Chloe, age 8, and Savannah, age 5, feel it. Ernie's 91-year-old mother, Lucille, feels it. We feel the magic at church.

Not everyone notices the magic at the same age. Last summer, our family reunion at Bear Lake ended on a Sunday morning with a dilemma: who would go to church? Some of the families are regular church-goers; some go once in a while; some never attend. Chloe, who goes most of the time, cried for an hour for permission to go with her cousin, Sarah, who never misses. Seth's fiance, Erika, who has yet to feel the magic, was astonished. Why would a child cry to go to church?

After four hours of church today, feeling the magic, I can answer easily. The magic is the love of a ward family. Chloe and Savannah, Lucille, Aubrey and Daniel, and I all are wrapped in that love every week. Sometimes it comes from a lesson or a talk. Sometimes it comes from a hug in the hall. Sometimes it shines from heaven in silent witness that God is listening to our private conversations. Often it comes as a prompting to hug someone else, to peer into her soul or offer comfort for his pain. Always it comes through the music of the hymns with their words and melodies of strength and peace. Always it is God's love through his family at church.

I have so many examples! Ten years ago, Aubrey was baptized. It was a messy time for our family; I had just filed for divorce, and we had a restraining order in place against her father. It was lifted just for the occasion of the baptism, but the awkwardness of the situation was extreme. Our stake held baptisms once a month on Saturday evenings, and it turned out that Aubrey was the only child from our ward that month. Still, 150 members of our ward came to attend her baptism. The baptism leaders were astonished. They had never seen such a show of support. With no idea of the circumstances, they just thought we were loved. We were. Our strong ward family circled in and held our little broken family in their loving arms. We are still in awe.

Ward love doesn't have to be expressed in dramatic ways. Not too long ago I was asked to sing at a Relief Society meeting and had volunteered to bring a dessert too. Then school commitments got crazy, and I couldn't figure out how I would fulfill my assignments. Worried, but not wanting to back out, I gratefully received two phone calls the day before the meeting: the first was Lynn Condie telling me she had made a copy of my music for the accompanist, saving me a step, and the other was Janet Peery telling me never mind about the dessert. Both women knew I was in over my head and offered relief, without my asking. I was grateful for their love.

There are wards with less magic. I have only experienced one. But even there, a rare wise man or woman carries its power. My ward in Stansbury Park was less experienced and more challenged, families were young and many were inactive. We moved there a year after my divorce and in all honesty, most ward members didn't know how to react to us. I was ten years older than most of the adults, and single. But we never lacked spiritually while we were there, and we were assigned a home teacher who knew how to strengthen us. Just before we moved away, he became the bishop. He had such a job to do! A ward with two hundred primary children, half of them inactive. I am sure his love has helped that ward grow up and become a loving, magical place.

Maybe magic is the wrong word to use here, if magic implies something that isn't possible or true. But magic is exactly right if it implies a powerful, universal force for good that heals hearts and creates hope. Because that is what I feel every Sunday when I go to church. If I couldn't go, I would feel just like Chloe and cry. I'd surprise Erika even more though--I don't think I'd ever stop, especially not just after an hour!