The Singles Ward Part 2: Finding a New Ward

I think I need to start this post off with an informative tidbit that might give you a little insight into why I am the way I am. After all of this happened I was telling my Mother all about it on the phone while I was driving home from work (Bad, I know but don't act like you don't do it too. I've seen you.). And being the extremely supportive Mother that she is, as she laughed and mocked my life, she managed to get a few words out around the semi-stifled giggles. They were, "This is going to make a great blog post. I can't wait to read it." I've said it before and I'll say it again. Thanks for the support, Mom. Love you too.

I hope you get a kick out of my total humiliation via the Internet.

So as most of my three to four readers know, I've recently been put out to pasture. In August my new bishop announced that the Stake Presidency had decided to actually enforce the set rules of the "Singles/Student Wards" which meant that in order to attend the ward you must either actually be a student or in an institute class, live within ward boundaries and actually fit into the 18-30 age range. And for me and 63 other people in my ward alone (keep in mind this was a stake wide thing), that was a sad, sad day. Basically, they were saying, "We're sorry we failed you, but it's time to move on." However, with that they didn't give us any other options on where to attend church. We could either go to the "middle singles" wards (there are four in the Salt Lake Valley) or our Family Wards. I did my research. The closest one met in the Avenues in SLC. Quite a drive from Layton but not as far as I was going before. So on my own, I decided that I'd go check out this other ward. Unfortunately I have no friends to take with me. Everyone else that I know that's single is, of course, younger than me and still attending their own wards. And that only made me feel even more pathetic.

So I pulled up to the chapel just in time for the meeting to start but the parking lot was PACKED. Cars were lining the street for three blocks. I finally found a spot and made it in while they were singing the Sacrament hymn. I was greeted in the foyer by a little old man in his 70's. He asked if I was there for the Singles Ward. I nodded yes and and he told me that it was pretty full but that there was room in the overflow. I smiled, thanked him and moved to where I could see into the chapel. It was a sea of silver and shine (but not in a good way). The ENTIRE chapel was filled with waves of gray hair and bald heads. And when I say the entire chapel, I don't mean just every person in there. I mean that every single pew was filled to capacity with old people! They were packed in there like sardines in can, shoulder-to-shoulder. If one guy sneezed it's very likely the guy next to him would go home with a cracked rib. I couldn't believe it! There is no way this ward should have been classified as a Singles Ward. Retirement/Widows ward would have been more appropriate. So hoping and praying, I mentally begged for there to be some younger people on the other side of the room that I just couldn't see. I walked the green mile around the building (with the tears starting to well up) only to be disappointed. It just got worse. I stood there staring at my inevitable future with visions of walkers and hip replacements dancing in my head. But even then I actually considered staying because this is where I was bound to end up in the next ten years anyway. Besides, it's rude to just walk out, right? But as the guy with the tray began walking toward the foyer I knew there was no possible way. This man was in his early 50's, easily 150 lbs over weight and staring at me like fresh meat. (Yes, I see the irony there - you know who you are. Don't say it.) I'm sure he was a very nice guy and I hate using phrases like "out of your league". So I'll just say this . . we were playing TOTALLY different games. I stood there looking at him and pictured myself playing tennis (I don't really play tennis but that's not the point) while he struggled with ping pong. I know it's sad, but it's true, what went though my head was, "Oh, HELL NO!" And with that, I left.

Oh, at to add icing to the cake, when I got back to the car I got a text from my brother asking me if I'd photograph his second wedding. Thanks for rubbing salt in the wound there, brother. You're are officially right there on the top of my list with Mom. Enjoy it.