As I sat at my computer this evening, eating an otter pop, I heard a knock at the door. James rushed in the room, wide-eyed and nervous. “I think it’s your bishop,” he hissed. I jumped up and ran to the door.  I paused half way across the room and did a mental check. Am I wearing pants and a bra? Yep. Okay, I’m good. I pulled Mack away from the door and as I stepped out on the porch, I did a double take. There I stood, face-to-face with my high school Algebra teacher.

“Hi, I’m your bishop,” he began, and then broke off, studying my face. “Weren’t you in my high school math class?”  I could only nod dumbly. This was really surreal, and I knew this situation had the potential to get very awkward very fast. luckily for me, he continued on before the silence became too uncomfortable.

“I got your letter,” he said, “and I wanted to let you know, we’ve respected your wishes and sent a conformation back to Salt Lake. I You are welcome back to any of the meetings, or at block parties, or anything like that. We’d love for you to be involved. If you ever need anything, my phone number’s is at the bottom,” He handed me a folded paper as he said this. “It’s a copy of the letter I sent to Salt Lake. Once again, I want to respect your wishes.”

“Thanks,” I managed, a little chocked up by his kindness, “I really appreciate that.” And I do.  His respect for me made this whole experience a positive one, rather than the nightmare I expected it to be. I now have a deep respect for this man, and I may take him up on his offer to join in at a block party. If all the ward members are as open as their bishop, I think we’ll get along just fine.

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