Into thy closet
[Note: this first paragraph has borne some corrections from my dad since originally being put up. Moral of the story, doublecheck your memory.]
During World War II my father's unit was assigned to Fort Lewis, now Joint Base Lewis-McChord, fifty miles south of Seattle. That's a little south of here, in the county where we now live. He would hitch-hike up to Tacoma to have Sunday School in a converted home, because there was no regular meetinghouse yet. The members were discussing the need to raise funds to build, but that was still in the future.
It was rather fun, when we moved here, to have him walk in during his first visit and say, "Ah, this is the building they were raising money for." It was dedicated in 1950 (I think) by David O. McKay, then an apostle, and built in large part with member labor. We have one brother* still here, still living, who was a part of that physical building effort. He's 92 years old and still running his father's business.
For me, the fun thing was that our building is very like the Chevy Chase Ward where I grew up, a New England style brick church. (Picture and other story here ) It's a little smaller, and the layout is simpler, but it has a chapel wall that disappears down into the floor, and ours still works. (The brother above* will proudly tell you that he dug the hole for that wall in the basement. His company is in road construction.) Our overflow is out to the side of the chapel, not straight behind--and I make sure I get to church soon enough to be in the pews and not the folding chairs out there, even though they now have the padded ones.
I love the light in the chapel from the tall windows, the not-fussy ornamentation, the sense of belonging to a bit of history, but I mused on one so-simple uniqueness today in Relief Society.
Our Relief Society room closet is an actual, walk-in closet, not cupboard doors that open on a side wall. It fits quilting frames--how many baby gifts, shelter donations, and humanitarian services assignments have been made over the decades? It fits hymnbooks, lesson manuals, tablecloths, table decorations, and more. It will fit four people, if needed, arms folded , heads bowed.
Before every Relief Society meeting begins, while the prelude music plays, while the sisters are making their way in and finding seats, visiting with each other quietly, the presidency steps into the closet with that week's teacher, closes the door and offers prayer for her help. I have been, long ago, one of the leadership to take a turn offering up the needs of that day to the Lord, and I have been the teacher, many, many times as my calling or as a substitute, who was the recipient of those prayers. As a counselor, I often felt the Spirit's guidance giving me words; as a teacher, I have felt inspiration offered to me. It makes a difference in going out into that room ready to give a lesson which has been studied and prepared, prayed about at home, and now settled into peace; to trusting inspiration. It means, as a teacher, that you're not up there alone; it means, as a teacher, that you feel the love and faith of your sister leaders at your back and in your heart. It means you are more open, ready, and in tune.
Every church building plan should include such a quiet space, to be able to draw into the closet and pray. It's such a simple thing, but it's a gift.
During World War II my father's unit was assigned to Fort Lewis, now Joint Base Lewis-McChord, fifty miles south of Seattle. That's a little south of here, in the county where we now live. He would hitch-hike up to Tacoma to have Sunday School in a converted home, because there was no regular meetinghouse yet. The members were discussing the need to raise funds to build, but that was still in the future.
It was rather fun, when we moved here, to have him walk in during his first visit and say, "Ah, this is the building they were raising money for." It was dedicated in 1950 (I think) by David O. McKay, then an apostle, and built in large part with member labor. We have one brother* still here, still living, who was a part of that physical building effort. He's 92 years old and still running his father's business.
For me, the fun thing was that our building is very like the Chevy Chase Ward where I grew up, a New England style brick church. (Picture and other story here ) It's a little smaller, and the layout is simpler, but it has a chapel wall that disappears down into the floor, and ours still works. (The brother above* will proudly tell you that he dug the hole for that wall in the basement. His company is in road construction.) Our overflow is out to the side of the chapel, not straight behind--and I make sure I get to church soon enough to be in the pews and not the folding chairs out there, even though they now have the padded ones.
I love the light in the chapel from the tall windows, the not-fussy ornamentation, the sense of belonging to a bit of history, but I mused on one so-simple uniqueness today in Relief Society.
Our Relief Society room closet is an actual, walk-in closet, not cupboard doors that open on a side wall. It fits quilting frames--how many baby gifts, shelter donations, and humanitarian services assignments have been made over the decades? It fits hymnbooks, lesson manuals, tablecloths, table decorations, and more. It will fit four people, if needed, arms folded , heads bowed.
But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly. Matthew 6:6
Before every Relief Society meeting begins, while the prelude music plays, while the sisters are making their way in and finding seats, visiting with each other quietly, the presidency steps into the closet with that week's teacher, closes the door and offers prayer for her help. I have been, long ago, one of the leadership to take a turn offering up the needs of that day to the Lord, and I have been the teacher, many, many times as my calling or as a substitute, who was the recipient of those prayers. As a counselor, I often felt the Spirit's guidance giving me words; as a teacher, I have felt inspiration offered to me. It makes a difference in going out into that room ready to give a lesson which has been studied and prepared, prayed about at home, and now settled into peace; to trusting inspiration. It means, as a teacher, that you're not up there alone; it means, as a teacher, that you feel the love and faith of your sister leaders at your back and in your heart. It means you are more open, ready, and in tune.
Every church building plan should include such a quiet space, to be able to draw into the closet and pray. It's such a simple thing, but it's a gift.
Comments
Post a Comment