This month Ethan got the priesthood. He is a Deacon. This is a great time in his life. It means that he is living his life in an honorable way, and he is worthy to have the first part of that great power bestowed upon him. It's a really big deal to us because we finally have the priesthood in our home again. It's a blessing and a comfort. I'm proud of him... but one thing I've come to realize from being Ethan's mom: growing up just makes everything harder. A Deacon is the one who passes the sacrament to all of the congregation. That means in a quick, orderly, reverent way they take both the bread and the water to the entire chapel full of people. That means ETHAN, who can't walk down the hall without tripping, has to maneuver up stairs, around other deacons, down isles, carrying a tray full of tiny little cups full of water without spilling all over the floor, or worse, all over the people he's passing to. That means ETHAN, who has the worst memory of anyone I know, who took six weeks to memorize his class schedule, has to remember a perfectly organized pattern of where to go, and who to pass to. That means dear sweet ETHAN, who is a food hoarder, who consistently hides food in his pockets, his sock drawer, behind his bed, etc is going to be left unattended with an entire tray full of bread and expected not to snack as he goes. I believe Ethan can do anything, but I have to tell you, this adventure has kept me up at nights worrying. And the really hard part about it is that I can't help him. When he couldn't tell time in the 5th grade, I studied and practiced with him until he got it. When he couldn't remember the directions to walk home from school to the place we had lived for almost a year, I drew him a map. When he couldn't remember his class schedule, I made him a super hip dog tag with the classes listed on them. When he forgets to wear pants I remind him before he leaves the house, when he can't remember his best friend's name, I quiz him until he gets it so he doesn't have to keep calling him "friend", when he couldn't remember how to open his locker I spent hours at the school helping him try it over and over. I spend hours doing homework at night, I advocate for the services he needs, I practice how to have appropriate conversations, I help him through every. single. thing. (wow, I totally sound like a helicopter mom, but trust me, these are things he simply doesn't have the ability to do without help) But I don't have the priesthood, so I can't help him with this. I have to sit back and watch, unable to do anything, or problem solve, or intervene before disaster strikes. I have no control, and that's something I'm really bad at.
So after months of worrying, Ethan got the priesthood last week, and this week was his first day to pass the sacrament. I was sick. I wanted to stay home... and maybe stop going to church all together... But instead we got up, got ready, and went early so he could practice. He was so excited, he could hardly stand it! I wanted to feel excited for him too, but thoughts of all the hundreds of things that could (and probably would) go wrong overwhelmed me and I had to fake it so he'd think I was as thrilled as him. The boys in our ward are wonderful. They are truly amazing young men. Their moms should be proud, and their future wives are lucky ladies. They welcomed Ethan right over, they practiced with him and answered all of his questions, and when it was obvious that this first time was going to be less than good, one of them volunteered to follow with him and show him where to go. They sat with him in the front of the church as the service began, and quietly and lovingly reminded him to be reverent, and hold still, and even encouraged him to sing (something that I am rarely able to do). And they did it in such a way, not to make him feel less than, or incapable, but in a way a true leader inspires those around him to be better. And then it was the moment I had been dreading. He stood and took a tray, and to my dismay, it was his job to go up on the stand - that means stairs - Ethan's worst enemy. He did okay going up, he served the bishop and his counselors, and the high councilman, and then on his way back down the stairs he slid and thudded all the way down. He didn't spill though, so he got a huge thumbs up from his helper, and off they went. Ethan had a smile that looked like it would make his cheeks fall off. He was so proud of himself! He walked past Adia and I and started to wave, but then remembered to be reverent and put his hand down. I tried to keep my eyes closed and my head down so I wouldn't have to sit helplessly and watch whatever disaster lay ahead. But Adia kept turning around and giving me a play by play, and finally I couldn't stand it anymore. I looked up and watched him. He would lose attention and start to wander away, and his helper would quietly get him on track. He would forget where he was supposed to go next, and the members of the congregation would point it out to him. I realized with wonder that everyone in the room was watching him and caring about him, and helping him succeed. I realized he was loved there. I realized that this is the reason we weren't supposed to move wards. This is why we needed to stay, if only for a while. Because we need to be loved right now. We need to belong. We need a cheering section. We need people who will sit quietly while Ethan spills a tray of water on their lap and keep right on loving him after that. (BTW, he DIDN'T do that... this week) After the sacrament, he received "reverent fist bumps" from the other boys, and he came to sit down by us, more proud of himself than I have ever seen him. (not that I could see him very well, as I had tears gushing from my eyes) After the meeting was over, people came up to him and congratulated him and told him they were proud of him. And he felt like a hero - something that he doesn't get very often, but something he really needs sometimes. And so, in a way, my countless prayers on this topic were answered through not doing what was right...
Just kidding.
It doesn't change anything. We need to go to the "real ward", and some day soon we will. But for now, it's okay to go to the "right ward". It's the place we need to be, and I feel really blessed to be a truly bad rule breaker.
P.S. This is not meant to offend anyone in "the real ward". We lived in that ward for over a year, and found many wonderful people who we love, and who love us. We know we will be welcomed and taken care of when the time comes to move, but for now, for this short moment, this is the right fit for us.
