Welcome, welcome, Sabbath mourning

Today they changed our bishoprics. The outgoing bishop is a friend, we share a fence, and our kids are playmates, although, despite his wife being among my wife's closest friends (don't misinterpret that as connoting a great deal of two-way intimacy, as my wife doesn't share much about herself, and, being fairly guarded and insular, what qualifies as a "close friend" in her registry would probably be considered something less than that by others who are more socially-prone), he knew only the tip of the iceberg of our struggles since we tried not to burden.

The new bishop is a good guy, about two years our senior, whose parents live next door to us. I served in a previous bishopric with him and can attest to his character and dedication. My wife once referenced him in a conversation about my professional dissatisfaction, thus: "Why can't you just be like [name], who's simply satisfied with the ability to provide for his family?"

This evening, after a series of tense exchanges that started around the third hour of meetings this morning, I asked my wife, "What's up? What's wrong? You've been snappy all day, except for when you've been distant. I know you're tired and physically miserable with the baby, but you've been dishing it out, and I'm really struggling to figure out what I did, well, other than that [name] was made bishop this morning, I wasn't, and that sent you into a spiral." (And maybe other than pointing to the stripper-grade stilettos worn by one of my home teachees--who also used to work with my wife in primary when my wife was president--a couple of rows ahead of us and whispering, "Well, at the very least you can't say I've ever suggested you wear something like that...") She responded, "Every Sunday saddens me because of you. I usually weep at some point or other during the day. You know the reasons why and you do nothing about it. I don't want to talk about it because it's pointless. And no, today it's not because [name] was called as bishop, but now that you mention it..." And that was the end.

The following are some relevant excerpts from a letter she wrote to me about a year ago: "I would also suggest you begin to seek the Lord with diligence and pray with a humble heart. His formula is very elementary. Study, not just read the scriptures, go to your Sabbath meetings and contribute where you can, pray with humility and with diligence and have a meek, serving attitude, and changes within you will happen. Avoid criticism of me, of others in Elders Quorum, of church leaders and it won't burn up the oil you are trying to accumulate. There are other things you can do too, but you need to get down the basics. Other than our marriage, or any marriage you embark on, your children are also a really good reason to begin this process. they need to see YOU involved in living the gospel, and YOU teaching them in FHE, YOU leading out in family prayer, and YOU being emotionally responsible and kind toward mom, and AWARE and HELPFUL when you are home. And most of all they need to hear your testimony. If you figure out that you have one you need to share it with them. Tell them why you know what you know or why you love the Gospel, or how it has healed you, changed you, motivated you or comforted you. How you ultimately learn to accept me or whatever woman you are with is up to you, as it is WHEN you decide to do this. I have learned that the Lord allows us the full consequences of our actions even if we are repentant. Meaning, whatever casualties you cause by your selfishness, immaturity, snobbery, vanity and intellect will be mortal and possibly eternal/immortal effects. How tragic if this means any member of your offspring or your spouse. I know you have a loving heart in there because I've experienced it. I hope you can enlarge that part."

Six, maybe nine months ago, we tarried long after a candlelight dinner in the kitchen, and she gave me what I’d most closely compare to a PPE. (For readers of other faiths: That's nothing that one might assume would follow a mildly romantic meal; it's a Mormon acronym for Personal Priesthood Interview.) She more or less went down the "belief" items on the T-Rec list, asking what I believed, what I didn't believe, what I "knew," what I thought. It was the first time in my life that I've had to actually pronounce things like, "No, I really don't believe that. It's not that I don't want to believe it or am opposed to the idea. It's a concept that holds a lot of appeal. But, no, I really don't believe it." Of course there were no surprises here for either of us. And part of me wonders whether I responded as I did out of belligerence, out of defiance at her having, somehow at once brazenly and caringly, asked those questions and insisted that I answer them -- even when she of course, as I knew, had every right to ask them, at the very least as mother of my children, regardless of all other considerations. But once I articulated them, once the thoughts took voice and crossed my lips, I felt as one entering uncharted territory. It was like the legitimizing effect of something appearing in print. Now I owned them -- these thoughts, these words, these unbeliefs.