A Miracle
It was the second Sunday of October, and it was a pretty regular day at church. I had some business announcements to make and then a lesson to teach. The only unusual thing about the day was one of the sign up sheets I was passing around. I was trying an experiment to encourage the sisters in my relief society to volunteer and ask for ministering interviews. I had decided to teach about the value I see in ministering interviews. After I taught my part of the lesson, I passed around the sign up sheet.
Fast forward to the end of the lesson when I collected the clipboard. I remember lamenting how unsuccessful the sign up sheet was. Only two sisters had signed up out of a potential thirty. I was feeling a bit low when I noticed tiny, scrawled handwriting at the bottom of the page: see back. I turned the page over and found the most heartbreaking, hopeless, and unfortunately anonymous note I had ever read. I called my fellow presidency member over and we looked at each other, wondering if there was anything we could do to help this sister. But how could we if we didn't know who she was?
Enter an identifiable miracle. At the beginning of the meeting I had passed around an attendance roll for people to sign. This was absolutely normal, the only abnormal thing was that I had forgotten to print out an official attendance sheet and simply had the sisters sign their names to take attendance. We pulled out that attendance sheet and conducted a handwriting analysis of the anonymous note. We compared the note to every signature on the page and considered what we knew about each sister. Before we left church we had a confident guess about who had written the note.
Of course, the new question was: what can we do to help this sister? She kept the note anonymous and probably wanted it kept that way. She probably didn't expect her relief society presidency to be sleuths. We talked about the note in our next meeting, read it over, and thought about it. Each presidency member had an idea about what could be done, and in our usual mode of inspiration, we went with the first thoughts that come into our minds. We moved around ministering assignments to support the sister. The second thought was a little more random and uncertain. We decided to make her a relief society instructor. This one took some thinking. Was it really the right thing? In the end we moved forward with faith because she could always refuse the calling if she didn't want it, and she still didn't know we knew about her note.
Fast forward to the second to last week of November. After 6 weeks of trying to call this sister as an instructor, we still weren't sure it was going to happen. And I had other things to worry about. I had a talk to give and a musical number and lesson to prepare. I remember wondering why every time I'm asked to do something in church, it all compiles into 1 or 2 weeks. I spoke in church, shared some stories about my calling and my doubts and fears, and moved on with life.
Last week, the relief society presidency sang the song Reverently and Meekly Now as the musical number. The same day we sang, our sister of interest spoke in church. I watched and listened in amazement as the musical number, chosen with that sister in mind, fit directly in with what she spoke about (identifiable miracle three). Then, just before beginning our relief society lesson, a member of the bishopric came in to do sustaining. The second name spoken was our sister of interest, and she was called to be a relief society instructor. I was thrilled and I spoke with her afterward and told her how excited I was that she would be teaching. She told me she was nervous about it, but that my talk last week had helped her accept the calling (identifiable miracle 4).
The story isn't finished yet. She still doesn't know that we know she wrote that note. But I just watched as two hours played out perfectly to let this sister know how important, special, and loved she is. From her talk, to the musical number, to accepting the calling. Two hours that were more than two months in preparation. What made the bishopric ask me to speak the week before? Why did we decide to have a lesson about ministering interviews and pass around a sign up sheet that week in October? Why was it that week that I collected attendance via signatures? In between that first day in October and this Sunday in November, lots of things looked like they were going wrong. The sign up sheet didn't end up fulfilling the purpose I thought I created it for, our sister of interest got a different calling before she was called as the instructor, and we weren't sure if she'd made any contact with her new ministering companion. But if things had happened too soon, if I hadn't spoken in church, if we hadn't had a musical number, if she hadn't spoken in church, things might have been different. All I can say is that as I look back, every choice was inspired to create one memorable day.
So believe me when I tell you that you are loved. Believe me when I tell you that Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father know exactly who you are, where you are, and who you need in your life. Believe me when I say they've got the end planned from the beginning. Believe me when I say that everything works for your good. Believe me, because I just witnessed a miracle.
Fast forward to the end of the lesson when I collected the clipboard. I remember lamenting how unsuccessful the sign up sheet was. Only two sisters had signed up out of a potential thirty. I was feeling a bit low when I noticed tiny, scrawled handwriting at the bottom of the page: see back. I turned the page over and found the most heartbreaking, hopeless, and unfortunately anonymous note I had ever read. I called my fellow presidency member over and we looked at each other, wondering if there was anything we could do to help this sister. But how could we if we didn't know who she was?
Enter an identifiable miracle. At the beginning of the meeting I had passed around an attendance roll for people to sign. This was absolutely normal, the only abnormal thing was that I had forgotten to print out an official attendance sheet and simply had the sisters sign their names to take attendance. We pulled out that attendance sheet and conducted a handwriting analysis of the anonymous note. We compared the note to every signature on the page and considered what we knew about each sister. Before we left church we had a confident guess about who had written the note.Of course, the new question was: what can we do to help this sister? She kept the note anonymous and probably wanted it kept that way. She probably didn't expect her relief society presidency to be sleuths. We talked about the note in our next meeting, read it over, and thought about it. Each presidency member had an idea about what could be done, and in our usual mode of inspiration, we went with the first thoughts that come into our minds. We moved around ministering assignments to support the sister. The second thought was a little more random and uncertain. We decided to make her a relief society instructor. This one took some thinking. Was it really the right thing? In the end we moved forward with faith because she could always refuse the calling if she didn't want it, and she still didn't know we knew about her note.
Fast forward to the second to last week of November. After 6 weeks of trying to call this sister as an instructor, we still weren't sure it was going to happen. And I had other things to worry about. I had a talk to give and a musical number and lesson to prepare. I remember wondering why every time I'm asked to do something in church, it all compiles into 1 or 2 weeks. I spoke in church, shared some stories about my calling and my doubts and fears, and moved on with life.
Last week, the relief society presidency sang the song Reverently and Meekly Now as the musical number. The same day we sang, our sister of interest spoke in church. I watched and listened in amazement as the musical number, chosen with that sister in mind, fit directly in with what she spoke about (identifiable miracle three). Then, just before beginning our relief society lesson, a member of the bishopric came in to do sustaining. The second name spoken was our sister of interest, and she was called to be a relief society instructor. I was thrilled and I spoke with her afterward and told her how excited I was that she would be teaching. She told me she was nervous about it, but that my talk last week had helped her accept the calling (identifiable miracle 4).
So believe me when I tell you that you are loved. Believe me when I tell you that Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father know exactly who you are, where you are, and who you need in your life. Believe me when I say they've got the end planned from the beginning. Believe me when I say that everything works for your good. Believe me, because I just witnessed a miracle.
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