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by Zan Larsen (Author)
The chair in the back corner of the elders' room is an honored and coveted sanctuary. Whether it is occupied by the same grizzled veteran week after week, or jostled over by an elite few, every ward is blessed with its share of us. What kind of person are we to earn such a right? Stalwart, yes - willing to shovel on snowy mornings, or shove a vacuum around the building for our round on Saturday morning cleanings of the building. We normally do what we're assigned and show up when we are required. Even so, we admit we are past our prime, both physically and in usefulness in big wards favoring the young go-getters. Invisible? Definitely. A bit disenfranchised? Sure. Harboring some doubts in the restored gospel? Not in the least. That part is solid. It's all the rest that burdens and festers within us. Indeed, what gets us grumpies to let out the too-loud sigh is the second lesson on family history in as many months, epic preparations for the ward Christmas party, and anything that requires ultra-high enthusiasm - "zeal without knowledge." To us the ancient Israelites' forty-year preparation in the wilderness is starting to seem like a rush job, by the look of things. We want to be with the people of Enoch, ready to ascend into the stars, but instead we sit in our separate corner chairs firmly on earth - most of the time quiet, the rest of the time regrettably not so. What churns within our minds back there? Don't get us started ...
