The Right Calling

I received a reminder today, that the Lord really is aware of us.
Even in the simplest of things.

You see, I had been called, oh...like a month ago, to serve in my ward as a Visiting Teaching Coordinator. (And I still have no idea what that really means.)

Only to not get called/sustained by the ward in Sacrament Meeting for two weeks.
So I brought it up to the Bishop when I saw him next,
and He said it would happen.

And so last week, on Sunday, I mentioned the thing again to one of the counselors, reminding them that I needed to be sustained. My friend Mirleki also stated the same thing, she had yet to be sustained.
A bit flustered, the counselor took down our names and our callings....(I told him the Bishop had made a note of it...but I don't know if he actually heard me.)

Only....when he got up to call us...
He called me as 'Sarnic Doorshee' (my last name is hard to pronounce) and I was called to be the "Visiting Teaching Supervisor."
O.o
Huh? That wasn't what I was called to be.
-Though so far, I don't see much of a difference between Supervisor and Coordinator.

I tried to brush it off.
The Lord knew what calling I'd been given.
I would make sure that when I was set apart (still haven't had time to do that.) That they would get it right.

But still....it bothered me.
They had pronounced my name wrong.
They had called me to the wrong calling.

I admit it, it made me question how 'important' I actually was to them. If they couldn't even keep track of what calling I actually had.
-I know they're busy, that they have a ton of faces/names to remember, and it's not really expected for them to remember who got what calling for everyone....

Yet, I guess it bothered me on a subconscious level....
Though I had forgotten about it until today.
When I was sitting in Sacrament meeting,
and the Bishop got up to call people to their callings.
And I had that thought cross my mind. That they had me sustained for the wrong calling.

But then, right off the bat,
The Bishop called me by name "Sarnic Dirchi" (saying it correctly)
And had me sustained by the right calling. Visiting Teaching Coordinator.

It was a little thing.
I'm not sure if anyone else besides my friends remembered that I had stood up last week as well.
But it meant a lot to me.

I don't know if the Bishop just didn't remember that they'd given me the sustaining thing last week,
or he noticed that I hadn't been called to the right position,
Or if it was just a prompting he followed.

Whatever the reason.
It meant a lot to me that the Lord cares enough for his children, that he would ensure that the ward knew me by my right name, by the right calling, so that I could go forth and do his work with a more open heart, without any resentment nestled there that 'they didn't know me.'

It was a small blessing,
but One that I really needed. :)

Until you next see these words;
I'll be watching the leaves.
Enjoy the day!

-Sarnic Dirchi

The Dream

I was sitting in my parents living room, looking out the window when I saw this old creepy guy. He was bald on the top of his head but had a fringe of long greasy hair down to his shoulders all the way around -like an odd hippy- he had two dogs in his hands, and he was muttering crazily to himself, walking in circles. He gave me the heebyjeebies, for one because he was creepy stranger in my yard, and then I realized, for the other....he was a ghost. He was walking through objects in his circles and I had just barely realized. He then came to the window and I reached out touching his forehead, and blinked, and there was this old lady there named Lydia, and she had a bunch of yellow parakeets, and she was carefully giving them to me one by one, though I didn't want them. The way she was talking to me about caring for them...it sounded like she was trying to involve me in something illegal. Something with the birds wasn't right, and the route she'd taken to get the birds...had somehow landed her jail, possibly gotten her killed -as she too was a ghost-
But then I was given an old ruffled white piece of fabric by a different man, and touching the fabric, brought back memories of when I was a baby, that I had been placed in a train car -one of those storage ones with the sliding door- and I'd been wrapped in something similar, And I remembered my little baby hand reaching out to touch that piece of fabric, rubbing it, to comfort myself as I tried to remember my mother -a woman with red hair- and it spurred me to try and find a source of this fabric, to find that mother....

Then the unholy tones of daylight pulled me away....
and I became myself again. :)

-S.N.D