I've been in mourning all week. Not because of my son...the newspapers tell me there have been no deaths reported from the hurricane, so I'm assuming that includes him. And not even because of Aunt Bertha. It's because last week I was called into my bishop's office and released from my calling with the young women. Just like that. It came as quite a shock. Almost four years of a job that requires almost daily attention, and poof, I'm done.
That's how it works in our church, by the way. They don't pass around sign-up sheets for jobs. The higher-ups make decisions, with inspiration, about who should do what, and then they ask you to do it. You do have the option of saying no, and I'm frankly surprised at how many use that option. But there is no option for declining a release. Once you're done, you're done. Believe me, I considered it. "No Bishop, I'm gonna stay. I love those girls too much." Thought about it. But that would be unprecedented. And I'm not an unprecedented kind of person. Wouldn't have worked anyway. I'd be the uninvited guest at the picnic.
So I cried the rest of the day, and have moped around this week. Sure, I still have the musical keeping me busy, and I've got a wedding reception in my backyard the week after it ends (family friend, not one of mine, thank goodness), but I still feel like I have too much time on my hands. I'm sure within a few months or even days my schedule will be packed again, but in the meantime, I'll be the one wearing black.