Leftovers

Sunday on the Island of Misfit Toys, it was announced at the pulpit that the sisters had gone on a retreat together over the weekend and that they had come back with a great deal of leftover food, which would be served in an impromptu Linger Longer after the block to all ward members who wished to dig in.

Interesting word, that—leftovers—to be used on the Island of Misfit Toys, because there have been occasions when I have heard that term used to describe we mid-singles (those aged 31 to 45) in a rather derogatory manner. Those moments make me cringe.

For the record, you all have permission to slap me upside the head if I ever use the L-word in your presence. Lepers? That one I might use from time to time, in an obviously kidding manner. There are those who (erroneously) feel that remaining single into your 30s and 40s is a contagious disease, and those who suffer from it should be shunned in much the same manner.

But no, no that other L-word. Never.

Sometimes, the little devil on my shoulder, like in that Donald Duck cartoon "Donald's Better Self," whispers in my ear that there have been many people who have given the ward maybe one or two tries, who have shown up to some of our activities, looked around the room, and said to themselves, "Is this really all there is to choose from?" Then, they've never returned and gone back to their home wards and the witness protection program, or whatever its mid-singles equivalent may be.

The little angel on my shoulder, however—and this is the one I try to pay attention to—reminds me that the glass is not only half-full; it is filled to the brim and overflowing.

I look around me each week and see wonderful people, whom it has been a great blessing to get to know, to both serve and to be served by. I get to both fellowship and be fellowshipped by some of the greatest people I've ever met. My current calling is as an elders quorum instructor, and over the past two-plus years, I've enjoyed it immensely. Last night, I got to spend a wonderful evening with some of these fellow Misfit Toys serving in the temple. On Sundays, there's no place I'd rather be.

And as far as that other "curse" word, the D-word—dating—opportunities are abundant. Sisters, you're wonderful. And if that comes across as pandering, so be it. Elders quorum has nothing I want.

What is my point? I did have one when I started. And seriously, no malice was or is intended by any of this. I'm on your side, fellow Misfit Toys. I hear the voices of scorn and ridicule, from the Great and Spacious Building and in my own head, and I dismiss them as much as I possibly can. Like you, I'm trying to do the best I can.

My actual point may have been that nobody makes good food like the Relief Society. And that's a fact.