We recently had quite a shakeup in our ward.
(For non-LDS readers: Our local congregations are called "wards," which are assigned geographically. Wards are grouped into stakes, which are grouped into areas or something, and then it gets fuzzy to me. Each stake is led by a Stake Presidency (president + 2 counselors); each ward has a Bishopric (Bishop + 2 counselors).)
Our ward has had a wonderful Bishop for the past 6-7 years: Bishop Likemydad. I've known Bishop Likemydad since I was a baby. One of his daughters and I were the same age, so we were in Primary and Young Women's together. Bishop Likemydad's wife, Sister Likemymom, knows how to do really cool things like quilting and making her own soap. Bishop Likemydad had something in common with all of the Bishops I've had throughout my life:
- He is very comforting and calm
- He is caring and someone I could always trust
- He is old enough to be my father
Bishop Likemydad was released from his position with a sincere vote of thanks, and we got a new one.
Who is seriously lacking in one particular quality I have always associated with Bishops: age. He is my age. To be precise, he is a mere 3 months (to the day!) older than me.
What does this mean?
It means that, at 34, I am now old enough to have a Bishop my own age. I shall soon be knitting shawls and grousing about the incomprehensibility of popular music.
Ah the days of my youth. I'll miss them.
I'm toying with the notion of assigning him a cute derivative, like "Bish" or "Shoppie." As in, "Yo, Shoppie, whaddup with dat tithing settlement, yo?" Lest my mother hyperventilate herself into unconsciousness, I have abandoned that idea. I look forward to working with our new Bishop and will support him with a straight face and enthusiastic heart.
Congratulations, Bishop Coolguy. I mean it.