Karma

Karma: Hinduism, Buddhism. action, seen as bringing upon oneself inevitable results, good or bad, either in this life or in a reincarnation.

Can I be a good Mormon and believe deeply in the Hindu principle of Karma? I took a religion course at BYU which taught that religion is like a big broken mirror-shards of truth scattered all over the world. But, if I recall correctly, I have an ancestor who was excommunicated for a strong belief in astrology. See where genealogy will get you.

Back to Karma. I attended high school in Bountiful, Utah (>95% Mormon), and therefore was privileged to experience "release-time" seminary during the regular school day. Many years later, in a suburb of Seattle, I was asked to teach early-morning seminary. I willingly did my time, enjoyed it and learned lots, but it was still very early.
Karma.
When I was perhaps 21 years old and living with my parents, freshly graduated from BYU, a serious looking member of the bishopric came to my house and laid out a dilemma before me. The primary chorister was moving. And since my mother sang so well, and had spent many years as a primary chorister, they wondered if perhaps I would be willing to accept a calling as primary chorister (I know, I didn't get the connection either). Oh, and of course, I played the violin (because, you know, most primary choristers tape little visual aides to their violins while they play out the melodies for the kiddos to learn).

So I looked at them, at my mother, made sure they weren't there to ask her to be the chorister, and began to cry. I didn't exactly say no to the calling, I merely cried and begged that they find someone else. And that of course, if they couldn't (sniff, sniff) find anyone else (sob) I of course (whimper) would accept. He didn't come back.

Here I am, 12 years later and I was asked to serve in the Primary Presidency in my new little branch. (Did I mention I've always said, Relief Society, Gospel Doctrine, Seminary, bring it on, just don't put me in the Primary . . . Karma). But at least I wasn't the chorister. Then the chorister was called as the Young Women's President. Now, in a branch with 12 children, 3 young women, and a creative Sunday schedule, it is possible to do both callings. She was valiant, she held out for several weeks. But I could see the writing on the wall. Then one day, I got an email from the President--the chorister had quit. You can see it too can't you?
Karma.
So now, I spend my peaceful, spirit-filled 3 hours of church as follows:
Hour One: Struggling to keep Elliot from pounding on the loud and metal doorframe (we sit nearby for a quick exit during the very quiet sacrament meeting) and dragging Ethan out to "practice being reverent" in an empty class room (banging his head on said doorframe as I drag his limp body by one arm--Elliot in my other arm--out of the chapel).
Hour Two: Gathering all the wandering children into the Primary room, dropping 16-month old Elliot screaming into the nursery for which he is too young, and then attempting to put on my happy face and teach songs to the 3 to 10 children that bothered to show up that day. All the whilst Ethan is hanging on to me, demanding to "help", throwing tantrums, and refusing to actually help or sing.
Hour Three: Putting away all the chorister paraphernalia, gathering up a sobbing toddler, coaxing Ethan to his class (trying with all my might not to give him a good spanking in the middle of church) and meeting briefly with the presidency. Sometimes I go catch the last few minutes of Relief Society while Elliot tears up the room.
Karma.
When I call my mother (daily it seems) seeking a bit of pity, she comforts me, but I know in her mind she has visions of leading primary songs with a little blond, seriously strong-willed child attached to her leg.
Karma.