Sundays, Wednesdays, and Small Miracles

I had a tough time as a young girl understanding…well, girls. I grew up with two older brothers and a lot of neighborhood boys. I didn’t care much about clothes, except for the Cabbage Patch Doll shirt I had that featured 3D yarn braids–so rad. Poofy hair? Didn’t care. I was perplexed when the one girl my age down the street was mean and pouty. It was easier to play with Jeffy, exploring the old pioneer home and fort nearby. The only drama was when we hunkered down in the fort to seek protection from imagined attacks on the homestead.

When I turned 12 and joined the Young Women program in my church, it was really something new. Every Sunday and every Wednesday, I’d spend time with girls in my town. At church, we’d pray, recite a theme we’d all memorized, sing and give treats to the birthday girls, and go to classes organized by age. During the week, we’d get together and learn something, provide service, or tole paint or craft; my memories of the early 90s activity nights seem to be dominated by crafting. 

Women in the neighborhood were asked to run this program. And they said yes, bless their souls. They agreed to shepherd us squirrely teenage girls, to help us work toward goals and shift our attention from ourselves to people and concepts outside of us. They planned and delivered thoughtful lessons about Jesus Christ, welcomed us into their homes, and formed the foundation of the ever-present community that actively supported us through our growing up years. 

Kathy Chatfield was probably in the Young Women’s organization for 20 years straight as she raised her own five daughters. I learned to crochet in her home and eventually produced a crooked-edged blanket. Nevermind the mistakes; I’d made something with my hands. Annie Link and Jane Flynn, both exuberant and energetic women, taught us to let loose sometimes and enjoy the ride. Gina Johnston lost her husband to a heart attack and though she was sorrowful, she was present and taught earnestly. Jackie Beesley was authentic–bold and sassy, full of laughter and practicality. She apologized for not being ‘spiritual’ enough but the strength of her testimony of Christ is paramount in my Young Women memories. Amy Weiler–force of nature–heaped on praise that helped solidify my self-confidence as an almost adult. Julie Nielsen made sure each graduating senior got a blanket–tied by her fellow classmates–to take to college.

Diane Gibbs, LeeAnn Payne, Bonnie Armitstead, Jan Vincent, Carolyn Owens, Cheryl Anson, Julie White, Joy Halley. They all had lives, families of their own, other things they could have been doing with their time. They had varying levels of experience with teenage girls, gospel teaching, and the combination of the two–teaching gospel principles to teenage girls. Each summer, they planned and executed a week of camping where there was little sleep and a lot of giggling. So many hours, so many prayers. So many Diet Cokes (probably).

Now that I’ve been a Young Women leader a few times, I know some of these women doubted their ability to serve. But the thing is, they showed up in their imperfection and they made good things happen. They’re in my pictures and my memories. I am grateful for these women, threads in the fabric of my adolescence. They welcomed me into a community of girls and women, where my hair got even poofier (hard to imagine) and girls were still drama but became real and understandable as I got to know them. The aggregate effect of these women’s efforts are women like me, who grew up knowing their neighbors had faith in Christ and faith in teenage girls. And to me, that’s a small miracle.

Written in commemoration of the 150 anniversary of the founding of the Young Women’s organization. #strivetobe