I went to church - my new ward here in Virginia - for the first time on Sunday. It's a gorgeous place, a red brick building right next to the Potomac river, surrounded by rich foliage just blocking it from the noise and bustle of the road outside. I really love being here. It's so beautiful, and I feel like I moved here at just the right time - Autumn in the East is amazing. I remember loving this season a lot in Wisconsin, when all the strong green turned to vibrant red and rich gold. I can see some trees already starting on their way to Fall, like they're letting me in on a secret of the beauty Autumn is planning to give this year.
My ward is rather similar to the one I just came from in Utah, large and constantly changing. With the interns coming and going every semester, there's a sense of continuous movement there. But the ward also reminds me of my favorite ones when I was at BYU-Idaho; everyone comes from somewhere different, each with such a different background. Each person was once a stranger here too, new to the area and nervous about what to expect.
When I moved, I fully expected to introduce myself as being from Wisconsin, but having moved from Utah. Everyone would ask where in Utah I was from, and we would try to make whatever connections we could. I planned on remaining proud of my Wisconsin background (I liked that Wisconsin always seemed like such a random mystery to others, even if not many could make connections to it), but I anticipated that the mention of Utah would be more of a conversation starter, as people wondered where in Utah I came from, if I knew so-and-so, blah, blah, blah. Interestingly, more people turned their attention to me with the question, "where in Wisconsin are you from?"
Turns out, I have 2 boys in my ward whose families were in my home stake growing up, though one knew my sister better and the other moved when we were 15 (his older brother was still around and made a move on me though, but I didn't mention that to him...). Another girl happened to know the daughter of my dad's 1st counselor in the Stake Presidency, and she had just hung out with that family the other weekend. I was rather impressed by the influence of Wisconsin out here in DC. It made me happy to have the connection there as well.
Good things come from Wisconsin, just to remind those of you who have doubted me over the years.
Beyond that, I made 2 new friends, who are good friends of my roommate and kindly adopted me into their friendship. One of them is a guy who is working as an intern on Capitol Hill. As it happens, he has Mondays off, which he uses as his day for touring DC, so he offered to show me around yesterday. He explained the Metro and the bus system and constantly reminded me that I would get lost and I would end up somewhere I didn't plan on going often enough, which of course did little to keep my spirits high about getting around (because I get lost easily, and I don't know the place well enough to even know if wherever I end up is actually where I want to be or not, so I won't even know if I am lost...). Then I remembered he'd only been here for a week himself, so he doesn't really know much more than I do about the Metro system! I laughed out loud when I recalled that fact, but it didn't make me feel any better about figuring my way around quickly.
But we did make it to our main destination. We had decided to check out the National Archives and take a look at the great documents that turned this Nation from a thought to a reality.
I was surprised by how impressed I was by being in the presence of the Magna Carta, Declaration of Independence, and the Constitution, which, when considered at the very base, are just really old pieces of paper. But I do appreciate well-written words and a good sheet of paper, so I expected to at least appreciate the sight of them. But the power and results that came from those old pieces of paper really resonates with you when you look at them. To think of what it took to sign those documents, what it meant to actually put those thoughts on paper, the courage and resolve of the writers to just write something, is rather powerful. You look at those pages, and it's hard not to picture the sight of men standing in a room, waiting to sign their names to something that was both illegal and wrong, yet fundamentally right and important. And suddenly, those sheets of paper, with foggy writing I can't even read anymore, are such a more magnificent sight to me than the Hope Diamond over at the Natural History Museum, or the priceless paintings and sculptures in the Art Museum.
My new friend and I also discussed how crazy it would be to have something we wrote placed under a secure, bullet-proof, age resistant encasement years and years after we'd written it. To write something so meaningful and important, that it would treasured by so many people. Then I considered what it took for these men to write it - the threat of death or loss of their families, stigmatization by peers, and on and on - and I think it would've been difficult for me to do anything like that. To do what, at the time, was illegal and high treason, for something that you don't know will even work out? Seems a little too nerve-wracking for me, personally. But I think that's why I'm so impressed with what I got to see at the National Archives. These guys did what most people could not. They followed the inspiration they received to do what was right, they trusted that it would work out, and they let the future good overrule their personal concerns of the present. I don't think that's ever hit me as much as it did yesterday, when I could see the physical embodiment of many people's fight to allow this country to be great.
I think I'm going to learn a lot here. I've only been here 5 days, and I'm already waxing poetic about our National history.
But I think museums have some sort of all-consuming effect on my brain. I go to the National Archives and can't stop thinking about the Declaration of Independence in everything I do. But I also went to the Spy Museum on Saturday, and I still haven't shaken off the feeling that every person I pass is a spy and that I'm being watched by someone...
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