You have to know that we've been in the ward for 7 1/2 years. I attend Sacrament Meeting when I can (physically) and am in town. That ends up being less than half time. Very occasionally Sunday School, never Priesthood Meeting. Blue shirt, no tie, back bench. I've never had a calling. Never spoken except in a Testimony Meeting. I've got a few friends in the Ward, the Bishop knows me (including checking me out online before we ever met, and I'm fairly public, posting and commenting under my name), and the most pressure I get comes in the form of "come on, you can't really be as radical as you say you are."
I'm also late. Almost always. So today I slip in next to my wife (an always on time kind of person--we travel separately) in the middle of the sacrament. Late enough that the water is right in front of me as I sit down. I am grateful. And I'm not a stickler for being present during the prayer. I prefer being there, but I know the words.
Then the blessing comes. The man I believe to be the current YM president goes back up to the table and brings me the bread.
I think he's going around to a few other late comers. He doesn't make an issue or demonstration. It's quiet and it's done. A small thing? But I'm tearing up. By all rights I'm an outcast. Hardly belong. Invisible. And this young man (young like my sons) goes out of his way to serve me, in way that I care about although he couldn't possibly know. Today I am one of the 'least of us' and I receive with thanks.
