A few months after my 24th birthday finds me sitting on a padded folding chair in a carpeted hallway outside an office identical to countless others in the thousands of look-a-like meeting houses across Happy Valley and beyond.
One padded seat over sits a couple, hands entwined, knees bumping.
We three are all here, in this hallway, outside this door, on a Tuesday evening for the same reason: permission to access the House of the Lord for the performing of a sacred ordinance. However, this couple is likely unaware that we share this common goal; theirs is the more orthodox route to the temple and, for women at least, obtaining their endowments.
A glance back at their entwined fingers, a fleeting thought, that will be me someday. But it lacks conviction, staying power. Instead, I harbor pride that I am doing this absent an impending external factor — a mission, a marriage — but, really, pride’s all that’s left.