STEWARD OF GOD

STEWARD OF GOD

For a bishop must be blameless, as the steward of God . . . Titus1:7



“Brother Boyce, how are you and Chris doing?”

There I was in the stake president’s office, surrounded by his counselors.

“Uh, fine? Why? Is there something I’m not aware of?”

“No, no. We were just asking. It’s nice to know there are a few couples out there who don’t struggle.”

“We have our moments occasionally, but we make up quickly.”

“Glad to hear it. How are your finances? Are you carrying any debt?”

“Home mortgage, car payment. That’s about it.”

“Credit card?”

“$400 at the moment. But we’ll pay it off next paycheck. We pay the whole balance each month.”

“I wish more people would do that. How are things at work? Are there any challenges in that regard?”

“I’m spread pretty thin at times, but I’m learning to pace myself, to strike a balance. It seems to be working, at least most of the time.”

“We want to thank you for your service as Bishop Gray’s counselor. He’s grateful for all you do, as we all are. How is that going for you?”

“I enjoy it. It’s inspiring to see Bill rise to the occasion, truly becoming Bishop Gray, representative of the Lord.”

“Well, Bob, thank you for your time this evening. It’s good working with you.”

“Uh, that’s it?”

“Counselors, do you have anything to add? No? That’s it, then. You’re free to go.”

Chris was anxiously awaiting my arrival home. “How did it go? What happened?”

“Not a thing. They asked me about my job, our finances, our marriage, and my calling. Then they sent me on my way.”

“That’s it?”

“Yup – that was all.”

“Weird!”


“So, what’s new? Enjoying your bishopric experience?”

I was traveling on assignment with my friend and colleague, who happened to be the president of a neighboring stake.

“Good. But you know, I had the craziest interview with the stake president and both his counselors. It was about a month ago. They called me in, asked me about our marriage, my job, my finances, and my calling. That was all. We said a prayer, and they sent me home. Spooky.

“Oh, I know what was going on,” responded my colleague, mystery in his voice.

Try as I might, I could not get another word out of him. “I’ve said too much already,” was the only other thing I was able to pry from his sealed lips.


A special bishopric meeting was called as soon as I returned. The stake president met us in our clerk’s office. We had heard rumors: a clerk had received a letter from Salt Lake City that identified us as Stillwater 2nd Ward, rather than just Stillwater. That had produced a buzz.

Sure enough, a new ward had been approved. The president showed us the boundaries. Bishop Gray “just couldn’t part” with his Relief Society president; the wife of a member of the stake presidency had made a formal request to remain in the established ward. The boundaries were therefore rather ridiculously gerrymandered to leave those two families in the established ward. The president assured us that he had that prerogative.

With that taken care of I was invited to go through the chapel to the stake wing.

“Well, Bishop Boyce, I’m sure you’ve got it figured out by now, on account of that seemingly pointless interview of a few weeks ago.”

I hadn’t. Clueless I think they call it.

“You’re the new bishop of the Stillwater 2nd Ward, which will be created this Sunday. Can you have your counselor recommendations to me no later than tomorrow afternoon? Oh, that’s right. Your wife is supposed to be present for the call. Could you phone her and get her over here, and we’ll start all over again?”

I was not sure I could, I was so light-headed. I managed somehow.

“Do I have to put on a dress?” That was her initial response.